Shell Shocked (The Cosmic Carapace, #1)

by Barnaby Yard

  He now had control of the country. He couldn’t imagine much opposition from here on in. He turned his gaze to the second half of the map, which displayed the British Isles again, but to a far smaller scale, and in the middle of a large map of the world. His eye roved towards America. Sugar, wheat, tobacco. America he knew, was a fat goose, waiting to be plucked. It would bring him wealth, power, and more men to form a new army. An army to make the entire world kneel before him. And once he had achieved this, he would turn his attention to other worlds. He would send expeditions through randomly. He’d lose many men of course, he’d seen enough of what was out there to know that, but that wouldn’t matter once he had an entire world to fuel his army. They’d take the easy ones first, lands with no people, or with only primitive tribes. They could use the resources of these worlds to build more weapons, more settlements which would produce more people, more soldiers.

  He tugged at his moustache thoughtfully. He was getting ahead of himself. First he had to make sure that Spangler’s little gang were under control. Knowledge is power, and those few seemed to have a little more than he was comfortable with. They knew about the device for starters, they may even be from different worlds. What Spangler was doing with them he had no idea, but he had plans of his own, and he certainly didn’t want them getting in the way. He had sent Mr Pall out with a group to the house, though he imagined they would be gone from there by now. They can run, but they can’t hide. Wanted posters were being put up all over town, every Magisterial Guard was on the lookout. He’d have them soon enough.

  ~~~~

  Spencer was holding his nose surreptitiously. This is not an easy thing to do. He’d managed to pretend he was leaning on his fist, elbow planted against the rough wooden kitchen table in front of him. His fist was against the right hand side of his nose, his index finger, subtly reaching across the bridge to pinch down the other side. When Norbert had suggested he had a place for them to lay low for a while he had immediately become slightly uneasy. It was only when he looked around at the faces of Becky and the twins that he really started to worry. The theme of their collective expressions was very much heavy concern, leaning towards terror. The journey here hadn’t been a barrel of laughs either.

  Spencer had made it clear that they should try and stay off the main roads. A suggestion he had deeply regretted just an hour and a half later once they had set off following Becky towards the city’s rooftops.

  Spencer wasn’t afraid of heights. He was very firm on that. Heights he had no problem at all with. He wasn’t overly keen on falling from them, that was the issue. Funnily enough, whenever he found himself up high, he found himself very much focussed on the falling aspect, the falling potential as it were. So much so that he often found himself leaning dangerously to the edge with his head spinning slightly. The simple answer of course is to avoid such situations which Spencer had been pretty successful at over the years. Until today of course. Becky had led them up a small earth bank on the edge of the park which ran up just a foot or so lower than the bottom edge of a low sloping roof. The roof belonged to a cattle yard and as they tried to keep up with Becky and crossed to the next roof the first of the journey's smells hit them from below. They had crossed to the other side of the buildings which were laid out into a square and then climbed a small wall. On the other side was the sea of red, intercrossing rooftops Spencer had seen from the window of Ingress. From here they definitely seemed to loom more. Spencer had never known rooftops to loom before, but these were looming as though their slates depended on it. Becky was off. Spencer would have described her as ‘moving like a cat’, but in doing so he would have had to ask himself some pretty serious questions about how he could find her movements so sexual and alluring, and then also compare them to an animal. So he decided that she didn’t move like a cat, she moved like a very lithe and sexy woman. Which made him feel much better about things for a few seconds until he looked down again.

  Eventually they had scrambled, slipped and stumbled across so many buildings Spencer had lost count. He had been aware though that they had entered a poorer neighbourhood. The roofs had started to overlap completely for what seemed like miles around them, he had thought that light must have been very scarce down below. When they had started to descend along a broken down wall at the side of an old church he saw that it was. These were gloomy alleys where damp walls glistened with slime which small groups of children were scraping off into buckets. Women were gathered in huddled corners gossiping while working at blankets, weaving them with gnarled hands holding giant needles. The whole place felt like a hot, sweaty cave system, but with more dogs. There were dogs everywhere. They ran through the women's legs, they fought playfully in the middle of the alleyways, they appeared suddenly in front of you in a state of feverish copulation as you turned a corner. Spencer muttered, “Every dog will have his day."

  At which point Norbert scampered up and asked, “How d’ya know that dog’s called Day?"

  Finally they had arrived at the end of what was the sorriest looking alley they had seen so far. A few houses which looked as though they had decided that being upright was overrated and had fallen in on each other. They slumped against and across one another making it hard to see where one ended and the next began. Small doors were dotted along the jumble of cracked and peeling walls. They looked built for people of Norbert’s stature, some of them even had a built in sidle.

  Now Spencer was sat in a cramped, hot kitchen that had far too many people in to be comfortable. Becky and the twins were all seated around the old, beaten table that dominated the room. Spangler stood studying a small, dismal painting which hung on the far wall. On the opposite side Mrs Strang stood at the sink scrubbing underpants that everyone in the room was trying very hard not to look at. She had been talking incessantly since they had arrived.

  “Of course he never tells me anything! Why should he? I only carried him for ten and a half months!"

  “Ten and a half months?!" Becky said looking slightly pale.

  “Oh yes! The little bugger wouldn’t come, causing me worry from before he was even born. I don’t know what I ever done to deserve ‘im."

  “Aw mum, give over," Norbert was taking the scrubbed underpants from his mum and hanging them on a clothes airer. His eyes rolled as he looked apologetically at the group.

  “What you fiddling with there young lady?" Mrs Strang asked over her shoulder at Eva.

  She had slung a map of the city out onto the kitchen table.

  “I think it’s wise to look at the layout around the palace.“

  The frantic scrubbing abruptly stopped. Mrs Strang half turned from the sink to look at her.

  “Well I’m sure that’s right enough," she said slowly before turning back, “but I never went in for being wise. It never got our Norbert's pants clean, though to be fair, there ain’t much what does other than elbow grease and old Mrs Feegle’s kill all what she makes in her special bucket in Groop Street."

  Spencer decided he needed to do something. It was the smell. If ever there was something to spur someone into action it was being in a small room with a smell which combined the Brussels sprouts which were bubbling away in an enormous copper pot which sat on the stove, and of course the underpants. Spencer had spent the last few minutes trying to decide whether or not the foul looking garments smelt worse before or after the treatment being given to them by Mrs Strang, but had decided that he didn’t want to get close enough to decide. They needed to get out of here. They needed to get to Lisa. Spangler still hadn’t spoken and didn’t seem likely to. Spencer needed to do something. The trouble was the streets were apparently teeming with the Magisterial Guard’s men. All of them had been given pictures of the team and were on the lookout. According to Norbert’s sources, they were now enemy number one.

  Except... The authorities here wouldn’t have a picture of Spencer. Before they had left Esme had noticed that a team photo taken a week or so ago had gone from the hall wall. That’s the imag
e they had been circulating. Spencer wasn’t on it.

  “Right, you lot stay here, I’m going to check out the palace and see what security is like. They don’t know my face, so I can just blend in.” He looked at the map, tracing a route from where they were to the palace.

  “I’m coming," said Becky fiercely, standing up. Her chair screeched against the rough, flagstone floor and there was silence save for the slight sloshing of the filthy sink water as it settled as Mrs Strang stopped.

  “No," said Spangler. His voice was quiet, but Spencer could feel the effect in the room. It seemed his word was still law. Though Becky looked like someone who had just found a suspiciously curly, black hair in her soup. “Spencer is right, you will be recognised now, it’s too dangerous.”

  Spencer moved to the little wooden door and opened it. He noticed that nobody else had moved, including Becky. He stopped and turned back to look at her. She was clearly fuming. Her face was thunderous. Spencer couldn’t help it, he grinned at her before stepping out through the door. He couldn’t help it, she just looked so great when she was angry.

  ~~~~

  Spencer stood at the end of the wide thoroughfare as nonchalantly as he could. He was suddenly very aware that, although he hadn’t appeared on any wanted posters, he stuck out for another reason.

  He looked down at his duffel coat, t-shirt and jeans. Judging by the people he had passed on the way to the palace, this was definitely not normal attire for people in Alexandria. He was getting the kind of looks that suggested his attempt at being inconspicuous was not exactly off to a good start.

  The palace stood to one side of the wide avenue he was looking down. It was more squat and long than Buckingham Palace, but just as imposing. He had no idea how they would ever get in there. The walls were at least fifteen foot high, and ran the perimeter of the grounds in a large square around the main house. In the middle of the city, getting over that wall would not be easy unnoticed, even if you could scale it somehow. He looked towards the large gates which sat at the front of the wall as it met the street. Two guards were there lounging against the warm yellow brick.

  He needed to see what sort of security they had inside the walls, and the only way he was going to do that, was to get past those two guards and through the gate. He had spent the last fifteen minutes desperately thinking of something that would allow him in legitimately... and then he had it. He remembered that Lord Garsh was fond of cigars, and two streets back he had passed a small cigar shop. He smiled and turned back the way he had come.

  ~~~~

  Tony and Lance were two old pros when it came to guarding, which meant they had learnt, despite their mental limitations, that the best way to guard something, was to not move very much, and not notice anything. The beauty of this method of guarding was that it took very little energy, could be performed when slightly tipsy, and generally avoided any unpleasantness like having to deal with members of the public.

  For this reason, when a strangely dressed man started approaching the men, they didn’t move. In fact, they both markedly looked in the opposite direction, to ensure they would not have to engage with him. Unfortunately he didn’t appear to notice.

  “Hi there! How are you guys on this fine day?”

  The two men looked at each other. Finally, they turned to the man in the odd clothes. Tony was small and twitchy with the face of a weasel. His eyes were slits which darted left and right almost constantly, overall giving the impression that he was as slippery as an eel covered in lard. He opened the dialogue, which he hoped to conclude as soon as possible, as he needed another smoke.

  “Move along now mister.”

  “Now come on man! I need to see the big guy! He’s going to be pretty livid if I don’t deliver his cigars!”

  Tony narrowed his eyes even further, which was impressive given they were just slits to begin with.

  “Are you... American?” He uttered the word with reverence.

  “Yes I am sir! Bringing these cigars to Lord Garsh personal like!”

  “Well, maybe we could let you through, if you had a cigar spare?” his voice rose up in pitch, hopeful.

  “I fort we ain’t allowed to let no one frew?” The deep voice of Lance rumbled to the right of Tony. He was huge and shaped like a snowman, that is, like a large ball with a smaller ball placed on top.

  “Shut it!” hissed Tony. “I told you to leave the thinking stuff to me.”

  “Ok Tony.” Lance turned his head back out to the street where the vacant expression he had worn before returned.

  “Well I think I can spare maybe two for you!” The American said, and handed Tony a couple of cigars wrapped in paper. “Good day to you guys!” The man skipped off through the gates.

  “Dey don’t arf wear funny clothes dese ‘Mericans,” said Lance.

  ~~~~

  Spencer was in. He was still in disbelief that his terrible American accent had actually passed any scrutiny, even that of the two idiots on the gate. Now he was inside the walls though, he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. A few people crossed the yard, moving from one door to another on errands of some kind. Other than that, the space was empty apart from the far right hand corner, where a group of six men stood. These didn’t wear the bright red uniforms of the gate guards, these looked like thugs from the street. They must be the people Garsh had rounded up from the local gangs. From the look of them, these men would be more of a problem than the official guards.

  “I’ve been getting my smokes from Sven’s smokes from when I was a little boy, and I’d recognise their ten cent thins anywhere.”

  Spencer turned to see the skinny guard from the gate holding up one of the thin cigars he’d given him between two needle like fingers.

  “I don’t think you’re from America,” he said grinning.

  Spencer realised that that the guard was alone, the other fat guard wasn’t there. Then he heard a wheeze from behind, before a sharp crack landed on the back of his head and sent him spiralling towards the floor.

  12

  Jail Time

  “She has eyes like emerald seas. Her skin is pure and golden. She is nothing short of a goddess, and as soon as we get out of here I am going to do my best to be there for here in what must be a very difficult time for her."

  Spencer’s eyes were adjusting to the gloom and his brain was adjusting to Colin. Spencer had been here for about fifteen minutes so far, and Colin had not stopped talking from the moment he’d arrived.

  “She’s an incredible business woman as well, you should have seen the queue of people she had outside her stand! Of course, once I arrived she closed shop so she could focus on me.“

  “From what you’ve said, wasn’t that because she was luring you to be kidnapped?” Spencer interjected.

  “Well yes, the poor lamb. She must have been in quite a state over her father for her to have given me up like that. When we are free I’ll visit her and make sure she knows I bear her no ill will. Then I shall ask her father's permission to take her to lunch.”

  “Well if he’s anything like the version back home, then good luck to you. Look, lets start working out how we’re going to get out of here.”

  Spencer’s curiosity regarding the palaces dungeon facilities had unfortunately been sated by the fact that he was now in one. It came with all the features you would expect from a dungeon. Darkness, dankness, draughts... In fact, pretty much anything you could think of that started with ‘D’. Spencer was currently enjoying the dourness.

  He had regained his bearings somewhat now. After being clobbered over the head by something heavy and blunt, a black cloth bag was pulled over his head and he was dragged off along stone floors and eventually, down stone steps. He had now started feeling his way along the ice cold walls of the rectangular room. The light was a shade away from pitch black. A small slit in the stone at the top of the long wall opposite the door leaking in a tiny amount of daylight which was quickly swallowed up by the deep darkness (yet more ‘D’ words).<
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  “I’m afraid there is no way out other than the door, and that’s made of steel,” Colin said. “No, I’m afraid we’re here until we get a chance to overthrow a guard, take their weapons and fight our way to freedom.” He said this as though it was a run of the mill activity to him. Something to be checked off a list of things to do today.

  “That’s if anyone ever comes back," answered Spencer. “They might just leave us to...” He froze. His foot had just hit something. He bent down and groped in the dark to find the object. His fingers caught a smooth edge, they moved along and under it until he felt something leathery. The leathery thing moved.

  The human mind does funny things with darkness. It creates things within its hidden depths that are, as rule, unpleasant. When you then add in a sensory experience like touching something that was clearly alive, that had leathery skin, I think we can excuse Spencer for the rather high pitched yelp he let out as he jumped backwards.

  “Colin, is anything else in here with us?!”

  “No.” Colin said flatly. “Just us and the tortoises.”

  ~~~~

  Becky was currently stood on a toilet seat. She was craning up to look through the small gap at the top of the door of the privy in order to see if anyone was looking out of any windows from the house. The coast appeared to be clear. She stepped off the wooden seat and slowly opened the door. She slipped out, closing it silently behind her and scampered to the gate in the crumbling wall which separated the tiny, overgrown garden from the alley which ran along the back of all the houses. She slipped out and lent back on the door, waiting to hear any shouts from the house. There was nothing.