by E. B. Huffer
Along one wall was a great counter ornately constructed from steel and marble. Sitting on top of it a large antique till. Margie had never seen anything so exquisite, its inner workings clear for all to see – cogs and wheels and dials and mechanisms, some of which were so small they were invisible to the naked eye. Margie ran her fingers along the keys of the till then ran her finger along the counter. A fine layer of dust coated the end of her finger. She could see from a gap in the boarded up window that it was light outside. But that was all she did know. The gloomy red sky made it impossible to tell what time it was. It could have been seven in the morning or seven in the evening for all she knew.
She crept over to the window and peeped through a crack. She could just make out a small cobbled street lined with shops. The shop directly opposite had originally been a Bakery (she could tell from the worn out sign above the shop door) but it was now a cobblers. The sign was hand painted and not as ornate as the original. A great mechanical shoe sat in the window sporting several arms like an octopus. Each arm had its own job to do and was equipped with either a polishing rag, a hammer or some boot polish.
Now that Margie had seen what was outside, she was desperate to get out. It all looked so normal and absurdly familiar. She suddenly felt very trapped in the Emporium and despite Auguste's warnings that people wanted to harm her she wasn't afraid. To the contrary, she was suddenly and inexplicably filled with rage. She resolutely scanned the shop for something to smash her way out. To hell with the noise. To hell with the bad guys. How could Auguste just leave her like that, boarded up like some medieval plague victim?
As Margie rummaged angrily through a box of axes, she felt an overwhelming sense that she was not alone in the room. The breath of someone or something passed close to her, virtually unnoticeable but enough to make the hairs on her neck stand on end.
"Hello," she ventured, sounding braver than she felt. "Who's there?"
Her voice disappeared quickly into the dense forest of junk.
"Auguste, is that you?"
The air in the Emporium suddenly felt thick with eyes and she quickly picked out a large chopping axe.
It wasn't long before Margie found herself standing on a cobbled street still clutching the axe. Blinded by the natural light, Margie struggled to open her eyes but they seemed to have a mind of their own and fought her efforts to open them. Even when she managed to prise them open a crack, all she could see were shadows.
Margie quickly steadied herself by pinning her back against the wall. For a second she allowed herself to relax, happy in the knowledge that her eyes would adjust quickly to the light. But all of a sudden through the haze she became aware of a huge figure standing over her. Like something from a nightmare, he appeared to be wielding a large bloodied cleaver. Margie didn't have time to react. In a flash, he grabbed her by the back of her neck - as though picking up a stray kitten - and darted into the building next door.
Margie struggled but The Giant squeezed her tighter under his heavily built arm. He pressed his other hand over her mouth and peered through a tiny crack in the door. A stench unlike Margie had ever encountered before raced up her nose like smelling salts. To her horror she realised it was coming from The Giant's hand the same hand that was covering half her face. Margie tried to cry out but gave up when The Giant's sweaty, offal-covered palm inadvertently forced its way inside her mouth. While her mind flicked, like an old fashioned train station departure board, through all the possible means of escape, Margie realised she was in a Butcher’s shop. A fresh wave of panic swept through her. Was she next on his chopping block?
Satisfied that the coast was clear and that no one had seen them, The Giant relaxed his grip. Margie immediately took a big gulp of air before ripping her lungs to shreds with an almighty scream.
Startled, The Giant dropped Margie to the ground. She landed inches from a small bucket of rotting offal. Margie (having inadvertently swallowed a mouthful of putrefying meat) frantically scuttled away from the offending item and wiped her mouth vigorously.
The Giant stepped back to observe Margie from a distance (as you would a dog you didn't quite trust) and waited. The Giant was tall, at least eight feet with shoulders as broad as cricket bats. His ruffled shirt was well-worn and hung off his frame as though it had once belonged to someone bigger and was only half tucked into a pair of heavy woollen trousers which were several inches too short.
Margie noticed a wrought iron butcher's hook lying on the floor nearby and quickly made a grab for it, brandishing it like a sword.
The Giant took a small step back.
"I ain't not looking for no trouble missy," he said softly.
The gentleness of The Giant's response took Margie by surprise.
"Your hands smell disgusting!"
The Giant lifted his hands slowly and studied them with shovel-sized eyes. He couldn't see anything untoward but wiped them on his apron anyway.
Despite his bulk and his heavy foreboding brow, he had a kind face.
"Sorry," he said. "I woulda washed 'em but Auguste said I had to make sure you didn't come to no harm."
Margie narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"How do you know Auguste? Where is he?"
The Giant shook his head sadly. "He jus' said he was goin' away and he would sen' someone when the time was right ... I think that's what he said." He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, screwed it into a ball and threw it in Margie's direction. "He gave this to me to give to you. It's yours. I don't want it back."
Margie reached for the paper and started reading. It was a note from Auguste. Margie read it several times before folding it up and shoving it down the side of her boot.
"Did you read it?"
"Nope, I ain't so good with reading."
"He said he was keeping a low profile because he didn't want to draw attention to my whereabouts," said Margie.
"That's what he said to me an' all. Said there were a lot of bad people out there all wanting a piece of the pie."
"Did he mean me?"
"I s'pose."
Margie sighed: "I just don't know why anyone would want me."
"He would'n tell me. I asked an all but he jus' said it would all become clear."
" I don't even know where I am. Are we in London?"
The Giant laughed. "You're in Limbuss."
"Where is that?"
The Giant stopped laughing. "I'm not sure exactly. But I know it's not nowhere near no London. It's not nowhere near anywhere."
Margie wondered if that's why it had been so quiet outside.
"I ain't never seen no one as excited as Auguste was the day you come to Limbuss and got whacked by that trolleybus," said The Giant. "I ain't never seen him so beside himself like he was that day."
Margie shook her head, exasperated by her lack of memory.
"I guess we just have to wait like he said then," she whispered, bringing her knees up to her chin.
"You okay?" asked The Giant stooping down slightly to get a better look. "I can fix you somewhere to lie down until we've got things figured out."
"I'd like that," said Margie. For a moment she contemplated The Giant. "Do you have to hold that thing?" she asked, pointing to the meat cleaver that he was still clutching.
With a swift flick of the wrist, The Giant lobbed the cleaver in the direction of the door. It took a fraction of a second for the knife to Catherine-wheel its way across the room before hitting its target, a large wooden door, with a loud thud.
Margie screamed.
"Oh, please don't be frightened," begged The Giant. He dropped to his knees and let his body sag, as though the worries of the world were weighing heavily on his shoulders. "I scared her," he scolded himself. "I told him I couldn' do it ... I told him."
Margie instantly forgot her fear.
"It's okay. Look." She plastered a ridiculous smile on her face. "What’s your name?"
The Giant shrugged grumpily. "I ain't go
t a clue. Been so long sin' anyone called me by my name. Most people jus' call me Giant."
"Well that's easy enough to remember," said Margie.
"What's your name?" asked The Giant.
It’s a question that Auguste had asked Margie a million times. And each time she had shaken her head despondently. But today, with barely any effort, she absolutely knew the answer. A mental arm had reached into that subconscious fog and pulled out the very essence of who she was ...
"Margie," she replied happily. "My name is Margie ... May ... Langley."
As she basked momentarily in the glow of finally knowing something about herself, she realised she felt something else. Something painful. Something sad. She couldn't quite grasp it. It was just a hair's breadth out of reach but she knew that Auguste wasn't the first person she had lost. And she had a funny feeling he wouldn't be the last.
The Visitor
Margie tried very hard over the next few days to remember more of herself. She had remembered her name. It had come to her the way the answer to a conundrum comes to you in the middle of the night. But she had no recollection of who she was or where she came from. She couldn't remember how old she was, her birthday, where she lived, whether she had any brothers or sisters. It seemed strange to her that she could speak and remember words, yet she had no memory of herself.
The Giant was kind enough to allow Margie to stay in the Butchery with him until they heard from Auguste again. While The Giant chopped meat in the back room, she made a little home for herself under the counter. A pillow to rest her head and a blanket were all she needed. Most important of all were the small rag balls that Margie stuffed up her nose to eliminate the malodour which had rendered her nauseous from day one.
Margie enjoyed watching The Giant. She liked the way he could cross the entire length of the shop in two or three strides, depending how busy he was. What a great thing to be able to do, she thought.
It saddened her, however, that he had to hunch so much on account of the low ceilings and felt sad when she saw him stretching and twisting his shoulders to ease the discomfort.
"Have you always chopped meat?" asked Margie one day.
"Not always."
"So what did you used to do?"
"A bit of this and a bit of that, it ain't none of no one's business" he said as he chopped the head off a pig emphatically.
Margie was intrigued by The Giant’s reluctance to answer her question but she didn't push him. He was sweet and kind, but she'd noticed that his mood could change from one moment to the next. One time Margie pushed open the door to the shop. She wanted to take a little look at the world outside but The Giant had screamed at her to shut the door. It became clear that The Giant had been given strict instructions by Auguste to keep Margie hidden from the outside world and he was vehemently abiding by those instructions. After finding her at the door, The Giant had sulked for several days until, sick of the mood, Margie said: "What did the fish say when it swam into a wall?"
"I ain't never heard of no fish swimming into no walls before."
"Dam! Get it?"
The Giant didn't laugh, but the spell was broken and moments later, The Giant bounded over to Margie. "Look at this," he said showing her how he could touch his right elbow with his right hand. "Bet you can't do that!"
"Bet you I can't," said Margie, pleased to finally have her new friend back.
And so it was that time passed with not very much to report. One day was much like the next: a special knock on the door followed by a delivery of carcasses, many of which Margie couldn't even identify. With nothing else to do but wait for Auguste's return it wasn't long before she knew her primary cuts from her secondary cuts; her sweetbreads from her sweetmeats; her pluck from her lights and most importantly her butcher's knife from her cleaver.
Then one day there came a loud, hard banging at the door. It wasn't a knock they recognised.
The noise rendered Margie and The Giant motionless for what seemed like an age until a voice shouted: "Official business. Open the door."
The Giant motioned for Margie to hide under the counter. "Who is it?" he called out as breezily as his nerves would allow.
"I have an official warrant to search your premises. Open the door."
The Giant froze, clearly terrified. "It's okay," mouthed Margie reassuringly and motioned for him to open the door.
The Giant opened the door a crack and found himself confronted with a huge heavily browed man wearing a lengthy black jacket and the tallest top hat he had ever seen. He had long hair and a beard, which he plaited under his chin. On his back he carried a monstrous looking contraption with all manner of valves and instruments. The device was attached to a heavily armoured arm plate with a great claw on the end, which gave the man the appearance of a lobster. In his claw he held a poster which The Giant couldn't see very well. Next to the lobster man stood a smaller, less intimidating character with white skin and hair.
"I ain't seen or done nothing to no one," said Giant.
The man pushed open the door using one foot. The Giant stepped aside nervously as the officious looking creature entered the Butchery with an awkwardly stiff gait. The little white character remained outside, looking left to right.
Once again the lobster man held a poster up in front of The Giant's face.
"Do you know the whereabouts of this man?"
The Giant studied the poster for a moment or two longer than he needed to, then shook his head numbly.
"Are you sure about that?"
The Giant stared up at the ceiling and wiggled his fingers nervously. "I ain't seen him since he went away."
"How long ago was that?"
"He ain't done nothing to no one."
The official looked at the poster. "I didn't say he had. I just want to know where he is."
Peeking through a small crack in the counter side, Margie could see that The Giant's answers were being recorded by the contraption on the official’s back.
"I can see that you're busy, so I won't keep you," said the lobster man. "But just so that you're aware; there is a reward for any information you can provide on his last known movements."
"What kind of reward?"
"Anything you want," said the official. "Anything that your heart desires." He said the last bit pointedly, like he knew something about The Giant that he barely knew himself.
The Giant turned his back on the official. It was clear that he was fighting something within himself. A temptation.
"I tell you what, Giant, I will leave this poster here and you can have a think about it."
The lobster man dropped the poster on the floor next to Giant's feet. "Oh, and if you have information on the girl too I will personally see to it that you are reunited with your Siamese freaks.
The Giant spun around. "You're a liar!"
But the man had gone.
The Giant slammed his fists into his temples and howled like a wounded animal before collapsing to the floor.
Margie crept out of her hiding place and upon seeing that the coast was clear, hurried over to where The Giant was sobbing in a great helpless heap.
"What is it?" cried Margie, "why are you crying?"
But The Giant was unable to answer her.
"What did he mean by Siamese freaks?" asked Margie.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Margie spotted the poster and her chest tightened. Snatching it up she studied it for what seemed like an age. It was the first time she had seen what happened on the day of her accident. The image, clearly taken from the window of a nearby building showed the Gravitonius lying on its side; a crowd of people; Auguste and a young woman lying on the cobbled street looking half dead. Her hair was wet and strewn across her face whilst her broken body lay at an awkward angle. Margie was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness, not just because of the image of Auguste, but because she hadn’t realized quite how serious her accident had been. The Gravitonius was huge. At least eighteen feet tall and forty fee
t long, and surely weighing several tonnes.
Written across the top of the poster was the word WANTED. And beneath that, the word REWARD OFFERED.
The Giant shook his head. " It ain't right. You gotta watch your back. Sooner or later they'll be back and they ain't gonna be so friendly next time."
"Who are those people?"
"We call 'em Feelers. They get money for finding people for those in power."
"Bounty hunters?"
"Something like that."
Together the two of them sat side by side, each lost in their own bubble of sadness until Margie eventually broke the silence.
"Giant. What do you know about Auguste?"
The Giant beamed. He knew a lot about Auguste. Everything in fact. And he was only too happy to share this knowledge with his new found friend.
"He ran the Emporium next door selling everything. There were nothing he didn't have. Nothing. People came from all over the city and all sorts because they knew they could find what they needed at the Emporium. Not only that, Auguste were a genius. Could make anything from other peoples' rubbish – robots, houses, statues ... People paid money to come and see them and there weren't a question on how to build things that he didn' have an answer for. See, that were his downfall. When Torquere took over the running of Limbuss, he forced him to build them Dog Beasts, an army of mechanical dogs that terrorise everyone in Limbuss. It were the ruin of him. People found out he were the one what had created them and stopped coming to him. The Emporium suffered. He ended up hiding himself away. He locked himself away in the Emporium and started collecting, collecting, collecting. He wandered the streets collecting old bits of metal and junk. Stuff he thought one day someone might need. But no one ever did."
"Why are they looking for him?"
The Giant shrugged "cause of you?"
Margie looked at the poster again. What was that? She studied the poster closer then shrieked with excitement. "Giant, look!" The Giant studied the poster.
