Picks poked through the edifice and finally a gaggle of dirty revolutionary miners stood in the entrance of a cramped mineshaft. They beckoned over and the pile of prisoners began shuffling into the maw, patted and supported by the arms of their fellow revolutionaries.
I beamed at Jacques. “You sly son of a bitch. We come in, knock out the guards and the coms, meanwhile the rest of you tunnel in through the back. Even if we fail, we cause enough of a distraction to get the prisoners out.”
“Ah, but we did not fail. Because of your stratagem, ve took zis post wiz ease.”
I massaged my bruises. I wouldn’t go that far, I thought.
He turned to go, his sister on his arm, but I halted him. It would be easy to be swept up in the celebration but I had to try to remember that I was not a part of them, that I had other business to attend to.
“Jacques, our deal. I help free your sister and you give me the location of the floury fiend, the crumby killer-the Master Baker!”
He looked at me sadly and bade me follow him. I ducked into the tunnel as he called over his shoulder at me. “I am sorry that vengeance still lives in your heart, friend. Zis means that you must part ways wiz us and that you face a foe as deadly as his cakes are delicious. But I am a man of my word, and the Baker’s purpose here is, according to our Benefactor, at an end. So if you choose”, he stopped at a fork in the tunnelled path, “You can take zis path here. It leads to a spiral staircase, and at ze top of that tower you will find ze man you seek. He will be preparing to leave, only staying long enough to see his plan executed, so you must hurry. The Hailstrom shower is almost upon us.” I moved to the mouth of that tunnel, but Jacques hand gripped my shoulder once more.
“Or you can come back wiz us. Return to our base and help ze revolution. We could use a man like you: you’ll return as a conquering hero, and more importantly, you will see ze next stage of our plan. It happens very soon and it is very exciting!”
I shook my head sadly at him.
“This is something I have to do. Good luck, my friend. May we both live to see each other again.”
We shook hands once more and before I sprinted down the tunnel, I cast one last look at the leader of the underground. He gave a little salute and kicked at the old wooden strut that was supporting the mineshaft. In a whoosh of rushing dirt, the roof of the shaft fell in, blocking any passage.
No going back now, I thought with a touch of panic. I made my shimmying way down the tight tunnel.
I emerged from the tunnel a minute later at the bottom of a set of stone spiral stairs that stretched up above me seemingly infinitely. My heart was pounding already, imagining what was set to meet me at the top of that climb. I put my foot on the first step and, shaking, started the long climb up to meet the Master Baker, and whatever that fateful rendezvous might bring.
It was dusk. It had been dusk recently but with a bunch of suns up in the air; who knew how many there would be today? Not me. Dusk always put me in a reflective mood. With nobody around to question and the investigation vexing me, I wandered down the corridor to the scene of the crime. Maybe I-or more likely Funkworthy-had missed something. Maybe I just needed to revisit the scene, maybe I was jonesin’ for a sandwich and wanted to smell the Queen’s last gassy eruption. Maybe I needed to dangle some more people from balconies until answers fell out. Too many maybes. I needed to clear my head.
Entering the feast room, I spied a familiar figure stood by the throne: Princess Hydrangea-well, Queen Hydrangea now, I reminded myself.
“Getting a feel for the throne, Your Majesty?” I called to her. She jolted, stirred from a reverie, smiled at me and beckoned me closer. Promising, I thought.
“Captain Hardcore, what a pleasant surprise. And no, I’m afraid this seat will always be my mother’s in my eyes. ‘Your Majesty’, ha! I still look over my shoulder when they say that to me.”
“Then may I call you... Delilah?”
She looked unsure. “Well... I don’t know why you would. My first name is Melia’ta.”
“Forgive me. Delilah was the name of the last queen I met. A striking woman, Queen of the Amazons, known throughout the universe for her beauty and ravishing sex appeal. She was a model as well as being a queen; eleven feet tall she was. We knew each other... very well. In this light I could have sworn she was you, m’lady.” I said suavely.
“You mistook me for someone eleven feet tall?”
“Melia’ta, you are eleven feet beautiful.”
“You flatter me, Captain.”
“Do I?” I whispered, closing the distance between us.
“Yes. Yes, you do.”
“Do I?” I asked, even more huskily.
“Yes.” She insisted with a degree of finality.
I squatted next to her, both of us sitting on the steps below the throne in the dying amber light.
“How goes the investigation, Captain?”
I would have reassured her, but in the quiet, with her lovely face peering at me, I could muster no bluster. “There is a point in every investigation when you run into a wall, but it can always be somersaulted over. I’m just looking for that one little piece of the puzzle. There’s something I’m missing. A key to unlock all of this. It’s close, though, I can feel it. But I promise you-I will find that Butler guilty!”
She looked puzzled for a brief moment. “Well... uh, good. That’s good. Here, maybe this will be that one little thing. It is a piece of pancake, I think. I found it down the back of my mother’s throne.” She gingerly handed me a small piece of pancake. There was a blueberry in it. It looked delicious. I could have eaten it there and then, but I controlled myself.
“I’ll analyse it on my space-computer”, I said.
“Your words are strange to me. What is this prefix ‘space’ that you put on everything?”
“Oh, that”, I chuckled fondly. “That’s kind of a human tradition. You see, we have a fine long history of literature on the subject of space exploration, before we even soared into the cosmos and widdled in the faces of the gods. These writers were fanciful people who speculated on life in the future: the same future I’m living in every day and riding like some crazy space-stallion. They had lots of words and possibilities for our future and they put a lot of thought into it. And we thought ‘fuck those guys’. So we just call everything a ‘space-something-or-other’. Sounds cooler anyway.”
“So your entire language is made up just to annoy some old writers?”
“Welcome to humanity, baby. See these?”
I waggled my boots in front of her.
“Space-booties. See this?”
I pointed to one of my medals.
“Space-medal. For space-bravery. See this?”
I pointed to my sidearm.
“Space-gun?” she ventured.
I laughed. “Ah, you fell into my trap. We’re not that predictable. This is my laser gun. But I call her ‘Pew-pew’.”
“After the sound it makes to shoot?”
“No, no. In honour of my first wife. Lovely woman, a robot. Had a titanium chassis and a heart of gold. She shot lasers out of her face. ‘Pew-pew’, she’d go”. I wiped at the corner of my eye, getting misty already. Damn sentimental old man, I cursed myself. “Made the best waffles this side of the waffle nebula. Her secret was lasers. She could fire them, you see, out of her face. Cooked those waffles perfectly. Lord, but I loved her. I miss her every time I fire my gun or eat waffles or fire my gun while eating waffles. So I miss her a lot.”
“That’s awful. What happened to her?” the Princess drew a little nearer to me.
“Oh, same old story, I suppose. One of the neighbourhood kids tipped her over into a river and she got all clogged up with mud. Never the same afterwards. In the end, there was nothing I could do but... return her. Coupons, not cash refund, as if it wasn’t bad enough. I was going to get a waffle maker with them, but that seemed disrespectful somehow. Thing of it is, in a way I blame myself.”
“No. You can’t. You can’t beat yourself up over that.”
“Can’t I? Can’t I? I keep telling myself if only I had got that extended warranty. If only I had waterproofed her. If only I’d loved her a little more, maybe she wouldn’t have got all clogged up with mud. Can’t go back”, I whispered. “Can’t go back....”
I lost myself in a poignant silence for a few seconds, before she broke it.
“You must think me silly, asking all these questions. Poor naive little girl.”
I shook my head at her. “Not at all. Few have travelled as far or as fast or as hard as me-Captain Space Hardcore.”
She blushed a little and dropped her head. “I have not travelled at all.” She confessed, “Oh, we have the technology and we take visitors but”, she sighed and shrugged, “tradition, always tradition. ‘Aplubia is pure and proud’ is what we say to ourselves. We mustn’t venture into the dirty dangerous depths of space, we must stay here in our old ways. And now I am Queen. What few dreams I had of rocketing through the black and setting foot on other worlds died as soon as my mother erupted. It is selfish of me to speak this way, I know, but when I was young I had such grand dreams. Oh, how I fantasized when I was a little girl of doing what you do, of seeing what you have seen. Tell me-is it wonderful up there, beyond the glittering roof of stars?”
“Wonderful, dangerous and dirty, baby. I’ve seen things your people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time... like tears... in a big bucket of... water....” I let the words hang there, echoing slightly in the empty marble hall.
“That was beautiful.” She marvelled quietly.
“Thanks, I made that up just then.”
“Do you think... No, it’s silly....” She trailed off.
“What’s on your mind?”
“In another world, in another reality, would you... take me with you? Up there past the Aplubian clouds? Out to the twinkling suns and into the black?”
“In a heartbeat, your highness. I’d blow Funkworthy out the airlock and you could have his bunk. I could show you such wonders. The giant crabs that live in the crab nebula, the space whales of the Aurora constellation and the brave men who harpoon them, the ruins of Earth and the robot armies that patrol it now... Ah, I’ve seen gods and scum, riches and squalor. I’ve seen beauties unparalleled in all of the systems ever known. Beauties unparalleled... until now”, I looked at her with my most sensual look. Even though I say so myself, my sexy banter was absolutely top notch. I admired her restraint.
She held my look for a long second and blushed. Scooting over to me, she laid her hand on my chest.
She whispered breathlessly to me, “I’m afraid that the hour grows late, Captain, and I grow tired. I must retire to my chambers now. But-”
“Yes?”
“I feel so safe around you. I wonder, if it’s not too forward-”
“It isn’t!”
“If you would mind accompanying me to my boudoir-”
“I wouldn’t mind!”
“And staying with me through the night?”
She looked at me, with those big brown eyes, like pools of chocolate surrounded by flaps of skin with eyelashes poking out. I’d have to play it cool, play it nonchalant.
“Point the way!” I yelled as I threw her over my shoulder and charged toward the nearest door
* * *
Chapter Fourteen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Deadly Confrontations
In which Space confronts the royal line about the Albino outcast’s true identity, Ebenezer plots how to break out of a time jail and a rumbling intensifies.
Dizzy.
I ascended the spiral stone staircase carefully, having eased my boots off to minimize the noise, but the combination of the tower's small diameter and height made the climb a disconcerting scramble. I dared not look down. At some point, I realized I was being driven on as much by the smell as anything else. There was a tantalizing aroma of fresh bread, cakes, croissants and clotted cream calling to me from above. I was getting close, all right. Even in these dire times, the smell of a fresh batch of baguettes was enough to revive my spirits. Truly, this man deserved the dread title of the Master Baker. Wiping stinging sweat from my eyes, I made toward the shape of the door at the top of the stair. I must have been miles up, I thought, breathing in the thin air.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I applied pressure to the wrought iron handle and the door swung open. I uttered a small prayer to the ancient god of doorframes and the clunky wooden door agreed to stay silent as it swung open. I fingered the two tasers tucked in my belt; they were still there, still ready, still electric..
The room was a magnificent loft, airy and bright. Lazy golden twilight beams of natural light were passing through the window picking out motes of flour hanging in the golden air, but I didn’t have time to enjoy the view. I just thought about how close to night it was-night and the Hailstrom comets. The sandstone floors and high wooden rafters gave the place a solid homely feel, and the bakery smells issuing forth from the hearth could easily lull one into a false sense of security. I would have lowered my guard slightly, had I not known that the secret ingredient this baker had brought with him was murder. And thyme.
I spied the man himself by an open window, setting some pies out to cool. As I watched him peer out of the high window overlooking the royal grounds, he opened a nearby attaché case and, in a few practiced movements, clacked together one of his murderous tools. Click, clack, fwack. When he turned round, he was wielding a huge, industrial-sized whisk.
“Bastard”, I muttered. What’s on the menu for tonight? A fresh batch of Aplubian royalty erupting like blood-filled popcorn from another dastardly assault?
It was now or never. I threw open the door entirely, banging it off the wall.
As he turned to me, I saw a brief flicker of surprise on his face, but he covered it well with a jovial laugh. He was a cheerily obese man; he looked like he’d been piped full of jelly and was more than delighted about it. His ruddy and ballooning cheeks seemed to be trying to block out his eyes, and his moustache left a trail of cinnamon in its wake as he moved his head from side to side. But his eyes told a different tale: they blazed full of the blackest hatred and death. I could see a soul as cold as the grave, as cold as murder, as cold as his cast iron whisk.
“Well, well”, he greeted me, cheerfully, “I had been warned that you were still sniffing about, little man.”
I sauntered into the room, taking in the surroundings. “Yes, you do seem to have some well-placed sources, Master Baker. We must clarify exactly where your information comes from”, I said lightly.
He waved his whisk at me and a puff of flour shot my way. He smiled as I jumped back from it slightly. “Nervy, eh? Oh, and please don’t feel the need to call me by that ridiculous title all the time, it’s so pompous. You can simply call me… Master.”
“I call no man Master, yeast-features, least of all a hired stove hand at the beck and call of some shadowy mastermind-some Benefactor.”
“Oh, you call no man master, eh?” he said, ignoring my jibe. “What about that lumbering buffoon in the cape? I knew I had nothing to worry about from his end. I could have ended him any time I wanted.”
“So what stopped you? Or should I say ‘who’?”
He circled round a little bit. “Ha! Persistent thing, aren’t you?” His frame shook with laughter, his belly wobbling like a hillock made of blancmange.
I sighed. “Can’t you see, Baker? You’re being played! After this caper’s over, they’ll hang you out to dry. You’re the patsy!”
“Don’t you mean pasty?” he fired back.
“… No, of course not. Someone who takes the fall is a patsy, a pasty is a-”
He blushed the blush of a man who had failed in a pun. “I know what a pasty is!” His hand ducked into his chef’s whites as if to itc
h himself. “You’ll get nothing from me, Funkworthy, unless you have an appetite for some… SAMOSAS?!”
His hand snaked out from his pocket with lightning speed, withdrawing a fistful of spicy snacks. Four of the triangular nibbles whistled through the air at me. Damn, he was fast. I ducked down instinctively and the first barrage cut through the air next to my head-too close. One embedded itself in the window frame next to me. The edge of another nicked the side of my head, drawing blood. Sharpened, reinforced pastry! Damn him. I slid the tasers out from my belt and pushed off my haunches as he reached in for another round of hors d’eath. As I gained my feet, he launched them and I spun through the air in a graceful plié. One of his samosa throwing stars sliced at my belly regardless. I was bleeding from two places already. Need to put him down fast, I thought.
I was within striking distance, but as I lunged he tossed a handful of flour up in the air. Self-raising, by the taste, and I was left thrashing around in a white cloud. I whirled and lashed out but I already knew I would hit nothing. He would be regrouping. I charged out of the cloud and scanned the room. He was gone. Despite his girth he was nowhere to be seen. Unless-
I looked up at the rafters too late. Dropping down from the heaving wooden slats, his shadow fell on me at exactly the moment that my blood chilled. He hit me like a tonne of bakers. His doughy expanses of blubber rolled over me. He got up a little and reached out for a piping bag that overflowed with fresh cream.
“Nooooo”, I yelled, but my scream fought with a torrent of dairy death as the piping nozzle was jammed into my mouth and a drowning river of whipped cream was ejected into my pipes. I saw his brawny hands emptying his bag into my mouth. I had always feared dying like this, though my therapist had assured me that that was unreasonable and that we should get to the ‘deeper issue’.
The Court of Crusty Killings: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure Page 15
