All in all, it was a mixed bag and seemed to be purely dependant on your geographical location. And along the way, as the Empires crumbled and they moved away, other unconnected Gods began to appear or re-appear. The original, pre-Italian, Pagan Gods of old Albion began to make a resurgence. Albion’s religious freedoms became prescribed in law, so it meant they were free to be worshipped again without persecution. In fact it seemed that anyone could just make up whatever religion they like and preach it. The trouble was, as well as perfectly sensible Gods like the Gods of medicine, fertility and nature, other obviously made up ones began to creep into the pantheon. ‘Minty’, the God of sweets, ‘Sandy’, the God of deserts, ‘Visa’, the God of shopping and ‘Adidas’, the God of sport. But due to the tolerance of modern Europe, all were allowed to peacefully co-exist alongside one another.
Cobb didn’t follow any particular religion, only going to the temples when there was a wedding or a funeral. In fact, he’d never even believed in any Gods until he had met Harlequin. Once Cobb saw the things he could do, he was prepared to admit that he was an agent of the Gods. So that proved that they did exist. But he still didn’t have to worship them. That was also religious freedom, the freedom not to believe if you felt that way.
***
The rest of the journey was uneventful. It was another two-day journey to Banbar where they stayed overnight and then, after one more overnight camp halfway between Banbar and Cofatree, they finally arrived, eight days after setting out from Londis.
It was around mid-day when they arrived. Cobb accompanied Tom to his shipping yard. Tom asked around amongst the other carters of his acquaintance but none of them would be going that way in the next day or two, so Tom helped him out by swapping another of Cobb’s gold nuggets for some ready cash and finding him an inn to stay at for the night. They said their goodbyes in a friendly manner. Cobb couldn’t blame him for the way he was; everyone here was like that, it was the way they had been brought up, so it wasn’t Tom’s fault. It was dangerous to think for yourself and stand out from the crowd around these parts.
Next morning Cobb persuaded the inn to fill up his satchel with food and water, and then as there was no transport available, Cobb set out on “Shank’s Pony”. He left the town, heading northwest, on the road signposted Brimidgham 19 Miles.
As he trudged along the road, he wished that Columbine had been more accurate in her information. She said the only thing she knew about Harlequin’s whereabouts was that he was being held in the capital. Naturally they had assumed it was in whatever the equivalent of Londum was (Londis as it turned out). If he had known that it was actually Brimidgham, he could have simply caught the train to his Brimidgham and jumped from there. Ah well.
Boy, he could do with a good meal and a brandy or two. Not to mention a bath! He had only managed an all over body wash when they had stopped at the inns. Only a face wash when they had camped out. And to make matters worse his boots were still chafing him where they rubbed.
He had gone about five miles when it started to rain, heavily. He trudged along for a few miles more, getting wetter and wetter until he spotted the remains of an old barn. Half the roof was missing but he managed to find a dry spot with cover overhead. He couldn’t find any dry wood to make a fire (Adele, may the God’s bless her, had included some matches in the satchel) so he just had to huddle down in his overcoat and make himself comfortable.
***
It rained all that day and night. Only when he awoke next morning did he see that the rain had cleared up and the sun was trying bravely to poke its head through the clouds.
He still had some food left but he had finished all his water the night before, so as he tramped along the muddy track he tried to find some fresh water. Although there were large puddles everywhere, there was none fresh to drink. He had found a stream but the flooding from the rain had filled it with broken twigs and leaves and other debris and it looked thoroughly unappetising, so he left it alone. Not before he had fallen in it though, he went in up to his waist and managed to cover himself with mud, getting out.
Rufus Cobb, boy adventurer, huh! he thought to himself as he poured muddy water out of his boots. Sometimes I think I really shouldn’t be let out on my own.
He couldn’t help thinking about food as well. He still had some things to eat in his satchel but if it rained heavily again and he had to take shelter for another night, it wouldn’t last him. He wondered if there were any fish in the stream. There was only one snag though … Cobb couldn’t fish to save his life. He had always thought that sitting on a damp riverbank trying to outwit a fish, was one of the most useless ways ever invented to pass time. Followed closely behind by watching cricket. So, using his outdoor, woodsman skills to survive wouldn’t be on the programme, he thought to himself as he walked the road, his wet boots squelching at every step.
So it was that a few hours later, wet, muddy and very thirsty, he happened upon a sign that said Wellspring Farm. ‘If anybody’s got some fresh water it had better be them or I’m going to sue for misrepresentation,’ he muttered to himself.
He walked up the pathway leading to the farm. It brought him out to a large grass square, bordered on three sides by buildings. The U shape of the three sides had the farmhouse in the middle, a barn on one side and a stable on the other.
The buildings looked rundown and in need of repair but they were clean. The door and windows of the farmhouse were freshly painted and there were flowers planted along the front wall. Cobb could see a horse poking his head through the stable door. In the centre of the square there was a round, brick well. Standing by the well was a woman, heaving on a chain that went down into its depths.
Ah … Wellspring Farm, thought Cobb.
The woman worked on the chain, oblivious to Cobb’s presence. Cobb, not wanting to alarm her, began to edge slowly around her until he would come into her peripheral vision. Strangely, something seemed familiar about her. How could that be? The breadth of her shoulders, going down to her narrow waist, the way she stood when she braced herself to haul on the chain, Cobb felt that he knew her well and if she turned around he would recognise her face.
The bucket on the chain appeared to stick on something and the woman leant forward and looked down into the well. As she did so, a lock of golden hair came loose from under her cap and hung down. Oh no, thought Cobb, it can’t be … that would be too cruel.
Cobb next step was into a puddle and as he went, ‘SPLISH!’ the woman heard him and looked round sharply. Cobb found himself looking into a pair of incredible blue eyes and a face that he had always found so beautiful that it had the ability to take his breath away.
It couldn’t be … it was Esme! It was his dead wife … Esme!
Spitting Image
They both stood there for a moment, transfixed, each as stunned as the other by what they were seeing. Then with a cry of ‘Rufus!’ the woman ran to him, threw her arms around him and kissed him, long and hard.
God’s help him, Cobb responded. He couldn’t help it; it was just an automatic reaction. This was the woman he had loved and then lost, so long ago.
Finally the woman came up for air and she looked deep into his eyes. Cobb just stood there, dumbstruck. Then a look of doubt came into her eyes, her forehead wrinkled as her eyebrows drew together. She let go of him and stepped back. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. Reaching behind her she picked up a pitchfork that was leaning against the well.
‘You’re not my Rufus … what are you … some kind of demon in his shape?’ she cried.
‘Er no, wait it’s not like that, let me explain,’ he tried to calm her. ‘You’ve got the wrong idea-’
WHACK! She swung the pitchfork and caught him on the side of the head. He was taken totally by surprise and reacted too late to defend himself.
‘OW!’ he yelped. ‘You don’t have to do that-OOF!’
She jabbed him in the stomach with the butt of the pitchfork and he dropped to his knees.
‘Now tell me who you are demon, you’re not Rufus Cobb!’ she demanded.
‘I am Rufus Cobb,’ he insisted, ‘I’m just not your Rufus Cobb.’
‘Liar!’ she cursed him and swung the pitchfork at his head again.
Cobb, dizzy and disorientated from the previous blows was completely unable to defend himself from the assault. His arms dropped by his side and he slurred, ‘I think I’m losing consciou-’ THUD.
He fell on his face in the mud and passed out.
***
SPLASH! Cobb jerked awake as the contents of a bucket of water hit him in the face. He shook his head (which was a mistake as it was very painful) and looked about him. While he was unconscious Esme had dragged him into the barn and he was now sitting upright with his back against a wooden beam, with his hands tied behind him, around the beam. Esme sat on a barrel facing him, out of reach of his legs.
She sat there staring at him, the empty bucket in one hand and the pitchfork in the other. She put down the empty bucket, took the pitchfork in both hands and held it to his throat so that the centre prong pressed lightly against his Adam’s apple.
‘If you’re not a hell-spawned demon and want to live past the next thirty seconds, I suggest you tell me who you are, what you are doing here and why you look the spitting image of my dead husband,’ she told him, coldly.
Cobb was having trouble focussing and wasn’t thinking too clearly so he blabbed out the truth. ‘I’m not a demon, I’m just a traveller. I come from … somewhere else … and I am Rufus Cobb.’
‘How can that be? Rufus Cobb is dead and buried these three years past. How can you be him?’
‘I’m not him, I’m me but I am Rufus Cobb.’
‘You think to confuse me with your nonsense talk? How can you be him but not be him? Do you take me for a fool?’
‘No, not at all.’
She pushed the pitchfork just a little deeper into his throat and he felt it press uncomfortably on his Adam’s apple. ‘Then explain what you mean.’
‘Okay I’ll tell you. I’m from another place, a long way away, it’s identical to this place. Everything is the same as here. The land, the language, even the people are the same too.’
‘You mean you look like us, what’s so unusual about that?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. I mean we are you. Where I come from there is … was, an Esme too. She looked exactly the same as you. Her hair, her voice, everything. And there is a Rufus Cobb as well, that’s who I am. I’m that identical person to your Rufus Cobb.’
Esme took the pitchfork away from his throat and sat there staring at him. What he was saying was unbelievable to her ears but he didn’t seem to be in any condition to be lying to her, he was barely conscious. But then, a demon would appear not to be lying as well.
She knew all about demons. The local priest was always preaching Fire and Brimstone, Hell and Damnation. Always on about how the world was brimming with demons who lay traps to trick and confuse the unwary and lead them from the straight and narrow, away from the path of righteousness. (Privately she had always doubted there actually were such things as demons but how else to explain this man who was the mirror image of her dead husband? She figured the priest must be right, after all and demons did exist.)
Right, that’s it, she thought, demon … kill him.
She stood up and drew back the pitchfork, ready to strike.
‘No, wait!’ begged Cobb. ‘Don’t do this … look, I’m telling the truth. You … you have a birthmark above your left hip! It’s shaped like a strawberry!’
That made her pause; she did have a strawberry shaped birthmark above her left hip. Of course that didn’t mean anything, if he was a demon he could easily have spied on her as she undressed. Nevertheless, she was intrigued. She relaxed from the strike position but still kept a firm hold on the pitchfork.
‘Tell me more about this place you come from.’
Cobb paused; this was going to be the tricky bit, getting her to believe him. Well, he had started telling the story; he might as well finish it.
‘It’s an alternate Universe, a parallel dimension, another world, I’m sorry I don’t know what else to call it, I’m not too good at the science. Apparently there are many of these alternate Universes, a Multiverse they call it. They exist one on top of the other. If you could go from one to another as I have done, you would see that every dimension is similar to the one next to it. They are all copies of each other … and judging by you … that applies to the people too.’
‘Did you not know this before?’ she asked.
‘No. Everywhere I have ever been, I’ve never stayed long enough to get to know any of the people, I didn’t realise the people were the same until I came here. Somebody told me about Witchfinder Grindle.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, we have one too, I’ve met him.’
‘So how come nobody here knows about these other dimensions, Universes, whatever you call them.’
‘I’ve no idea, we know about them where I come from, either your people don’t know or maybe the government is hiding it from you.’
Esme didn’t say anything but looked off into the distance and slightly nodded her head as if agreeing with him.
‘Do many of your people travel between these different places?’ she asked him.
‘No, to be honest I’m the only one that can, as far as I know.’
‘What makes you so special?’
‘I have no idea. Bad luck, cursed by the Gods, who knows.’
‘So, how do you do it, how are you able to travel from one to another? Is it Magick?’
‘No, I have no Magickal powers. Somebody explained it to me once. It’s all to do with Science. Apparently your world and my world vibrate at different frequ- er … speeds. I can change the speed of my body and change from my world to yours.’
Esme thought for a moment, ‘So, why are you here?’
‘Like I said, I’m just a traveller, I’m in your world by accident, I was just passing through.’
He thought it best not to go into too much detail until he really knew the lay of the land. If he couldn’t convince her she may well turn him over to the authorities.
Esme sat and stared at him for a while. ‘A man from another world,’ she muttered. Then she stood up, picked up the bucket and walked out of the barn. She came back in a short while with a full bucket. She put it down beside Cobb, put her hand into the bucket and pulled it out holding a cup full of water, which she held to up to Cobb’s lips so he could drink. He guzzled it down and accepted a refill, which he eagerly drank. Esme put down the cup and returned to her seat on the barrel, still clutching the pitchfork.
‘You said that there was also an Esme where you came from … not is but was. Tell me what happened to her.’
‘No, you tell me about Rufus Cobb.’
‘I’m holding the pitchfork.’
He couldn’t argue with that logic. ‘Fair point. She was … my wife,’ he began, haltingly. She died nearly six years ago in an accident.’
‘How did she die?’
‘What difference does it make?’
She waved the business end of the pitchfork in his face. ‘Tell me!’ she ordered him.
‘I killed her, all right? It was my fault she died, are you satisfied?’ he said bitterly. ‘Esme … my Esme and I were walking in the park and a horse bolted and ran towards us. I didn’t think, I just reacted, I grabbed her and jumped to another world. But at the last second she turned away from me and I lost contact with her, I left her behind. I went back as soon as I could but … it was too late. The horse had … she was already … it was too late,’ he repeated, hoarsely.
Of course in time, he’d got over it and even started a new life with Adele but seeing Esme, here in the flesh again, brought all the grief from that time that he had successfully buried for so long, back to him. He let his chin drop to his chest as he couldn’t meet her eyes and he was powerless to stem the flow of te
ars as the memories came flooding back. She offered him another drink of water but he just shook his head, unable to speak.
Wordlessly she went behind the beam he was tied to and untied his hands. He drew his knees up, rested his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands.
Esme sat back down on the barrel and let him have a few minutes to pull himself together. Eventually he wiped his face, cleared his throat and looked at her.
‘If what you tell me is true then it wasn’t your fault,’ she said.
‘Yeah, that’s what everyone tells me. Maybe one of these days I’ll believe ‘em.’
She stared at him for a moment. ‘Well, look at us … aren’t we a pair?’ she said drily. ‘I’m mourning a dead man who looks like you and you’re mourning a dead woman who looks like me. Funny old world, isn’t it?’
He nodded and she went on, ‘So what happened then?’
‘Then, I went on the bottle for five years.’
‘On the bottle?’
‘Booze … alcohol. You know, drinking.’
‘Ah, alcohol, yes I have heard about that. The Devil’s Water we call it. We don’t have that here and quite rightly, too.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, I drank myself stupid for five years and I was heading for an early grave but then the impossible happened, I met someone new who gave me hope again. She made me believe that I could actually be happy again with someone. Her name’s Adele, she gave me a new lease of life. I guess I owe my survival to her.’
Esme stood up and looked down at him with those incredible blue eyes. She held her hand out to him. ‘Come on, come with me into the house.’
The Londum Omnibus Volume One (The Londum Series Book 4) Page 56
