[Brenda & Effie 02] - Something Borrowed

by Paul Magrs

  ‘Who is this demon lord?’ Cleavis demands, still shaking him. ‘And if it was such a big deal, why didn’t they just have Tyler murdered? I know what the tongs are like. Couldn’t they have just sent trained scorpions? Or vicious baboon assassins?’

  ‘Sssh, Henry,’ I tell him. ‘He’s fading. Listen to what he tells us.’

  ‘I saved . . . I saved some pages . . .’ Freer gasps. ‘As insurance. I hid them in my desk, in my room . . . I don’t think they will have found them. Even when they came for me . . . and took me . . . they weren’t that thorough. I don’t think they found those crucial, missing pages . . . the pages about . . . about . . .’

  He can’t get the word out. Or, perhaps, he daren’t get the word out. I decide to help him, old Freer. I lean close and I gently whisper: ‘Goomba? Is that the word you want?’

  Freer goes rigid. The blood froths and bubbles out of his mouth. He shrieks: ‘Goomba! Goomba! Goomba must be free! Help him! Help him be free!’

  And then Freer jerks one last time. He sags and falls silent. We let go and take a step back. Cleavis brushes his hands as clean as he can get them. ‘I do hope he doesn’t rise again. We’ve got enough on our plates as it is.’

  ‘What do you think Goomba is?’ I ask, as Cleavis starts to pace gloomily around the room.

  ‘I think the answers are in those pages that Freer stashed away.’

  I pull them out of my bosom. ‘A lot of it’s gibberish, I think.’ I squint up, trying hard to read in this terrible light.

  And that’s when someone on the outside starts to clatter the locks and bolts holding us in. The heavy door squeals open and there’s suddenly more light. Henry and I turn, blinking, to face our captors.

  ‘Who are you?’ Henry barks. ‘What do you want with us?’ I know he’s trying to sound menacing, but there’s a squeak in his voice. A tinge of fright. The Chinese who are advancing on us through the open doorway can hardly fail to hear it. Meanwhile I’m tucking away the precious pages from Tyler’s book. Crackle, crinkle, down they go, back down my bosom. And God help any man who comes after them.

  One of the men starts barking at us: ‘You will come with us. Our master wishes to see you.’

  They’re about to manhandle us. They come towards us, ready to drag us out of the cell. But I’m in no mood now to be told what to do. My dander is up good and proper. Looks like it’s time for another punch-up. CLATTER and CRUNCH go the heads of the two closest Chinese. SMASH and POW go their fragile skulls against the damp brick walls. There seem to be dozens of them, suddenly! Crowding out this tiny space! Where the devil are they coming from? Whirling like dervishes. They’re kicking and lashing out, with all that fancy-dancing fighting they do. But Henry and I aren’t having any of that. CRUNCH! SPLATTER! POW! go more of their inscrutable little heads.

  And I’m out in the corridor. I’m out of the cell. ‘Henry? Where are you?’ SOCK! POW! ZOWEE! He’s nowhere to be seen. But I can hear him call. He yells out lustily and I know he’s doing okay for now. And I’m fighting a path through the hordes of—

  GOOMBA!

  The voice is back. It tolls inside my head like a colossal bell.

  ‘COME TO GOOMBA, BRENDA!’

  I am back in that epileptic stupor I went into before. Of all the times! Right here and now, in the midst of a punch-up! I try to gather my senses. I must do, or I’ll be overcome in this place. I’ll go under in this brawl and I’ll be killed in the stampede. I’m foolish for letting my guard slip for even a second—

  But I can’t help it. The voice is crying out inside me. Somehow it obliterates all other considerations. I have to follow it. I must obey!

  ‘Brenda! Brenda – where are you going?’

  Cleavis has glimpsed me turning away. I’m shoving all the little assailants away from me. Their blows rain down on me, but I brush them aside. It is as if nothing can touch me. And that’s how I feel inside. Impervious. My whole being is subsumed to some other purpose.

  ‘Brenda! What are you doing, woman?’

  Still Cleavis battles on. He’s flagging now. He’s not as young as he was. Within seconds he will be beaten, and these little men will have their way with him. His is a lost cause. And I am walking away, leaden as a sleepwalker, and as determined. I am deaf to his entreaties and his puzzled cries. ‘Brenda! What are you doing? Don’t leave me! Please! BRENDA!’

  But I have gone. I have stalked off down one of these dripping stone corridors. The Chinese have left me in peace. They don’t like the determined cast to my eye. They know I will murder any who stand in my way. Off I go, guided by my inner voice, and Cleavis is left behind.

  Left behind – for how long? How long before I see him again?

  But right now I let the thought of Henry drop from my mind. I walk and walk, deeper into this vile labyrinth. I pass the locked doors of other cells, behind which moulder the remains of much older and forgotten prisoners. They do not concern me today. I stumble on, zombie-like. On and on into the greasy, guttering lamplight. Until I stand before another wooden door, locked and shackled with rusted chains. There’s nothing special about this door. Nothing to make it stand out against all the others I have passed. But the voice inside my head tells me that this is the one. I have been led to it. I have a job to do here.

  ‘Here Goomba waits! Open the door! At last!’

  I raise both bloodied fists above my head. I can feel my strength flowing through me. I feel supernaturally charged. Impossibly strong. I have the barest of seconds to wonder what is happening to me. What has possessed me? And then I inflict the heaviest of all possible blows on this sealed door. The wood splinters easily at my touch. The bricks and mortar crumble. The rusty iron turns to powder. I step into the cell . . . expecting what?

  The recumbent form of some demi-god? The mysterious deity who has called me to his side?

  Is that what I expect to face?

  Yes, it is. I expect him to be sleeping here, like an exiled Satan. Like a Prometheus, bound to a rock. I expect him to be beautiful, terrible. And grateful.

  I step forward and what do I see?

  Leaves. Whispering leaves and millions of them. Glossy and sepulchral vegetation. There’s a sort of garden here, trapped underground. The dark cell is crammed with plant life and at first it’s hard to take in what I’m seeing. How does something of such lustrous, immaculate green survive down here in the gloom?

  The leaves are growing on thick spikes of bamboo and they rustle and rattle as I approach, as if a high wind was coursing through the room.

  ‘Brenda! Goomba! Brenda! Goomba!’

  The voice in my head has gone crazy. It will repeat only my name and its name in this raucous, triumphant shout. And I know now that the voice comes from this room, and its source is this plant itself.

  The bamboo is singing to me!

  I stand there, rapt with shock.

  ‘Goomba! Brenda! GOOMBA!’

  And I’m not at all sure what to do. I am spared from thinking about it any further by the advent of another noise. The sharp squeaking of the door through which I’ve just entered. A stealthy tread right on my heels.

  In a panic I whip round, and there is Alucard, all suave and smug. His collar stands high around his gleaming white face and he gives me a flash of those seductive fangs.

  Doesn’t do much for me, I’m afraid. He thinks that everyone is easy meat. Not this girl.

  ‘Beautiful, is it not?’ Alucard purrs.

  ‘Where’s it from?’ I ask him. ‘How did it get here?’

  ‘Goomba is from a very long way away,’ Alucard says. ‘Another world entirely. And my partner in this affair is very keen to prevent him escaping back to that world. He has need of him here.’

  ‘GOOMBA! ESCAPE! HELP GOOMBA, BRENDA!’

  I frown. I’m trying to block that ringing voice out of my mind, while I concentrate on what this dapper cadaver Alucard is telling me. ‘Why does your partner want him? It’s only a houseplant, surely . . .?’

  Al
ucard smiles. ‘Don’t play the fool, Brenda. Even you must sense that this being possesses great power. My partner believes he can tap into that cosmic might. And bring about his own empire on earth.’

  ‘I see,’ I tell him. ‘How dreary of him. And, um, who is your partner, eh? I don’t believe you’ve told me. I’m surprised to see you working for some other party . . .?’

  Alucard scowls. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ He makes as if to lead me from this cell where Goomba is kept. The leaves set up a fierce rustling, and the bamboo spears rattle like sabres. And to be honest, I’m a bit miffed at the way Alucard is speaking to me: as if he’s recaptured me. As if he’s in charge.

  So then I do something I’ve been hankering to do, ever since I first met him. I spring forward and punch him one, right up the hooter. POW. He wasn’t expecting that. Undead or not, I can still make him smart. His aristocratic neb gives a satisfying crunch under my knuckles. Alucard howls and jumps back. He’s still off his guard. I pursue, give him a shove and kick him in the balls. He turns into smoke. POOF.

  ‘Not fair!’ I bellow, pursuing him into the rank corridor as he disperses away from me. He hangs about like a noxious yellow gas. ‘Show yourself! Manifest! I haven’t finished yet!’ I don’t know where all this bravery of mine is coming from, but it’s pumping through my veins and I love it.

  Alucard is suddenly standing right behind me. He jumps as if to seize me by the throat. Ha! Swift elbow to the ribs, I think. Crrr-rack. He yelps. He’s useless! He’s not used to dames who’ll put up a fight. Now I’ve got hold of his cloak and I’m whipping it about and twisting it into a rope. Boot him up the arse as he goes spinning past. What a fop! What a softy! I never knew he’d be so—

  And here come the Chinese, dashing down the stairs. It seems like scores of them, coming to help Alucard. They’re on me! Jumping up and piling on. I’m weighted down by them. I brush them off and lash out, but there’re just too many. They’re laughing evilly, enjoying this. I think they’re going to kill me.

  ‘No!’ Alucard cries, still panting with exertion. ‘Don’t destroy her. Not yet.’

  I’m on the slimy floor, bleeding all over the place. I’ve had it now. I’m looking up into all these savage faces and they’re all mad keen to finish me off. In my head, the Goomba voice has receded and it echoes plaintively. ‘Free Goomba, Brenda! ’ But it is a hollow voice now. It knows that I am defeated.

  Alucard bends to sneer in my face. ‘You monstrous bitch,’ he curses. And he gathers me in his arms and sweeps me up into the murky air.

  We are flying through the tunnels. The fetid breeze streams past and I feel helpless now, held in the vampire’s arms. I am weightless and lifeless and now I hardly care where he takes me, and how he disposes of me. As we fly he suckles at my neck and perhaps, as the blood pumps out into his gasping throat, he is filling me up with poison, bile and despair. It really feels like that, as we spiral into bigger and bigger subterranean chambers, deeper and deeper under the capital.

  I feel I am utterly lost and all there is left for me is to be disposed of. A sack of body parts. Ill-fitting, ill-used. A creature that should never have been alive in the first place, dumped underground and left to rot at last.

  ‘My partner in this venture,’ Alucard whispers. ‘Here he is. It is too late for you, my dear. You will never have the pleasure of his company now.’

  He pops me on to a shelf of rock and – he’s had so much blood out of me now – I simply lie there limply, like an old dishrag. I am aware that we are in a vast stone chamber, lit weirdly in yellow and green. There’s a terrible reek of incense and drugs.

  Below, there is an opulent throne room. Ancient antiques sit hugger-mugger with banks of futuristic equipment. This is the secret base of Alucard’s partner. We are here in the heart of his wicked machinations.

  I long to be down there. I want to be confronting our enemy, too, alongside Henry. I want to be in on that final act.

  But Alucard is draining what feels like the last few drops of my stagnating blood. I can’t move. I am turned to sand, or stone. I’m lying desiccated here, helpless. Then off pops my attacker, sated at last.

  He forgets about me in a flash, and he soars down to be greeted by the savage-looking coot on the throne downstairs.

  ‘Alucard,’ comes a voice I have never heard before.

  The vamp lands gracefully beside him, lips still slobbery with my gore. ‘I am here.’ He inclines his head respectfully at his partner.

  A bald man in a satin nightie. Trailing moustache and eyes that blaze with a lethal understanding of how this savage universe really works. Alucard’s current partner in crime.

  Mu-Mu Manchu.

  And Mu-Mu looks furious. ‘Our secrets are escaping from us, Alucard. Goomba’s messages are seeping out into the world. He is asking for help. For release. Claiming that we are keeping him captive here.’

  ‘Well, we are,’ says Alucard.

  ‘But he is attracting the likes of this creature,’ snaps Mu-Mu.

  And, down there, kneeling before the might of these men-monsters, is Henry Cleavis. He’s in tatters and chains and he looks hopeless with his head bowed. He raises it slowly to glare back at Mu-Mu and Alucard. ‘Not just me,’ Cleavis spits. ‘Others. I don’t know what it is exactly that you two are up to, but believe me, it will be stopped. If not by me and . . . my friend, then others will come.’

  Alucard sneers. ‘You don’t even know what it is we are doing. And what friend? Brenda? That gallumphing beast woman?’ He chuckles, pressing his ghastly face close to poor Henry’s. ‘She is dead. I’ve sucked her myself. Drained her to the last drop.’

  Henry stiffens. ‘I-I don’t believe you!’

  ‘She was quite delicious.’ Alucard grins. ‘Something of a vintage.’

  Cleavis howls. ‘Nooo! Brenda! I don’t believe you! Where is her body? She can’t be dead! She’s escaped . . . She’s eluded you . . . She’s . . .’ And his voice breaks into gruff sobs.

  I want to call out to him. Henry! Henry, I’m here. Stranded on this ledge. Almost too weak to move. I can’t budge. I can barely breathe just now.

  ‘Enough of this!’ Mu-Mu cries in his harsh, grating voice. ‘Alucard, you bore me with your incessant appetite and vanity. We need focus on our main task. We need to gain access to Goomba’s secrets. Now that we have nearly all of the book . . .’

  ‘Shall I return to the university and take Tyler himself?’ Alucard asks.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mu-Mu murmurs. ‘And perhaps, to help us, we could enlist the services of our professor here . . .’

  Mu-Mu and Alucard round on Henry Cleavis.

  But Cleavis sits cowed no more! He leaps up, on to his feet. He shrugs off the ropes he has managed to untie. In a heartbeat he has a short, ornamental knife in his hand. It slashes and flashes on the murky air as he rounds on his captors . . .

  Yes! Henry! Do them in!

  Get them, Henry!

  Now the chamber is whirling about me. I have to pull myself together to do something to help Henry. And yet I can’t move. I can’t budge an inch to get myself off this ledge of rock. I am scraped and torn and I hang in tatters. Alucard has sapped me of all energy and volition. I might as well be dead. I am no use to anyone.

  The savage cries and clashes of the fight below are the last things I am aware of.

  The darkness reaches up to gather me at last. Oblivion, hopelessness. They catch up with me and claim me as their own. It is as if I give in to this despair quite gladly, and the scene below vanishes from my sight. It fades away as though someone blew out the candles.

  And what happens next?

  Time must pass. I lie there and lie there and then . . .

  I come back to life.

  I come bursting out of that useless, hopeless despair like a bat out of hell. I’m not finished yet. I have changed my mind. I am not ready to die just yet.

  I turn and I plunge towards the light. I come bursting back to the surface of myself and I s
truggle to open my eyes again. And—

  And.

  And I am too late.

  I return to consciousness and it is all over.

  This secret base is cold and dark now.

  Everyone has gone.

  I do not know what has become of Henry. Perhaps he is dead. At the last he will have thought I abandoned him. I could howl with rage and frustration at this as I sit up and stare down at the empty chamber below.

  And what about Goomba? His words no longer ring out inside my head. Is he destroyed, too? I can’t hear his interior voice. It no longer calls to me.

  All of these swarming, ebbing, fading thoughts are pushed aside as I get up on my feet. One thought alone starts to dominate my mind. My sense of self-preservation has taken over. That selfish instinct is so deeply ingrained in me that it is no surprise to me that, when my consciousness returns, I find that I am already running away. How much later is it? How strong am I? Can I survive long enough to get out of this place?

  I turn and I pelt headlong down the tunnel at my back, and into the sewers. The stench is indescribable. My senses swirl and I could easily lie down and die right here. But something drives me on. Life drives me on. My greedy desire for life and more life. Greed for this hideously prolonged life of mine.

  So my arms and legs move like pistons, even though the air rasps bloodily, searingly, in my lungs. Rats scatter at my pounding steps. I can see light, though.

  I can see—

  So . . . the story has it I lay like one dead at the open mouth of the sewer.

  They found me on the banks of the Thames, coddled in filth. Like a golem made of clay I lay there, with the precious spark of life just about extinguished. I had thrust myself out into the light and the relatively fresh air and I collapsed. Fish-belly white and bled almost to death.