Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom Page 12

  You accept all this strangeness around you, because you don’t actually feel part of it.

  You have little understanding of other people’s emotions.

  You worry what people think about you, despite acting as if you don’t care.

  You have no clue to your heritage, despite it being obvious.

  You underestimate yourself. For example you do not realise you are the factotum of the most important man on the planet.

  So:

  White woodwork.

  Pastel shades of yellow and green.

  Dark blue for the furnishings.

  Oak floorboards, tile in kitchen and bathroom.

  Gym with free weights and a punch bag.

  Slate fireplace.

  Walk in shower, no bath.

  Sunken Jacuzzi in bedroom.

  Large picture windows with views down the valley.

  A full wall of bookshelves.

  Beardsley prints in Art Nouveau frames…

  How am I doing?’

  ‘Erm…’ said Fergus.

  ‘I think I can lay my hands on a real Bearskin rug,’ said Painter nodding his head.

  ‘But, that’s not-’

  ‘I know, I know. Not ethically sound. You like the idea, but worry what people with think. Fuck em. What can you do with a dead bear? Hmm… I’m missing something. Let me think a moment… Of course. The sword. Always a personal choice.’

  ‘What? What sword.’

  Painter put both hands on his hips and stared at him.

  ‘You haven’t a clue, have you? You stand in this wonder world of the new and dangerous like a gormless tourist. You’re chosen out of all people to join this fabulous adventure and you can’t be bothered to open your eyes.’

  Painter stepped forward and slapped Fergus’s cheeks with both hands.

  ‘Wake up!’ shouted Painter.

  Fergus stood looking bemused and annoyed. Painter’s anger subsided and he tilted his head to one side.

  ‘Look Dorothy, you’re not in Yorkshire anymore.’

  Enoch sniggered.

  ‘This place is dangerous; real live, end up dead dangerous. You need to defend yourself and the weapon of choice is a sword.’

  ‘Yar. Never runs out, never jams, always frightens,’ said Enoch.

  ‘So, what sort of sword do you want?’

  Fergus stood for a moment and thought about what Boadicea said and Dave wrote in his book. He looked up at the huge figure of Enoch and slowly turned surveying the allotments. Finally returning to the pity on Painter’s face. He made a decision.

  Fergus reached behind his head and pulled out the katana. He presented it to Painter.

  ‘Can you get me something like this?’

  Painter bowed slightly and took it in both hands. He examined the scabbard and then slowly pulled out the sword. He turned the blade gently examining the edge and watching the sunlight reflect off the polished surface.

  Painter handed the scabbard to Fergus and took three quick steps backwards. He raised the katana into the classic guard position. Legs spread wide, slightly crouched. Slowly he whirled the sword, left and right, hardly moving his arms. Then suddenly he leapt forward, the blade blurred with a whistling sound and stopped dead in the same guard position. Then Painter danced. The movements fluid and controlled, the blade moved so fast it was invisible, except the flashes when it caught the sun. He whirled and pivoted about the courtyard, leaping, crouching, in one long continuous movement.

  Suddenly Painter stopped, the sword held again in the same guard position.

  Enoch applauded and bowed to Painter. Painter bowed back and presented the sword to Fergus handle first.

  ‘Nice sword,’ said Painter, ‘I know where I can get one nearly as good, Dave will bleat about the cost of course, but a good sword is worth it.’

  Fergus looked Painter straight in the eye.

  ‘Thank you Painter. I’d be honoured if you furnish my apartment. Sometimes I don’t realise how lucky I am.’

  ‘Too right. I would give my left testicle to be where you are now, except for the pink latex o’course.’

  Fergus sat in a high backed wicker chair on the veranda of the pavilion, enjoying yet more of Dave’s excellent Irish whiskey. The sun was just setting, casting long shadows and occasionally dazzling the eye. Dave, after a brief argument set up the Go board with a nine stone handicap, the stakes upped to ten pounds.

  ‘I met Painter today,’ said Fergus, ‘He seems highly efficient and insightful. Surprising he is merely a painter and decorator?’

  ‘What’s merely about being a decorator? Challenging job is that.’

  ‘He handles a sword like a Ninja.’

  ‘Everyone has their hobbies.’

  ‘He insisted I get a sword.’

  ‘Oh aye?’

  ‘He considered it an essential household item for residents of the allotments.’

  ‘He’s got a point. I keep a pair of Claymores over the fireplace. You never know when something unwelcome might arrive.’

  ‘He also seemed a little bitter about me being here.’

  Dave sighed.

  ‘Yes, I can understand that too. Painter always felt he should have more of a role in managing the allotments; a sort of factotum if you like.’

  ‘But you don’t agree?’

  Dave nodded.

  ‘Afraid so. Talented is Painter; clever, good with sword and paintbrush. Can scrounge anything, could find a ham sandwich in a synagogue that man. But he cares too much. All indignant anger and angst. He wants to break the world and re-build it closer to his own design.

  I can’t let a man like that get close to tools that would let him do it. Our world isn’t perfect; it is unfair, messy, and chaotic. But it’s better than anything humans could consciously design.’

  ‘And me? Am I your factotum?

  Dave frowned.

  ‘No. Not a factotum, though that’s probably what I need. I suppose apprentice would be a better description. I never intended things to turn out this way. It was accident and pragmatism. But I am happy with the way things are going and I think it best that we just get on and see how it all turns out.

  I tried a couple of times to enlist a factotum, even a few apprentices. But none of them had the empathy to work with our visitors.’

  ‘So I have empathy?’

  ‘Oh yes. You passed the Roof spider test with flying colours and didn’t get riled by the Palaver, annoying though they are.’

  ‘So you tested me, but didn’t have the good manners to let me know?’ said Fergus.

  ‘It’s not like that Fergus. They were all things that needed doing and you had to cope. And you did, but it’s the dogs mainly.’

  ‘I’m surprised, they seem aloof and uninterested.’

  ‘The dogs cast a long shadow. They funded the creation of the allotments and I’m pretty sure most of our visitors are here because the dogs guided them. So anyone who manages these here allotments must get on with the dogs.’

  ‘Like you do?’

  ‘Aye, that would be good. The long years have forged a little mutual respect. With you though it’s… They think you’re funny.’

  ‘What? I’m just a joke to those furry, Machiavellian, little –’

  ‘Hold hard a minute. They think it’s funny the way you cope with your misfortunes. Think Marx Brothers, not Three Stooges.’

  ‘Oh great. Which one am I, the idiot with the bad wig?’

  ‘Calm down. They just find tragedy amusing. When you were crumpled in the rugby match, they were laughing so much they could hardly run straight. If injury time hadn’t lasted so long, Enoch and the boys would’ve flattened them.

  Anyway, because they find you funny, they like you. And you treat them with respect. From the first moment you met them, you treated them like intelligent beings. You have no idea how important that was. If you’d treated them like normal dogs, you’d have
lost their approval and probably your testicles too.’

  ‘So I get a vote of confidence from our doggie overlords?’

  ‘Nah, with them it’s more keeping all your body parts.’

  Fergus grinned.

  ‘Any road, I was impressed with the supplies,’ said Dave, ‘I expected difficulties, what with Captain Dreadlock’s finest oatmeal digestives, 16 chains of Irish hemp rope and three quarter inch Tungsten crampons.’

  ‘When I went into the camping shop on the High street,’ said Fergus ‘The girl took one look at the list and asked if I was from the allotments. She directed me to Saddler’s Yard, round the back of Kingsgate. There I found Huddersfield Chandlers and Expeditionary Supplies.’

  ‘Good grief, is that place still going?’

  ‘Oh yes and it was busy. There’s resurgence in interest in the Victorian era. It’s strange to see a teenager in a Deerstalker hat. I found most of the things on the list and they deliver too.’

  ‘You didn’t get the curry pastilles did you?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Yes. They now come in sealed plastic packaging.’

  ‘Well, we won’t need them, the dogs aren’t coming. While a dog is mighty handy in the catacombs and can carry its own weight in supplies. I want them here for the defence of the allotments. Also it’s not a good idea letting the dogs know too much about the inner workings of the machine. They have their own agenda you know.’

  ‘So we’re off bright and early,’ said Fergus, ‘Adventure and excitement in the catacombs. I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Not so much of the bright and early. We have to get past the Huddersfield Bore and he don’t get up much before ten.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be best to sneak past a wild boar while it’s sleeping?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘No lad. B. O. R. E. It’s a bloke. A tiresome, pedantic idiot savant who just so happens can open the Impossible Door. Well sometimes. I hope we’re lucky, as the other way round is… Difficult.’

  ‘I don’t know about difficult, but those gravity belts are amazing. We can descend and jump back up with ease.’

  ‘Aye, they are incredible, but we won’t be using them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well for one thing,’ said Dave, ‘it’s the machinery and the denizens that cause the problems, and those belts won’t help with either. But mainly it’s the embargo. Any road, you all packed.’

  ‘Yes, everything fitted in the backpack.’

  ‘You won’t be wearing the armour either. I don’t like to interfere, but you can’t use it, even though offered. They treat the embargo with indifference here, but it is a very serious matter off planet. I don’t know what Enoch was thinking. He could get in serious trouble just letting you wear it, never mind teaching how to use it. And it could have very serious implications for us.

  Very careful about the spread of advanced technology are the powers off planet. Not above sterilising an outbreak of inappropriate military technology.’

  ‘So the dogs put their paw down did they?’

  Dave stared at Fergus and grimaced.

  ‘They do have a point. Using armour and advanced weaponry in defence of the planet and the office of the Plenipotentiary are legitimate actions. Using it to make potholing easier is not.’

  ‘A lot of stuff will be left behind. I’d love to know how those backpacks work,’ said Fergus.

  ‘It’s pixie magic and we are going to see an awful lot more. So I hope you will resist the temptation to investigate while we are trying to save the allotments.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t do any harm to –’

  ‘Yes Dave is the correct answer.’

  ‘Yes Dave,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Good lad, now I have read up on Go proverbs, so prepare for sudden disappointment.’

  ‘In your dreams old man.’

  They played Go as the sun went down and discussed static defences, the utility of flamethrowers and whether Mrs Yorkshire could have Chuck Norris, and of course she could; any day.

  Chapter Nine

  If you must commit good deeds, expect ingratitude and retribution.

  Dave Trellis

  One Life, One Woman, One Shed

  Mrs Yorkshire held the stark naked Fergus by the throat, his feet dangled.

  ‘Errghhh’ said Fergus, not at his best first thing in the morning.

  He noticed her huge arm covered with dark hair. His eyes looked past the black material of her dress that bulged with enormous shoulder muscles to a flat, hard face. She looked like a professional wrestler. The bedroom seemed much smaller with Mrs Yorkshire in it.

  ‘Where is Boadicea?’ asked Mrs Yorkshire, her voice refined, like a newsreader on the BBC.

  Fergus pointed to his throat and tried to croak out an answer.

  Mrs Yorkshire tilted her head to one side and dropped him. Before he could scramble away she grabbed an ankle and hoisted Fergus off the ground once more.

  ‘Where is Boadicea? She did not come home last night.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fergus, his face bright red.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. When one of my ladies goes missing, it’s always some whelp like you.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her since the day before yesterday. Ask Dave, I’ve been with him all the time.’

  Mrs Yorkshire moved away from the bed and let go. Fergus hit the floor headfirst.

  ‘It’s not that I have any objections to fornication and shenanigans in general. It’s just that it should be done with the right people.’

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ said Fergus, as he struggled to his feet.

  ‘You have plenty of this,’ said Mrs Yorkshire grabbing hold of Fergus’s recently enhanced pride and joy, ‘But not enough of this.’ She tapped Fergus on the forehead and sent him sprawling on the bed.

  ‘I have A Levels, well almost.’

  ‘Do you have property? Land? A title? No, you have book learning; easily acquired with diligence. My ladies are the cream of society, not to be lapped by some common tomcat.’

  ‘Hey, I am not a common tomcat.’

  Mrs Yorkshire considered Fergus for a moment.

  ‘Perhaps not, but you have no honour and are certainly not good enough for one of my ladies. I will speak to Mr Trellis, he may vouch for you, if not I shall return. Beware my wrath Fergus Loaf.’

  The floor creaked as Mrs Yorkshire left the room. Fergus took a deep breath and rolled off his bed. There was no way he could sleep, probably for a long time.

  Dave and Fergus sat around the kitchen table. The remnants of a full English breakfast littered the plates and a large teapot steamed. Dave reached for a piece of toast and began buttering.

  ‘So you finally met Mrs Yorkshire?’ said Dave with a grin.

  ‘What? Met as in dragged naked from bed by the throat?’

  ‘Well, she is rather direct, but you can’t get a better guardian.’

  ‘Gorgon more like.’

  ‘Looks aren’t everything. Pass the marmalade.’

  ‘I am worried about Boadicea though,’ said Fergus.

  ‘You’re worried she’s found a new playmate,’ said Dave, ‘She’s a grown woman and a warrior to boot. Anyone who tangles with her will be scrabbling around in the gutter looking for significant parts of their body.’

  ‘How can you be so off-hand? There’re dangerous people out there.’

  ‘Aye, and she’s one of ‘em.’

  ‘No, really Dave, I think we should look for her or call the Police. We should do something.’

  ‘Oh give over, your self-interest is showing. If you’re looking for sympathy you got the wrong house.’

  ‘I don’t want sympathy; I just want to make sure she’s all right.’

  ‘If you don’t want sympathy, why are you whining on about it? Just get up and do what’s right. Truth is, your feelings are hurt as your present lust, up and left without a long, meaningful goodbye. In summary, she’s a warrior and
you aren’t honest with yourself.’

  Fergus glared at Dave, who ignored him and reached for the teapot.

  ‘There are three faces of truth,’ said Dave ‘The first face is for other people and always lies. The second face is for family and lovers, and mostly lies. The third face is for you and should always tell the truth.’

  ‘The Buddha of Yorkshire speaks and the lowly acolyte listens.’ Fergus bowed his head, ‘Shouldn’t you be sat on a mountain somewhere?’

  Dave grinned.

  ‘I am sat on a mountain. A bloody enormous artificial mountain buried beneath us. So finish your breakfast, we have a long downhill struggle ahead of us.

  They stood in the courtyard, in front of the entrance to the catacombs. Fergus wore a lightweight fleece, mountaineering trousers, and high-tech hiking boots.

  Dave on the other hand was kitted out in breeches and gaiters with sensible brogues, Harris Tweed jacket and flat cap. A canvas rucksack completed the picture of an Edwardian gentleman hiker. He even had a length of rope wound round his waist.

  ‘What have you got in there lad?’ said Dave pointing to the huge frame rucksack next to Fergus.

  ‘Sleeping bag, tent, camping stove, pans, freeze dried food –’

  ‘Hang on. Did you read the book?’

  ‘Most of it,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Remember the bit about being warm or the bit about camp fires and living off the land?’

  ‘Err… no.’

  ‘You won’t be needing any of that lot. Did you bring tea and sugar?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How do you expect to have a cuppa?’

  ‘It wasn’t top of my agenda to be honest.’

  Dave stared at Fergus.

  ‘We are on a vital mission to save the allotments. We are going into unknown danger and hostile environments and you neglect to bring the fixings for a brew. You are British, aren’t you?’

  ‘Tea is hardly an essential item.’

  ‘Bloody well is on this expedition. It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.’

  ‘Stuff the playing fields of Eton, Dave. Let’s get going.’

  ‘Seriously lad, you won’t last ten minutes under that load. Let’s limit ourselves to essentials, which include a kettle, mugs, tea, and sugar by the way.’

  Fergus sighed and opened his backpack.

  Fergus shouldered the half-empty rucksack. Next to the pile of discarded camping equipment were two skateboards leant against the wall. Dave picked them up and passed one to Fergus.