Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (16 page)

‘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.

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.’