Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (28 page)

‘I’m fed up
with this. Sergeant?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Escort these
men back to the road and enforce a 100 metre exclusion zone. Use
force, but don’t shoot them unless you have to.’

‘Yes sir.’

The Brigadier
watched as his men scuffled with the police and slowly pushed them
back up the path. Where the bloody hell was Trellis? Unusual orders
from on high, manoeuvers with live ammunition in civilian areas and
the Brigade’s artillery standing by on Saddleworth Moor. It had one
of Trellis’s endeavours written all over it. Admittedly it would be
nice to see the old bugger, but it would be even nicer to know what
the hell was going on.

He was on
Saddleworth moor when all the shooting started. The distant thrum
of the machine gun fire was shrill and too staccato for any weapon
he knew, however the thump of grenades was familiar enough. He
gathered a reconnaissance team and drove at speed towards
Huddersfield. He guessed the allotment were in trouble and they
were the focus of attention of some quietly powerful people.

At the request
of some anonymous civil servant, he had made officially unofficial
visits on many occasions over the years. At first he found nothing
unusual and Dave Trellis unwelcoming to the point of rudeness. When
he tried a surreptitious recce of the catacombs, he was pounced on
by a hoard of huge orange spiders and escorted to Dave’s pavilion
by a pack of growling dogs. It was then, during a pleasant evening
of whiskey and cigars, that Dave told him the secret of St
Catherine’s allotments and asked for his discretion. For some
reason he trusted Dave and did not mention the strange events at St
Catherine’ in his report. Some weeks later he was called to London
to meet some rather important people and instructed to hold a
watching brief over the allotments. He was dismayed to learn that
Dave Trellis held the honorary military rank of Major General and
permitted to give orders to serving military personnel. Later that
month Major Gerard was awarded the rank of Brigadier.

‘Hey up Tonto,
you the cavalry?’ A man in scruffy overalls stood staring at the
Brigadier. The handle of an elegant katana protruded over one
shoulder.

‘You could say
that.’

‘Thanks for
getting Plod off our backs,’ said Painter, ‘now if you could see
you way clear to lending us a few of your boy soldiers we could do
with a hand shifting bodies.’

‘The bulk of my
men are their way, should be here in an hour or so. Are there many
dead?’

‘Enough,’ said
Painter.

‘Looks like you
had a rough time of it. Sorry. I couldn’t engage until I received
word from Trellis.’

‘Doubt it
would’ve helped much,’ said Painter, ‘The only reason we’re still
here is coz Dave sorted it. You and the rest of the British army
wouldn’t have made any difference. Still now you’re here, we’re in
need of supplies. We can pay of course; it’s more a matter of
logistics. I don’t suppose you know anyone with access to a marquee
or two?’

‘Yes, the Mess
Officer. Is that really an essential item given the circumstances?’
asked the Brigadier.

‘I assume you
know Dave, but do you know anything about the allotments?’

‘Yes, quite a
bit. I suppose you could consider me an unofficial military
liaison.’

‘Well then, you
know what the Palaver are like.’

‘The who?’

‘Don’t worry,
you’ll get on fine, just don’t play rugby with em. In any case with
the palaver a party after battle is an essential event; ergo my
urgent need for temporary, canvas-based structures on a grand
scale.’

‘I don’t follow
you.’

‘They’re
off-world visitors; aliens; big, scary, soldier blokes with a love
of light opera and cask brewed beer.’

‘Ah yes,
Trellis mentioned them. What about casualties? We can start moving
them up the path. There are ambulances waiting.’

‘Nah, no need
for that, we have the finest medical facilities right here. If the
palaver can’t fix em then they’re screwed.’

‘They sound
damned useful these palaver, when do I get to meet them?’

‘Step this way
soldier boy.’

‘I prefer
Brigadier.’

‘Right you are
Brigadier boy.’

Boadicea, with
Fergus strapped over the saddle like hunting trophy, walked her
horse along the M7 and chatted to Abbey.

‘You know I
always liked this light; the touch of green always reminds me of
the sky just before a hurricane.’

‘I hope that’s
not an omen.’ replied Abbey.

‘Indeed. So how
do we get to the Dark Library, it’s a way from the exit I
understand?’

‘We don’t have
to. We just send wonder boy on a mission; I brought cash, I expect
he can find a taxi or a bus if he feels thrifty.’

‘Are you sure
he can find what you’re looking for?’

‘No, but he can
always ask. The Librarian loves people taking books out.’

‘Really?’

Abbey laughed.
‘What are we going to do about him?’

‘You can have
him,’ said Boadicea.

‘I thought you
were, you know, fond of him.’

‘I am, but
we’re cousins. We didn’t find out until today.’

‘Ah. So you
don’t mind if I…’

‘I give you my
blessing, but don’t hurt him, he’s a terrible romantic.’

‘I know, I’ll
try not to, but the future can be harsh.’

Abbey and
Boadicea were quiet for a while as their horses walked along in the
late evening sunshine. Eventually Boadicea broke the silence.

‘How do you
know where they are? Dave and your mother I mean.’

‘That creep
Engineer sent my Dad to where he could find what he ultimately
seeks. And that’s my Mum. He still loves her, I can see it his
eyes.’

‘Yes, but how
does that help? That could be anywhere.’

‘It means that
Engineer knows where my Mum is. How could he know that?’

‘Sorry you’re
losing me.’

‘Think about
it. That cruel thing may have access to information from anywhere,
but it would not specifically seek out my Mother. So the
information must have come to it. That means I know where my Mum
is.’

‘I still don’t
get it,’ said Boadicea.

‘What would
that creature monitor, where would it have cameras and the like? I
think it tracks those places that directly affect the machine; in
other words the installations on Earth.

We can discount
the Catacombs, for obvious reasons.’

‘Which are?’
asked Boadicea.

‘It’s not
dangerous enough, for Dad anyway, so little chance of retribution,
and I doubt my Mum could get into the Catacombs without Dad
knowing. That leaves the Ship and the Workshops and my Mother
always had great interest in the Workshops.’

‘Ok, if you
worked it out already, why do we need to go to the Library?’

‘We need a book
that tells us how to get in.’

‘Don’t we need
to know where it is first?’ asked Boadicea.

‘It’s in
Australia, my Mum told me where.’

‘Fine. And how
do we get sixteen people and twenty horses, all armed and dangerous
to Australia? Charter a Jumbo jet? We’ll never get this lot through
the airport scanners.’

‘Good point
well made,’ said Abbey, ‘I think we need an A road. That’s another
task then for our delightful library errand boy. Talking of which,
we need to get a move on; the Library shuts at eight.’

‘Hmm, will
Sleeping Beauty be awake by then?’

‘If he isn’t we
chuck him in the river, this isn’t the time for a lie-in.’

Dave suffered.
His tweeds prickled in the humidity and gave off the aroma of
incontinent dog. His fine leather brogues, unsuited to the spongy
mulch of the forest floor slipped more than they gripped. His three
companions were unsympathetic.

‘You wanna get
that kit off before you boil mate,’ said Toomey.

‘I’ll be
fine.’

‘Don’t be a
drongo; at least take your jacket off.’

Dave sighed,
‘Maybe your right.’ slipped off his jacket and tied it around his
waist. They had fought through the undergrowth for hours and Dave
was thirsty, tired and fed up, but was determined not to utter one
word of complaint.

Trev stopped
and crouched down next to an enormous tree, the two others slumped
down beside him.

‘Time for a
break already?’ asked Dave.

Trev grinned
‘Don’t come the raw prawn. You’re three feet from collapsing
mate.’

‘Never felt
better in my life.’

Trev stared at
Dave for a moment. ‘Anyways we’re here.’

Dave looked
around and all he could see was more jungle.

‘This tree,’
said Trev and slapped the trunk behind him. ‘Is the largest Fig
tree I ever seen and it supports the biggest vertical banyan forest
on the planet. It goes all the way down the cliff. It’s the closest
thing to a ladder we gonna get.’

‘Right then
let’s go. I’m looking forward to a nice cup of tea,’ said Dave.

‘What makes you
think there’s water down there?’ asked Toomey.

‘Experience.’

‘And what,’
asked Trev, ‘Makes you think we brought tea?’

‘You are
Australians aren’t you?’

Hungry Joe
jumped up.

‘Why the hurry
Hungry?’ asked Toomey.

‘Where there’s
water, there’s food,’ said Hungry Joe.

‘You trust this
Pom?’ asked Trev.

‘Well you do
mate. If yer didn’t you would’ve chucked him over the cliff by
now.’

They edged
their way around the trunk of the fig tree and stood on a wide
platform of braches that jutted out over the cliff. The cliff was
in fact the lip of a huge circular hole that disappeared into the
depths, showing floor after floor, like some vast multi-story car
park filled with banyans and vines all cascading down in a green
wave that hid the walls from view. The mist stopped them seeing
further than a few levels down, but Dave assumed they were at the
top level, as he could see huge lamps in the roof above.

With more
bravado than sense, Dave clambered onto the edge of the platform
and swung himself down onto a thick banyan vine that descended
straight down into the green mist. He wrapped his legs and arms
around the vine, then eased his grip until he started to slide.

‘See you at the
bottom gentlemen,’ shouted Dave and loosed his grip some more. The
acceleration took Dave by surprise and he shot down the vine at
commando speed, disappearing into mist with an uncertain
‘Geronimoooooo’.

The vine
diminished in diameter and it occurred to Dave that this vine did
not necessarily meet another further down. What’s more as it got
thinner, Dave’s grip got weaker, that combined with the moisture
from the mist and the poor coefficient of friction associated with
Harris Tweed meant Dave accelerated beyond what the SAS consider
courageous and into the range of foolhardy. Dave sought to bring
his brogues into play, but the slimy mud from the jungle floor
reduced their effectiveness below expectations. The vine was now
the diameter of thick rope and the wind rushing past threatened to
lift the flat cap off his head. Dave didn’t dare spare a hand to
grab it as he clung on grimly. The heat of friction became
uncomfortable and Dave was sure he could smell burning wool.

Up above the
Australians were impressed.

‘Give the Pom
credit; he’s game,’ said Toomey, ‘Down that vine, flat out like a
lizard drinking.’

‘Mind you,’
said Trev, ‘He’s obviously never gone down a cliff by vine before.
What d’you reckon his chances of finding another vine before that
one runs out?’

‘Slim to
none.’

‘Nice bloke all
the same. Still at least we won’t have to listen to all that
whining.’

The rapidly
diminishing diameter of the vine spurred Dave to action. He grabbed
his flat cap with one hand and wrapped it around the vine, then
with both hands gripped at tightly as possible. Soon wadding and
bits of cap were shooting past Dave’s face, but it worked. He
started to slow down. By the time Dave came to halt the vine was
thick as climbing rope and his flat cap done for. Holding on
tightly with one hand and chaffed thighs, Dave unwound twenty feet
of rope from around his waist and securely tied himself to the
vine. A few minutes of careful work fashioned a descending rig that
allowed safe movement down the vine. It occurred to Dave that
travelling down next to the edge of the cliff would offer a much
safer route, with the option of getting off at one level and moving
around to find a suitable vine.

Dave swung back
and forth and slowly built up momentum, until he swooped across the
vast space like a tweed suited Tarzan. He positioned himself on the
vine just right to land on the nearest level and kept building
momentum. Dave was almost close enough to jump when the vine
snapped. Fortunately for Dave it was at the top of the swing and he
would have arced gracefully to salvation if only it was in the
opposite direction. Instead Dave managed an ‘Oh bugger!’ before
gracefully arcing into thin air and descending ever more rapidly
into the mist-filled hole.

Fergus woke
with a splash. His world was dark and cold. When he breathed, water
shot up his nose choking him. He struggled and thrashed, reliving
his near drowning in the Alf, before finding the surface and
gasping, struggled to his feet. He stood naked in the shallows of
the Thames before an audience of Tuatha De Daanan, Abbey and
Boadicea. Abbey looked surprised and nudged Boadicea who just
laughed.

‘Is this some
sort of running joke? Throw Fergus in the river. How could you? Its
bloody freezing. And why naked? Is this just to humiliate me?’

‘It’s cool this
evening, you’d catch your death in wet clothes.’

Fergus was
exasperated. ‘Why throw me in the bloody river in the first
place?’

‘Because you
wouldn’t wake up,’ said Abbey, ‘now cowboy up and get dressed; you
have a mission.’