Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (31 page)

In a finale of
blurring blades, the Palaver met as one in the centre and with a
deafening roar of ‘Arrrooogaah’ they dropped to one knee and
plunged their blades straight into the ground. They knelt in a
circle surrounded by sword hilts protruding from the earth.

The whole tent
was silent. Enoch, in a quiet voice, spoke the names of the fallen.
He stood, solemnly raised his hand in the air, and said.

‘The fallen;
remember them always.’ He waited for a long moment and then shouted
‘Now we drink.’

The Palaver
roared approval and the party started again. The band kicked off
with “King of the Road” and Enoch helped himself to a barrel of
Timothy Taylor.

Fergus woke and
wished he hadn’t; rolled up in a blanket, dew soaking his hair and
his head pounding. Once again his enthusiasm was misplaced; red
wine had a nasty bite. He smelt coffee and clambered to his feet in
search of the source.

A large
billycan, suspended over the fire on a tripod, steamed in the cool
morning air. Fergus pick up a tin mug from the edge of the fire,
ditched the cold dregs and dipped it into the black brew. Finding
an opened tin of sweetened condensed milk he poured in generous
measure and watched a galaxy swirl in his cup. The first sip
started a smile and the second fixed it there. It was a beautiful
morning just not warm yet. He hunkered down in front of the fire;
the blanket around his shoulders formed a tent that kept the chill
from his back yet let the warmth play over his front. Around him
people bustled; watering horses, packing up bedrolls and generally
being useful.

Abbey emerged
out of the crowd, ‘You might want to get dressed.’ she said.

Fergus was
naked under the blanket and it didn’t bother him. He felt utterly
comfortable in present company.

‘For some
reason squatting, wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire seems
completely the right place to be,’ said Fergus, ‘I think after
breakfast I will return to normality, until then, the noble savage
thing is on.’

Abbey gave him
a look he was familiar with from his teenage years. ‘Breakfast was
over an hour ago. If I were you I’d start looking for your clothes;
you flung them far and wide last night. We leave in a few minutes,
you want to come?’

‘Hey, how can
you think about leaving me behind?’

‘We brought you
to get access to the Dark Library. You don’t have to stay; the
catacombs are an hour’s walk.’

‘Give us some
aspirin gorgeous and I will follow you to the end of the Earth,’
said Fergus ginning.

Abbey smiled.
‘Can you ride?’

‘You offerin’?’
Abbey gave him a look.

Fergus laughed.
‘Don’t worry, I can run.’ He stood up and slapped his thigh.

Abbey was
silent for a moment. ‘I saw your pants over there.’ She kept her
eyes level, looking Fergus straight in the face and pointed.

Fergus turned
to look and quickly looked back at Abbey.

‘Ha, caught you
looking,’ said Fergus.

‘Oh shut up and
get dressed. Show off.’

Fergus smiling
at his little victory strode off in search of his clothes.

The Tuatha all
packed up and organised for a trek across Steppe or Alp seemed
disappointed when after a brief mile, the whole party stopped and
dismounted. The Noggin spent ten minutes sniffing, nodding, and
planting small sticks in the ground. With much hand waving and
pointing to notes it wrote and stuck on the embedded sticks the
Tuatha knights were organised.

Fergus was
bored. The slightly green sky was full of fluffy white clouds,
promising light showers and the soft breeze brought summer smells
of grass and wildflowers; a lovely day for getting down the
allotment and finally sorting out the petunias or possibly hoeing
something. Not the day for sitting on a horse watching
line-dancing, which is the only way Fergus could describe what went
on before him.

The Noggin was
a mover; it stood in front of the line of knights, hands on hips,
then jumped right, pushed forward from the hips and stepped
forward, push, jump back, jump to the right and start again. It
moved like a small frenetic haystack. Fergus could imagine the
movements fitting right into a disco beat; the Tuatha De Daanan
though had never boogied, bopped or even waltzed, their timing was
awful and it drove the Noggin to distraction. It bounced up and
down, nodding and waving its hands at Bran, one of the least
synchronised. When it starting tearing its hair out, Fergus took
pity, dismounted and walked over to the despondent creature.

‘Need help big
man?’ asked Fergus.

The Noggin
scribbled furiously on its pad and ripped the note off with a
flourish.

‘Must move
together at same time’

The knights
took advantage of the pause in the proceedings, stopped
line-dancing and started chatting. Fergus scratched his chin. It
was a big call, getting warriors to strut their funky stuff.
However, drunken men managed it; all it needed was a banging tune
with the right beat and a little organisation. Fergus rolled his
mind back to the dark days of his youth and 70’s revival nights at
the local village hall. A cheap light show, warm larger in plastic
glasses and a dance floor packed with men, beer bellies hanging out
over elasticated waistband jeans, all sitting on the floor and
moving in perfect synchronisation to a hideous song.

‘Hey girls,’
shouted Fergus.

‘Hey boy.’
replied Abbey.

‘Don’t be like
that, I need your help.’

Abbey and
Boadicea sauntered over to Fergus.

‘Do you
remember a song called ‘Oops upside your head’?’ asked Fergus.

‘Vaguely,’ said
Abbey, ‘Not my thing, but it I’ve heard of it.’ Boadicea looked
blank.

‘I want you
clap your hands in time and sing the hook. It goes like this.’

Fergus started
singing and clapping his hands. His enthusiasm made up for lack of
soul, groove or even a hint of funk.

After a few
faltering starts and a lot of cajoling from Fergus, the scowls on
the knight’s faces disappeared and a certain amount of boogie
wonder came upon the land. Hips started to sway and steps bounced
rather than plodded. The Noggin started to shake its head, as the
line finally danced, jumps came together, pushes synchronised, and
Abbey and Boadicea belted out the words as they clapped their hands
over their heads and sashayed to the beat. As they grooved, the
line moved forwards and to the right and as it moved the world
slowly changed.

The knights
noticed it first; when they pushed they felt resistance. Some
faltered; Fergus started shouting the words, interspersed with
yells of encouragement. The Noggin started moving slowly in front
of the line of knights, moving its hands in small précises arcs. A
gentle breeze sprang up; it was warm and smelt acrid. It seemed
brighter, as if the sun had appeared from behind a cloud.

The Noggin ran
back in front of the steadily moving line of knights, over to
Fergus and the girls. It reached up and grabbed Fergus’s hand. It
was shaking its head and gesturing for them to follow.

‘What? Now? We
go now?’ asked Fergus.

The Noggin
shook its head furiously and pulled Fergus hard. As he lurched
sideways, Fergus yelled to Boadicea and Abbey.

‘Come on we
have to go; right now!’

Led by the
Noggin, ducking under the outshot arms of the syncopating slayers
of the first Tuatha groove battalion, they scurried along. Fergus
could feel growing warmth as he struggled against the syrupy
resistance of invisible forces unknown to man. To Noggin, they were
just the everyday mechanics of opening a maintenance hatch in a
closed portal. He could hear Boadicea yelling something, but the
noise was muffled and indistinct. Then suddenly they were through
and the dry heat hit him like a waft of air from a furnace. There
was desert in it and strangely a hint of swamp.

Fergus
stumbled, caught himself and looked up at a dirty orange cliff,
topped off by a blue white sky. He stood on hard packed sandy soil
in a wasteland of scrub and grass. He recognised the place; it was
Uluru, or as it used to be called Ayers Rock.

‘What are you
doing you idiot?’ shouted Boadicea.

‘Sorry?’ said
Fergus, a little disgruntled that their successful traverse of a
portal closed for millennia met with such disdain.

‘We haven’t
brought the knights or the camping equipment or even food and
water. This isn’t a picnic; we could be searching for weeks.’

Fergus shrugged
and nodded toward the Noggin. It ignored them, stomped off towards
the cliff and started sniffing.

Fergus kept
himself busy weaving straggly branches and grass into a coolie hat.
The sun was fierce and the top of his head was suffering. Abbey and
Boadicea sat cross-legged under a scrub bush looking glum.

When the Noggin
returned, it handed them a note.

‘Cargo bay door
locked. Need another way.’

It marched off
without looking back. Fergus plonked his coolie hat on his head and
followed.

‘Come on, we’re
on a mission remember,’ shouted Fergus.

‘No,’ said
Abbey, ‘We were on a mission, now we’re waiting for a rescue party.
Do you know how long you can survive in the Australian outback
without water and proper clothing?’

‘You have to
work with what you’ve got. At least this way we can find the main
road and possibly get some help.’

After half an
hour, Fergus was flagging. The Noggin seemed immune to the heat
despite a coating of hair suitable for an ice age mammal. Abbey
coped, but Boadicea struggled in her leather armour and heavy
boots. They rounded an outcrop and at the base of the cliff in a
shaded cleft was a pool of water. For a moment Fergus though it
must be a mirage, before his rational brain told him he was an
idiot.

‘At least now
we have a chance,’ said Boadicea and started stripping off. Fergus
watched and she discarded her helmet and armoured jacket, then
struggled out of a pair of tightly fitting leather dungarees. She
threw them to the ground.

‘We can tie the
legs and make a passible water bag.’

‘That’s
brilliant Boadicea,’ said Abbey.

Fergus just
stared at Boadicea’s lithe body in a stocking made of sheer black
material. Boadicea stared back.

‘Seen enough
rugby boy? Cousins remember?’

Fergus smiled.
‘Oh, I’ll remember all right. I never expected to see you like
that.’

‘All warriors
wear silk under their armour. It protects against wounds and
arrows.’

‘Whatever you
say gorgeous.’

‘Love the hat.
It makes you look so ethnic.’

‘Keeps me
coolie, baby. Um, Boadicea, seriously, do you want to swap my shirt
for that armoured jacket. It’ll be cooler.’

‘You’ll offer
to carry my sword next.’

‘If you
like.’

‘Fergus Loaf.
If I wanted to be treated like a girl, I’d have stayed home and
embroidered tapestries of fluffy bunnies. I am a warrior. I’ll wear
my armour and carry my sword until someone takes it from my still
warm, bleeding body. However, I am prepared to accept the loan of
your jeans.’

‘And as you’re
so willing to help Fergus, you can carry the water bag,’ said Abbey
smiling.

Feeling
outnumbered Fergus looked to the Noggin for support, despite that
its gender was a mystery to all but another lucky Noggin. It
shrugged and started tying knots in the legs of the leather
dungarees.

Sweat dripped
down Dave’s face as he scrabbled up handfuls of leaf mould and
earth from the bottom sizeable hole he knelt in.

‘Are you going
to lend a hand?’ asked Dave.

‘Nah, wasting
your time mate. There’s no seepage, so no water,’ said Trev.

‘I tell you
there’s water here, right at the bottom of the shaft. They use it
to move around in.’

‘Bollocks,’
said Hungry Joe. ‘I ain’t breaking my fingernails. If there was
water there, you would have found it by now. You’re off beam
mate.’

Dave stopped
digging, stood up and put his hands on his hips.

‘So you’re just
going to stand there and die of thirst? How much water do we have
left?’

‘Dunno about
‘we’, but me, Toomey and Hungry have got a few mouthfuls left,’
said Trev.

‘Bloody
Australians, no grit.’

‘Don’t come it
Pom, we just don’t like wasting our time and energy on a wild goose
chase.’

‘Damn it!’ said
Dave, stamped his foot and disappeared like a stage magician
straight into the ground. A faint yell came from the hole, it
receded rapidly.

‘Bloody hell,’
said Hungry, ‘Where’d he go?’

‘Down,’ said
Trev, ‘must be cavitation, or perhaps a cave. I suggest we go a bit
careful.’

Trev lay down
and crawled to the edge of the hole that now had a dark Dave shaped
hole in the bottom. He peered in.

‘Darker than a
cave full of arseholes, can’t see a bloody thing. Hang on a
minute.’ Trev took a deep breath and yelled down the hole.

‘Sooooooeeee’

They strained
to hear any faint response. The jungle buzzed around them, the hole
was silent.

‘What we gonna
do now’ asked Toomey.

Trev sighed,
‘Can’t leave the old fool. Come on pull down some of these
creepers. You never know the old bugger may have been right, there
might be water down there.’

Dave
Trellis

One
Life, One Woman, One Shed

Dave knew he
was in free fall; he was accustomed to the sensation. Apart from
that he knew nothing; it was utterly dark. He adopted the classic
skydiver stance more as a nod to good form than any particular plan
and started counting seconds; He didn’t get very far.