Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (34 page)

Room hardly
describes the place. It was more like a cross between a laboratory
and a robot car assembly line. The Noggin gestured at Fergus, and
Boadicea and Dave guided the groggy Fergus over to a table
surrounded by robot arms. The helped him up and let him settle back
on stainless steel surface. The Noggin waved his hand a large
bright blue square appeared in mid-air. It poked at the square a
few times and the robotic arms lurched and started moving over all
parts of Fergus’s body. The Noggin shook its head a few times then
carefully pressed the blue square. All the robot arms relaxed back
to their starting positions and a shimmering hemisphere appeared
covering the top of Fergus’s head. There was sharp snapping noise
and a wisp of smoke crept out of the side of the shiny bowl. The
Noggin clapped its hands and the shiny bowl disappeared. It seemed
satisfied.

‘So is this
medical bay?’ asked Dave.

The Noggin
scribbled a note and handed it to Dave.

‘Veterinary
surgery and abattoir.’

‘Oh.’ Dave
decided not to mention it to Fergus, who now seemed much
improved.

The Aussies
perked up now they had some light, they formed a circle and made
the fixings for a fire. Hungry Joe was working hard, rotating a
stick in a hole. It was already smoking.

‘I don’t
suppose anyone brought any tea?’ asked Dave. There was no
response.

‘Thought not;
bunch of amateurs.’

‘Hey Dad,
aren’t you happy to see us?’ asked Abbey.

‘Yes love, of
course I’m happy to see you, but also annoyed; I thought you were
safe back at the Allotments. I also hoped that some sensible people
remained there to cope with the mess.’

‘Give us credit
Dad, we came to rescue you.’

‘Aye well, you
could have thought to bring some supplies.’

Abbey glared at
Fergus, now aware enough to look guilty.

‘Sorry love,
but you being here doesn’t help matters, it just means more people
to take care of.’

‘I can take
care of myself, thank you very much.’

‘In that case,
why are you trapped in an abandoned factory with no food or
water?’

‘We came all
the way from the Allotments to help you.’

‘I didn’t need
help. I needed rescuing. What’s your plan for getting us out of
here? Where is your back up? Who have you told about your plans, so
that they can come and rescue all of us?’

‘That’s hardly
fair Dad.’

‘You’re not a
kid any more Abbey and the world isn’t as forgiving as me. This is
half-arsed and you know it. Now, we are going to get ourselves
organised and-’

‘You tell he
like it is, Captain Invincible. Me and the lads will get a brew
going,’ said Trev.

‘Who rattled
you cage?’ said Dave and glared at Trev, who smiled.

The Noggin
walked up to Dave, nodded, and put a note in his hand.

‘Want tea?’

Dave just
nodded. The Noggin walked off and Dave followed, drawn by the
promise of decent cuppa.

The corridor
outside the room was lit. Dave assumed the Noggin had switched on
all the lights. They walked for a while and pushed through a set of
double doors. Inside was a refectory the size of a football pitch,
with table and chairs stretching out into the distance. The Noggin
pointed at a vending machine the size of a removal van, it waved
its hand and a large blue rectangle appeared. The Noggin pressed it
a few times and gestured; Dave leant forward and read the menu.

Beverages

Snacks

Starters

Main Course

Pudding

Breakfast

Afternoon
Tea

Supper

Sundries

Dave pressed
the option for ‘Afternoon Tea’ and marvelled at the selection. He
was surprised that the Tea menu option had a further level. After
due consideration of the difficult circumstances Dave selected
Assam with milk and extra sugar, scone, clotted cream and
strawberry jam.

There was a
gentle hum and a beep. Dave slid aside translucent door in the
serving hatch and looked in. On a black plastic tray was a china
mug full of steaming, tawny coloured liquid, a large scone and two
small bowls, one seemingly clotted cream and the other jam. With
sincere hope Dave lifted the mug to his lips and sipped.

‘Ahh, bloody
nectar. This is amazing, how can it be still working after all this
time.’

The Noggin just
shrugged and nodded its head its head. Dave took his tray of
delights and sat at the nearest table. He thought about fetching
the others, but that could wait. He needed time to collect his
thoughts and enjoy one of life’s little pleasures.

The staff area
of the Workshops held other joys. Dormitories with showers and real
beds were the second glorious surprise after everyone had eaten
their fill. There was slight whinging from the Australian
contingent that they had built a fire for no reason. Everyone
departed to separate rooms for a full night’s sleep, despite some
good-natured begging.

As he lay in a
comfortable bed after a meal and a decent cigar courtesy of the
sundries option, Dave regretted his harsh words to Abbey. Yet he
was disappointed she let her enthusiasm and excitement guide her
actions rather than strong, level-headed, pragmatism. He’d taught
her better than that. As for Fergus and Boadicea, well they were
more your Warrior type, prone to going off half-cocked. They were
also distracted. Dave considered telling Fergus about the Tuatha
practise of honoured adoptions then thought the lad could wait. He
was surprised Boadicea had forgotten and then again she was rather
antipathetic towards the old ways. Ah, young lust, thought Dave,
you couldn’t beat it for screwing up your life. Who was he fooling?
He was bad if not worse than Fergus. One woman, one life? Mind you
he’d got the one shed bit right.

If there
weren’t enough bumps in the smooth road of courtship, Fergus had a
speed hump of county council proportions ahead of him; Boadicea was
properly, Princess Boadicea, beloved only daughter of a proud
Tuatha De Daanan king. A scruffy human wasn’t the favoured option
for a son-in-law. Love conquers all? In the stories perhaps, but
round here it does bugger all except putting up with dalliance in a
shed. Well the lad could work it out for himself. Dave rolled over,
plumped the pillow, and descended into a well-deserved sleep.

Breakfast was a
spirited affair. The Aussies claiming the Full English Breakfast or
FEB was a gilded lily, and a proper breakfast required nothing more
than eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and a slice of toast. Dave put his full
weight behind the addition of black pudding, beans, and a fried
slice. He went far left field and asserted that fried spam was a
suitable addition to the norm. It would have run and run, except
that Abbey demanded a fair hearing for fruit, yoghurt and muesli
and the enthusiasm deflated like an omelette on a cold plate.

‘Right then,
enough debate, let’s plan,’ said Dave.

‘Whatever you
say, Captain Invincible,’ said Trev; Toomey sniggered.

‘I suggest we
split into search parties and map out this part of the Workshops.
It seems the most likely place for a control room. Abbey, the
Noggin and me will be one party. You half-hearted breakfast types
another, Boadicea and Fergus will make up a third. Take food and
make a picnic out of it if you like, but keep track of where you
are going. We have no communications and I don’t want to waste time
searching for a lost search party. We meet back here for
dinner.’

‘By dinner do
you mean lunch or tea?’ asked Hungry Joe.

‘Shall we say
dinner at eight?’ said Dave.

Dave and Abbey
followed the Noggin as it sniffed along like a dog in a park. The
brightly lit corridors here were clean and without dust or debris.
There were no signs, but the Noggin sniffed the wall regularly and
seemed to know where it was going. Every time they passed a
junction Dave paused and chalked a backward pointing arrow, even
though Abbey was drawing a map in a notepad; Dave was a belt and
braces man.

‘So you’re sure
your mother came here?’ asked Dave.

‘Hmm hm,’ said
Abbey as scribbled the latest junction down on her pad.

‘The lads say
they followed a woman in here and that she had a nice arse, so it
could be your mum.’

‘Dad!
Please.’

‘Well I expect
she would be doing the same as us, trying the find the control room
to open one of the exits.’

‘She knew a lot
more about the Workshops,’ said Abbey, ‘I’d be surprised if she
didn’t have an exit strategy.’

‘This is taking
ages. How far have we gone now?’ asked Dave.

‘I’d say at
least ten miles.’

‘In that case
it’s time for lunch.’

‘Good idea,’
said Abbey.

‘Hey up! Noggin
lad, we are stopping for a bite to eat.’

The Noggin
trundled back and joined Dave and Abbey, sat on the ground. Dave
passed it a cheese sandwich, which after a sniff was accepted and
disappeared under the mass of hair. Dave borrowed Abbey’s notepad
and wrote:

‘You don’t the
way to the control room?’

The Noggin
reached for the pad and replied:

‘Never been. Is
separate from this part’

Dave sighed.
They were home, with no front door keys and standing around in the
rain. Dave wondered were Maeve was. If she was around here, how
come they hadn’t bumped into her on the way to the wonderful
vending machine? What did she know that they had missed? Dave let
his gaze and his mind wonder. His eyes followed the control cables
along the ceiling and then dismissed that thought. The control
system was wireless, no way to backtrack to the control room.
Though hang on a minute. Any control room would require a sizeable
amount of electricity and you couldn’t fling that around without
cables, well not unless you want to fry an unaware passer-by with
megawatts of invisible power. Perhaps a judicious mapping of the
electrical system might give a clue to the location of the control
room.

‘Hey up I have
an idea. You two carry on with the mapping, I’m going to have a
shufti at the power distribution hereabouts.’

‘Ok Dad, but
don’t get lost. That would be embarrassing after your little speech
this morning,’ said Abbey.

‘No worries.
Got my chalk and a decent sense of direction; she’ll be fine.’

‘You really
need to work on your Aussie accent Dad.’

Dave’s neck was
aching from staring at the ceiling so often and he was fed up of
finding local distribution panels that were supplied by rear
mounted cables that disappeared into the wall. Then he opened yet
another door and hit the jackpot. A huge vertical shaft with an
internal staircase that was chock full of thick mains cables and
enormous pipes disappearing in the gloom above and below. But what
put the cheese on the cracker, was an arrow on the left pointing at
the door and what unscrewed the cap on a decent bottle of Aussie
Shiraz was the wriggly line of the arrow; Maeve always did her free
hand straight lines as wiggles. Dave stepped in the opposite
direction of the arrow and followed the path of the arrow’s
writer.

It was easy
going until he met a dead end in a small room. A ventilation duct
was open, the grill leant against the wall. Dave peered in. The
dark obscured anything beyond a few feet and there was room enough
to crawl. Just hope I don’t miss any arrows thought Dave and
clambered in the duct. The metal bent under his weight with a
creaking groan and he tried to distribute his weight evenly. After
a few awkward struggles, Dave pulled his compass from his coat
pocket and the dark duct was lit with a faint green glow. He waved
it around the sides to check for any side ducts or arrows signs. It
was a long crawl and his knees were aching when he found a bent
arrow pointing down. Dave inched forward and found a grill set into
the floor of the duct. He reached across to feel how big it was and
edged further until his knees rested uncomfortably on the ridges of
the grill. There was a sharp creak, a snap and the front of the
grill gave way, leaving Dave to fall forwards into the dark space
below.

Fergus and
Boadicea sat with their backs against the wall of a seemingly
endless corridor, which they had walked along for most of the
morning.

‘I have a
confession…’ said Boadicea, ‘It isn’t very nice.’

‘Ah… Ok go on
then,’ said Fergus.

‘Uncle Bran
isn’t really my uncle. He was adopted by the family, as a singular
honour after saving my father’s life during a rebellion. He is not
my father’s genetic brother.’

‘I see,’ said
Fergus as his world crumbled and his stomach no longer wanted to
retain the rather good cheese and pickle sandwiches of lunch.

‘It was a
convenient excuse to stay friends and I’m telling you now as I want
to take things further.’

Fergus’s
stomach flip-flopped and he struggled for control, ‘Hmm?’ was all
he could manage.

‘And that
presents even greater problems,’ said Boadicea, ‘I never told you,
but those Tuatha De Daanan knights who came to help; they weren’t
sent by the King, they were my Honour Guard. I am Princess
Boadicea, only daughter and heir to the throne. I hope you can
imagine the fuss if I take up with a half-human, no matter how
lovely.’

Fergus turned
to Boadicea, put his arms around her and kissed her. Sometime later
they sat back again.

‘Love will find
a way,’ said Fergus, ‘It always does.’

‘Will love find
a way round the six feet of cold steel in my father’s sword? The
one he’ll use when he tries to cut you in half?’

‘Such drama. I
am sure we can come to some agreement.’

‘It is true you
come from a good family, that counts and the half-human thing is
not without president, but only a famous warrior or hero could be
accepted with the taint of humanity upon them. You are many
wonderful things, Fergus and a hero in my eyes; for my parents it
needs to be something publically acknowledged; a hero in the eyes
of all Tuatha De Daanan.’