Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (36 page)

Fergus let the
tandem rolled to a stop at the bottom of cutting. The Noggin jumped
off and handed Fergus another note.

‘Want go the
Library’

‘What? We are
going to the Library,’ said Fergus and the Noggin took back the
note and scrawled on it.

‘Want go
Library Head Branch’

The Noggin
pointed the other way up the M7. Fergus remembered Dave saying in
his best pontificating Yorkshire voice: ‘Until then a word of
caution, under no circumstances go past the Huddersfield junction.
Seriously, that is the road not travelled by.’

‘Are you sure?’
asked Fergus. The Noggin shook it head so hard little bits of
detritus flew off. ‘And why?’

The Noggin
wrote:

‘Never been.
Have books never read by Noggin. First chance, last chance.
Please.’

Fergus looked
at the small hairy haystack, it seemed to beg; if he could see its
eyes he was sure they would be staring up at him with soulful
longing.

‘Why not? The
Library Head Branch it is. Not far?’

The Noggin
nodded and pointed at Fergus.

‘You want to
drive?’ asked Fergus and again the Noggin shook its head.

Fergus stepped
aside and let the Noggin perch its self on the front seat. It only
just reached the handlebars.

The dog
swivelled around in the basket and barked something.

‘We’re going to
the Head Branch of the Library,’ said Fergus.

The dog yawned
and muttered something, it sounded familiar.

‘Stuff it Fido,
you can wait a while,’ said Fergus, ‘Or walk back. The dog stared
for a long moment, then faced forward again and gave a short bark,
followed by a long howl that sounded like the Palaver battle cry.
Fergus wondered what he was getting himself into. Then again Dave
always said ‘Everything starts and finishes at the Library.’ Fergus
kicked off and they wobbled a sharp turn to the left and headed off
up the less prosaic part of the M7.

Fergus peddled
steadily for what seemed like hours. They rushed along the surface
of the Causeway and it seemed the same, except the moss was gone
and the roadway was a tortoiseshell of smooth cobbles. The
transition was sudden, the air turned cold and the light green
summer sky went black, as if someone turned the light out. The dog
yowled; it seemed excited. Fergus was not so sanguine; anything
that excited a dog was bad news for a human.

Dave swam naked
in the warm, buoyant waters, the compass’s green glow, like an
atomic will ‘o the wisp sat on his chest. It was a peaceful,
enchanting experience, swimming in the utter dark and silence,
disrupted only by the stomach clenching thought of what should
happen as soon as one of the big lads noticed his intrusion. There
was a swirl of water and Dave’s conviction wavered. He closed his
eyes and thought of Maeve. That helped.

When it
happened it was almost an anti-climax. Dave went from one warm wet
environment to another, only this one smelt of fish and pressed
down on him like a freshly oiled hippopotamus. Dave tried not to
struggle, but that lasted only as long as air in his lungs. He
kicked and clawed at the tough, slimy surface in desperation, all
confidence in his cunning plan lost in the panic. As his limbs lost
their strength and his brain slipped into warm darkness, he felt
only anger and regret.

Fergus stepped
off the tandem and let it fall on its side. He didn’t know what to
expect, but not this. The moment they stopped the Noggin leapt off
and ran straight through a door in a nearby building. The dog also
jumped off and now sat looking at Fergus with a bored expression,
as if waiting for a card trick.

He stood in a
quadrangle. It could be King’s College Cambridge, green immaculate
lawn, old stone buildings, all it needed was a white haired don to
wander past with a chicken on a lead to complete the picture. This
was the Dark Library Head Branch? Amazing, yet disappointing. Where
were the transporters, flying cars, and spindly towers stretching
into the clouds? Fergus wanted tall, serious looking aliens in
silver capes and was disappointed.

The dog barked
and Fergus looked round. There was a don, without the chicken it
was true, but undoubtedly a university don, black gown, mortarboard
and an unworldly, benign air of someone who, though they have lost
their chicken are sure it will return home soon.

‘You must be Mr
Fergus Loaf. Welcome to the Dark Library. You on the other hand are
Canis Mirabalis,’ said the Don staring at the dog, ‘Reconnaissance
expert and assassin. No entry for you. Please wait in the
refectory.

Now Mr Loaf
what can we do for you? So very rare to get a human visitor, not
since that sofa chappie, mad as a hatstand I recall. And you will
take your Noggin home with you I hope? We are so overcrowded and
the books can only take so much loving attention. Jolly good, let’s
get cracking then, hmm?’

Fergus was
overwhelmed, but somehow relaxed and blurted out.

‘I want to find
the way home for the Tuatha De Daanan.’

‘Indeed, an
honourable quest, however there are complications. Let’s go to my
study. You do like tea and crumpets, hmm?’

‘You try my
patience Trellis,’ said Engineer, as he stood over Dave lying in a
puddle of water on the dock.

Dave gasped and
sucked in air like a man rescued from the guts of a thirty-foot
long catfish just before he asphyxiated. He was covered in slime
and smelt like a chip shop’s fridge.

‘Game’s up
Engineer.’ wheezed Dave, ‘Be a good chap and fetch my tweeds, I
would hate to lose my pruning knife; it was a gift from Enoch.’

Engineer
sighed; it was almost human. Dave’s clothes appeared in a heap in
front of him.

‘What now? What
now Trellis you have punctured the forth wall of my little
game?’

‘We go back to
before. I get on with my life, you carry on being a bored, super
entity getting your voyeuristic kicks watching us, like a god
slumming it a diet of pizza and daytime TV.’

‘Hmm. You’ve
spoilt it Trellis, it feels sordid now.’

‘It was always
sordid, you just deceived yourself.’

There was
silence, then a huge belly laugh.

‘I could get to
like you Trellis. So be it. A deal; you carry on and I will watch
occasionally. However no more rescues, I don’t want you to expect
my help.’

‘I never
did.’

‘True,’ said
Engineer and waved his hand.

Suddenly Dave
was dressed and dry, stood in a bubble of utter darkness, in the
distance he could a mountain of fairy lights that approached at a
frightening speed. As they got closer Dave could make out the vast
squid body of Engineer. Dave expected the lights to slow and to see
a vast black eye staring at him. Instead he saw the tentacles as
long as football pitches spread out like vast leathery trees and a
massive shape with a black beak, like the buckets on an excavator,
open wide and swallow him whole. For an instance Dave thought he
heard a chuckle, which could only come from a whale or perhaps a
demon. Then he arrived home.

Dave sat in his
own bath, filled with cold baked beans.

‘Very funny,’
said Dave and stood up. He squelched over the shower and started to
undress. Through the hissing shower Dave heard a lovely voice he
thought he had lost forever.

‘Hard day at
the office darling? Here, let me take your mind off it.’

Fergus sat back
in the cracked leather armchair and examined the fire. It was as
real as could be, the Don’s study was a confused mix of orderly and
mess; a clear, organised desk surrounded by tottering piles of
books and mounds of papers. It smelled of dust, wood smoke and
burnt toast, with a hint of carbolic soap, though that could have
been the Don.

‘Is this real?
Or are you feeding this directly into my brain?’

‘We could do
that I suppose, but to what end? No, this is all real. You must
understand that the main Library is vast, it covers most of this
world, and so there is room for diversity. We are human you know,
though not as you; rather we are re-cycled, plucked from fatal
disaster or disease and re-vitalised, so that we can research,
catalogue and collate the information about various human and human
like races. With unlimited resources almost any environment is
possible and this is the current consensus. Of course, the women
chose a different environment and we find we work better apart,
only socialising together. That said many scholars similar to
myself use other places to live and work. Each to their own. I
digress; back to the business in hand; you and the Tuatha De
Daanan. May I ask why?

‘Well, there’s
this woman-’

‘Enough Mr
Loaf, I understand. Hmm… Well… Let me give you some
background.’

The fire was
lower and Fergus had finished many cups of tea by the time the Don
had given him the potted history of the Tuatha De Daanan. Fergus
leant back in the armchair and mulled it over.

‘Thoughts Mr
Loaf?’ said the Don.

‘If I turned up
and demanded to visit the Library, they would have to let me
in?’

‘Indeed, an
immutable duty of all sentient races, unless of course they wish to
lose their library rights. One point, how would they know? You
would be on the outside of a locked portal.’

‘I could send
them a letter.’ mused Fergus.

‘Indeed you
could. A formal request from the Library would have greater
weight,’ said the Don and poured himself another cup of tea from
the bottomless teapot, sat warming in the hearth.

‘You’d be
willing to do that?’

‘We humans must
stick together and one wouldn’t want to stand in the way of young
lust. We all remember it you know, blow off the dust and you can
find a gland or two even in this mausoleum,’ said the Don and
smiled.

‘Thanks,’ said
Fergus, ‘How long will it all take.’

‘Why Mr Loaf,
we are technologically sound. It is already done. I have dispatched
a Port Nav to your Noggin. It will show you how to use it.’

There was loud
knock at the door.

‘Ah, that will
be your guide,’ said the Don, rose from his chair and opened the
door. A Noggin strode in and squeaked something. Its hair was a
dirty rust colour. The Don squeaked back and ushered Fergus from
the study.

‘I hope
everything works out Mr Loaf, please come back and relate your
adventures, it will make a valid addition to our archives. Good
day, and don’t mind the Noggin, it’s one of the plumbers.’

‘Oh, I forgot,’
said Fergus.

‘Something else
I can help you with Mr Loaf?’

‘Yes, Dave, I
mean Dave Trellis. He’s trapped in the Workshops. I need to rescue
him.’

‘Mr Trellis is
well known in this establishment. One moment I will check; we have
access to the surveillance network.’

The Don
disappeared onto his study. Fergus stood outside feeling awkward,
he was sure the Noggin was staring at him.

‘Good Lord!’
shouted the Don from his study.

The Don
returned to the corridor.

‘I located Dave
on the surveillance network. You will be pleased to know that he is
no longer in the Workshops, he is back at the Allotments and, shall
we say, busy at the moment.’

‘That’s
fantastic news. Thank you…’

‘Professor
Turing, but you can call me Alan.’

‘Thanks Alan,
now let’s see if we can make this all work out with an ending
worthy of your archives.’

‘All the best
then and next time, see if you can bring some beer, the here stuff
is good, but not quite the real thing.’

‘Sure Alan and
thanks again for everything.’

Fergus followed
the rusty Noggin along wooden floored corridors and down stone
stairways until they entered a huge vaulted hall; long wooden
tables and benches filled most of it. About halfway down sat a
bored dog and an annoyed Noggin.

Fergus felt
conspicuous lining up the tandem in the middle of the immaculate
grass of the Quad, and kicked off firmly trying for a graceful
start. Perhaps he should have warned the dog and the Noggin, who
were slung sideways off the tandem. Ignoring the mutters and
squeaks, he tried again and this time failed to get enough speed to
penetrate the portal. The dog walked off in a huff, so Fergus and
the Noggin set off once again and made it through. Shortly
afterwards the dog caught up and leaped straight into the basket on
the front of the tandem. It sulked all the way to the junction with
the M7. 

Dave
Trellis

One
Life, One Woman, One Shed

Dave took
another small Yorkstone slab from the pile and handed it to Enoch,
who neatly chopped a complex shape that fitted into the almost
complete cairn. Enoch lowered his sword.

‘Sadness.’

‘Aye, but
victory too. Don’t forget that. There will always be sacrifice when
the good stand up for what is right and proper. Consider the
alternative.’

Enoch
nodded.

‘Who is this
one for?’

Enoch consulted
a list.

‘Archibald
Smethers, dentist and potholer.’

‘Aye, Dentist;
still got one of his fillings, never stinted on the gold amalgam.
Sound chap, always pestering me to get down the catacombs, always
felt bad refusing him. Any road, what did I decide as to his
epitaph.’

Enoch looked at
the list once more.

‘Filling his
last cavity.’

‘That’s grand,
had a lousy sense of humour did Dentist. The joke’s on him this
time.’

Dave slid the
stone onto a flat white plate and pressed a button. There was a
flash. A small cloud of smoke and dust puffed into the air. On the
surface of the stone, in perfect gothic script, were inscribed
those very words in a bright yellow metal.