The Day Before Tomorrow (23 page)

At this point, Cindy came scurrying into the library, pale faced and worried.  She plucked at Denny’s sleeve. 

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘It’s Jack,’ she gasped.  ‘I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve never seen
anyone
like this.  You’ve got to come, now!  I think he might die.’

The fighting stopped at once.  Each and every dwarf turned to look at Denny, concern radiating from every visible feature.

‘Where?’ said Denny tersely. 

‘In the wine cellar,’ said Cindy, wringing her hands.  ‘Come on!’

‘Oh Christ!’ said Tamar. ‘I didn’t know this place had a wine cellar.’

 They found Stiles lying on the floor of the cellar surrounded by dozens of empty bottles singing happily about bears doing things that, had real bears tried them, they would certainly have been thrown out of the animal kingdom. 

He looked up fuzzily.  ‘Dwarfffsss!’ he shouted.  ‘Hi ho – sliver, whatever they may shay, you all look bloody tall to me.’ 

‘That’s because you’re on the floor,’ said Tamar dryly.

Stiles looked surprised.  ‘Am I?  Well, there’s a thing.  Thingggg, ding, ting a ling ding, whoops.’  He tried to get up and fell over again. 

‘Okay, let’s get him upstairs,’ said Tamar.  ‘Come on you.’  She hauled him to his feet. 

Stiles stared at her.  ‘Snow White sw’elp me,’ he said and went off into a long stream of giggles. 

‘You’ll pay for that later,’ muttered Tamar.  She threw him over her shoulder and carried him up the cellar steps. 

‘It’s so nice to have a man about the house,’ murmured Stiles. Then he threw up all down her back. 

*

By the time they got him into the library, Stiles had stopped singing and was reaching that stage of drunkenness known as “almost comatose”.

The dwarfs piled in behind them. 

‘Well,’ said Loopy.  ‘He’s drunk all right,’

‘Is he all right?’ asked Crusty. 

‘Dunno,’ replied Droopy.  ‘He looks sort of – green.  Humans ain’t supposed to be green are they?’

‘And he’s dribbling,’ put in Itchy. ‘You can see it clear, on account of he hasn’t got a proper beard to catch it in.’

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of dribble,’ said Dribbler. 

Tamar sighed.  ‘You two,’ she snapped at Rusty and Dusty, ‘sit him up.  Denny, you hold his nose.’  She manifested a phial of evil looking purple liquid, smoke rose from the top of it. 

Denny winced.  ‘Not that stuff,’ he groaned. 

‘Well?’ said Tamar, ‘I’m not giving it to
you
, am I?  If you’ve got a better idea …’

‘Just don’t give him too much.’

‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ said Tamar, ‘even the Vikings were never this drunk.’ 

‘That’s true,’ said Florid. ‘Why did he get so drunk anyway?  Everyone knows it isn’t any fun after you throw up for the fifth time.’

‘He’s in despair,’ said Tamar, ‘we told you about that, about the box.  Now help me.’

She poured the liquid down Stiles’s throat and held his mouth closed for a moment until he swallowed. 

‘Okay, you can let him go now.’ 

The dwarfs scrambled back.

After a moment, Stiles opened his eyes blearily, ‘Hullo,’ he slurred sleepily.  Then he grinned and lurched forward. 

Tamar’s face fell.  ‘He’s
still
drunk,’ she said disbelievingly. 

Stiles located her with some difficulty.  ‘’m not drun’,’ he objected.  ‘You wouldn’ dare call me drun’ ‘f I was sober.’  He grabbed her by the shoulder.  ‘Wow!’ he said, startling her.  ‘You – are – beautiful.’

Tamar rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, God,’ she sighed.  ‘The amorous stage, I hate this bit.  Any minute now he’ll start singing …’

‘I bet you were a beautiful baby,’ warbled Stiles suddenly. 

‘That!’ finished Tamar. 

‘I bet you were a beautiful chii-ild.’

‘He’s not
as
drunk,’ said Denny. ‘At least he’s walking and talking again.  Maybe you should give him a bit more.’

‘I daren’t give him any more,’ said Tamar.  ‘He’s already had more than the maximum dose for his weight.

‘Good God!’  Denny was impressed.  ‘I’m amazed he was still breathing.’

‘He damn well nearly wasn’t.  Cindy was right about that.’ 

‘All right lads,’ said Florid.  ‘Let’s give him some wakeup juice.’  He turned to Tamar.  ‘Old fashioned dwarf remedy,’ he explained.  ‘Works a treat, no problem.  You leave him to us, okay.’

‘ALL RIGHT JACK,’ yelled Giblet.  ‘COME ON SON, HAVE A TASTE OF THIS HERE, SOON HAVE YOU FEELING BETTER.’  He produced a small bottle from his sack and opened it up.  The stench that rose from it was mostly indescribable, with just a hint of rotten eggs.  Jack took the bottle gingerly and held it up to his face, his nose wrinkled involuntarily, but his brain was lagging somewhat behind and he threw it down as instructed.  Then fell over, straight backwards like a falling tree. 

‘Ah, good,’ said Florid.  ‘I was afraid it might not work on humans.  Don’t worry. He’ll be all right, takes about ten minutes to work.’  He frowned.  ‘Maybe fifteen,’ he amended.  ‘Or twenty.  Definitely won’t be more than half an hour anyway.’

The Dwarfs were in a huddle in the corner muttering anxiously together, occasionally one of them would make a loud remark or objection only to be shushed vehemently by the others.  Tamar and Denny weren’t listening anyway; they were worriedly watching Stiles for any signs of life, as yet there were none. 

‘Well what I say is this …’ began Loopy in a loud voice and was hushed down by the others.  ‘Well, what I say is this,’ he began again in a lower voice.  ‘Jack is our friend!  And I say if we can help him – we must, and there’s no arguing with that.  So there.’

‘He’s right,’ muttered Stinky.  ‘There ain’t no gittin’ out of it, when you puts it that way.’ 

‘So, are we all agreed then?’ said Florid. 

Slowly every dwarf hand was raised. 

‘The ayes have it,’ said Florid looking relieved.  ‘Let’s go and tell them.’

‘What does he mean, the eyes have it?’ asked Sid of Dozy. 

Dozy shrugged.  ‘Dunno, what’re I’s?’

Stiles sat up suddenly and groaned.  ‘Oh God!’  He stared blearily at Tamar, ‘What the hell happened?’

Tamar gave him a stern look, and he turned into a lamp stand.  ‘Whoops,’ she said and turned him back. 

He shook his head, a procedure that he immediately regretted. ‘Aaaaagh,’ he yelled clutching his ears. 

‘Hmm,’ said Tamar.  ‘Got a bit of a headache there, have ya?  Serves you right,’ she added with the smug censoriousness of the tee totaller. 

‘Don’t’ said Denny, who had had his share of hangovers and could only sympathise with how Stiles must be feeling.  ‘I think he probably feels bad enough.’

‘Right!’ agreed Stiles fervently still clutching his head.  ‘Er, why?’ he added. 

Denny understood.  ‘I’m afraid you were a little drunk,’ he told him.

Tamar snorted.  ‘A little?’

‘Okay – very,’ amended Denny. 

‘Drunk?’ said Stiles, aghast.  ‘But I don’t do that anymore.  Why would I …?’ he turned his head gingerly at the sound of the approaching dwarfs.  ‘What are they doing here?’

‘You don’t remember anything?’ said Tamar, ignoring this.

‘Don’t frown at him,’ warned Denny, ‘he might turn into a bedspread next.’

‘It’s okay,’ Tamar reassured him.  ‘I think this might all be for the best after all.  If he can’t remember what’s happened, then he might be able to fight the despair better.’  She looked thoughtful.  ‘It might even have been what he had in mind all along, he’s not daft you know.’ 

‘What’s the last thing you remember?’  Denny asked him. 

Stiles frowned in concentration. ‘Um, I’m not sure. It’s all a bit blurred.  I think I remember Hell – bits of it anyway.  I remember these guys – I think.’  He indicated the dwarfs.  ‘But …’

‘It’s okay,’ said Tamar.  ‘He doesn’t remember. And no one is to tell him, okay?’ she looked threateningly at the dwarfs. 

Stiles threw up
allegro mon troppo
.

‘Can’t you do something for him?’ asked Denny, who unlike Tamar, felt extremely sorry for Stiles’s predicament.

‘In a minute,’ said Tamar impatiently; she sensed the dwarfs had something urgent to communicate.

Denny took her elbow gently but firmly and turned her toward the suffering Stiles.  ‘No Tamar,’ he said with the quiet authority that he rarely employed.  ‘Now.’

Tamar glanced at him in surprise. He looked angrier than Tamar had ever seen him. 

‘He’s our
friend
, Tamar.’ said Denny.  ‘Help him.’

Tamar had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, gazing at the floor.  She waved her hands vaguely over Stiles shuddering body.  He gave a little sigh and fell asleep immediately.  ‘He’ll be fine when he wakes up,’ she said.  ‘It’s the best I can do.’ 

Denny smiled.

He turned to the dwarfs. ‘Now then fellers,’ he said employing that same friendly camaraderie that had endeared the dwarfs to Stiles.  ‘What’s up?’

Florid stepped forward solemnly and handed Tamar the map, glancing at the other dwarfs nervously as he did so.  As Tamar opened her mouth to thank him, he waved his hand dismissively.  ‘Not a word,’ he warned her.  ‘Not one word.  Least we can do,’ he gestured to the prostrate Stiles.  ‘Under the circumstances, look you.’  Tamar nodded. 

Denny slapped Florid on the back and winked.  ‘Knew you’d come through,’ he told them, smiling at the dwarfs who looked pleased.  

‘Get Cindy,’ said Tamar unrolling the map, ‘and Hecaté and Jamie too,’ she added. 

Denny nodded.  He glanced at Stiles, ‘how long before he wakes up?’ he asked.  

Tamar smiled.  ‘Oh not long,’

~Chapter Twenty Eight ~

T
he Horsemen were trekking down a dusty road. They were not so much riding out, thought Tamar, as sauntering out. 

‘I guess there’s no need for them to hurry,’ observed Denny.  ‘It’s not as if it can start without them.’ 

‘Where are we anyway?’ asked Stiles, now fully recovered and, due to his impaired memory, somewhat puzzled by this mission. 

Tamar consulted the map.  It had taken them three days to catch up to the Horsemen, who were slowly but surely taking the apocalypse to every corner of the world.  ‘Um,’ she frowned.  ‘Somewhere in middle America,’ she hazarded.  ‘Wisconsin or one of those places, what does it matter?’ she snapped annoyed that she didn’t know.  Tamar hated to admit that she didn’t know everything. 

Denny tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

‘And you can shut up as well,’ she told him waspishly.

‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Cindy nervously.  The Horsemen were approaching steadily. 

‘Fight!’ said Tamar bluntly.

‘Fight?’ gibbered Cindy.  ‘Fight
them
?’ she looked at Stiles and Denny for support, but they were both already un-slinging swords from their backs, the light of battle already in their eyes.  ‘You’re all crazy,’ she said.

‘Why?’ said Tamar, genuinely astonished.  ‘There’s four of them and four of us.’

They had been unable to find Hecaté and Jamie in the house, and Tamar had been unwilling to waste time searching for them.

Florid, behind her, cleared his throat indignantly. 

‘And all the lads,’ Tamar added without missing a beat.  ‘We’ve definitely faced worse odds,’

‘But they’re not human,’ objected Cindy. 

‘Well?’ said Tamar.  ‘Neither are most of us.  What’s your point?’

Cindy sighed, giving in. ‘I suppose they can’t be worse than vampires,’ she said, without believing a word of it. 

‘Oh yes they can,’ said Tamar grimly.

‘Why did you have to say that?’ moaned Cindy. 

The Horsemen rode nonchalantly toward them, then stopped a few yards ahead of them and looked curiously at them, particularly the dwarfs. 

All four protagonists were frozen to the spot.  Tamar gazed into the face of Death, unable to look away. She frowned, struggling to remember something that was just on the edge of her memory.  Denny seemed equally transfixed by Pestilence and for much the same reason, as it would turn out.  He felt he had seen his face before.  Of course, technically, we have all looked into the faces of all that the Horsemen represent, but this was different.  Stiles and Cindy stopped short and looked nervously from Tamar to Denny’s faces and went cold with fear.

It was Denny who broke the silence.  He pointed a shaking finger at Pestilence.  ‘Here?’ he said, ‘aren’t you …?  I know you. You are! You’re Lazarus Moult,’

Pestilence broke into a huge smile ‘A fan!’ he said delightedly.

Death released Tamar from his gaze to turn a stern face on Pestilence.  ‘You’re
who
?’ he rumbled. 

‘Oh, um, just my little joke,’ he muttered shamefacedly, even his horse looked embarrassed. 

‘He’s
who
?’ repeated Tamar incredulously. 

‘He’s a rock star,’ explained Denny, ‘sort of anyway. He used to be hugely famous in the sixties.  I’ve got his album.’

‘Album?  Singular?’

‘Well, yes, just the one.  It’s very good though,’ he added, aware that all eyes were now on him.  

Tamar rolled her eyes.  ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she groaned.  ‘Why does this sort of thing keep happening to us?’

War and Famine were sniggering, but Death kept up a stony silence.  It was impossible to tell, what with his face being a mere skull, but it seemed that he was looking disapproving. 

Pestilence ignored him.  He leaned down to Denny, flies buzzed around his head.  ‘You liked it?’ he asked eagerly.  ‘Really?’

Denny nodded, agitating the flies; he brushed them away from his eyes. 

‘Oh, sorry about them,’ said Pestilence, can’t seem to get rid of them.’

‘You are a musician, I see,’ he added, ‘looking into Denny’s face earnestly. 

Tamar snorted. 

‘Well,’ said Denny. ‘I like to play and write songs sometimes, but I’m not particularly good.’  He glanced at Tamar, who had nothing to say about this.  ‘How did you know?’

‘I can see it,’ said Pestilence.  ‘And,’ he turned to Tamar, ‘this is your Muse?’

Tamar laughed, but the laughter died on her lips when Denny answered: ‘Yes.’