The Four Realms (16 page)

The passageway emerged onto a busy urban street. Tall Tudor wooden-framed buildings hunched over the road like old men, almost touching their opposite number in places.
 
The occasional younger sibling wore the same designs but was identifiable by how straight they stood.
 
Both young and old had been modernised though.
 
Maureen saw that some had replaced their windows, from small lead-lined panels to PVC double-glazing.
 
Others had been gutted, their ground floors replaced with an open plan design and a modern shop facia.
 
Amongst the grocers and blacksmiths, she saw shops that she recognised from her own world.
 
The smell of french fries emanating out of the McDonalds across the road mingled with that of peculated coffee from the Starbucks situated next to it.

On either side of the road, people clogged the pavement even at this time of evening; a mix of all those races she’d heard about but never seen.
 
To Maureen's surprise, they weren't dressed in the old fashioned leather tunics and chainmail she'd always imagined but modern outfits; well, all except for the trolls who presumably couldn't find sizes to fit them.
 
Some were wearing T-Shirts with brands on them that Maureen recognised as belonging to her realm; most were wearing jeans, although she noted that the shorter races seemed to prefer three-quarter length trousers or shorts, due to their stature.
 
Some were even wearing sunglasses, and she was sure she saw the name Gucci on a pair belonging to a female elf that walked past.

If the pavement was an eye-opener, then the road was more so.
 
Whilst there were plenty of the expected horse and carts, filled with fruits and vegetables - presumably from the farms that ringed the city - moving in between were bicycles and scooters.
 
Here and there, three wheeled auto rickshaws, in yellow and blue livery, zipped around defying what little semblance of road rules Venefasia had.
 
It looked like several of the farmers had upgraded their horse and carts for huge, diesel chugging trucks that coughed black smoke out into the streets.
 
None of the vehicles appeared to be new, Maureen thought. They looked like the hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs, each dented, chipped and rusted.

Maureen started walking along the street doing her best to avoid the crowds, from goblins only a few feet high to trolls that towered over her.
 
She passed an electronics store, the contents of which made Soviet era Russia look progressive.
 
Beside a display of various Walkmans, a large poster advertised that telephony was coming to New Salisbury next year.
 
The rotary dial phone on the poster was even older than the one in Maureen’s home.
 
“Pre-Order early to avoid disappointment,” the poster read.

Maureen tried not to stare at the sights around her, instead consulting the map and heading south down a side road.
 
Not as busy but still she had to weave in and out of people large and small.

“Can I interest you in our offers on meat today, Madam?” an Adlet asked Maureen, stepping towards her on the canine feet that denoted his race.
 
“We’ve got a special on rat and pigeon.”
 
He smiled showing large canine teeth.

Baskets of all variety of dried meats were arranged on a table in front of the shop. The Victorian façade was such a marked difference from the large windowed shop front selling trainers next door.
 

“No. No, thank you,” Maureen replied, backing away from the strange creature, her head bumping into the dried snakes that were hanging from the shop awning.

She hurried along, consulting her map at every street corner.
 
The shops gave way to residential areas, spacious three story flat-topped terraced houses with iron railings and steps up to the front door.
 
The traffic and pedestrians ebbed, although echoes from the main streets reverberated across the city.

She passed through a labyrinth of these back roads, before emerging onto a cobbled road that ran alongside a river.
 
She went over and peered over the iron railings to see mudflats where the river should be, small fishing boats beached on them.

"Tide must be out," she muttered to herself as she looked downstream, trying to make out what looked like a harbour …

In the distance, huge cargo airships rose, metal circlets sat on cushions of air, presumably taking goods from the port further inland.
 
Gulls chattered above, the hint of the ocean on the breeze, as Maureen consulted the map once again and looked toward a line of fishermen cottages alongside the road.
 
"It's here," she told herself.

Next to the cross that marked the location was written the number 49.
 
She scoured the line of houses.
 
There was 45 and the one next to it was 47, so this one - the one with the red door, how typically Ernest - had to be 49
.

She stood there relieved she'd found it.
 
She went to touch it as if it wouldn't be real unless she did so, when the door flung open to reveal a wizard standing there.
 
She immediately glanced down to the ground, in case he recognised her.
 
But in that split second, she'd got a good look at his face and was relieved that it wasn't anyone she recognised.
 
She was good with faces, even if she wasn't good with names.

"You must be the cleaner," the wizard grumbled.
 
"About time.
 
I know we said late in the day, but this is ridiculous."

Maureen didn't know what to say, her heart was racing and she thought it might burst out of her chest there and then.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "They didn't say."

The wizard huffed.

"Here," he said.
 
Taking her hand and thrusting some coins in it.
 
"The boxes are upstairs.
 
A removal firm will be coming to collect them first thing tomorrow morning, so no need to move them, just fill them with the books."

"Books," agreed Maureen still trying to take everything in.

"Look," said the wizard, his anger subsiding.
 
"I've got a poker game tonight."
 
He rummaged in his robes before pulling out a key and handing it to her.
 
"I'm supposed to supervise, but it's not like there's anything worth nicking in there.
 
You couldn't just lock up after you finish and post the key through the letterbox?
 
The removal guys have their own key."

Maureen nodded.

"Thanks," The wizard said, stepping out the door and past her.
 
"I dunno know why we couldn't just get some acolytes to baby sit.
 
Still I don't suppose it bothers you if someone's here or not."

Maureen wanted to ask the wizard what he knew about the man who lived here, but she dare not.
 
Instead, she just backed into the doorway.

"Thank you," she said.

The wizard probably took her for someone who didn't speak a lot of English as he just smiled, turned and walked back toward the city whistling to himself.
 
Maureen waited until he turned the corner, before stepping inside and closing the door to the outside world.
 
She let out a gasp of air.

Her heart was still beating fast.
 
What if he'd recognised her, what if he'd been suspicious and called in Rofen or one of the other wizards that knew her?
 
Suddenly, this was no longer an adventure and she was questioning what she was doing here.
 
What had she been thinking when she'd stepped through that gateway?
 
This was madness.
 
If she didn't get herself killed through turning down some wrong alley, how on earth was she going to get back?
 
What if Joseph was now banging on her door?
 
What if the Inquisitor had come back for his dropped file?

She tried to stop herself hyperventilating.
 
What was done was done, so she might as well get on with what she came here for.
 
She looked around.

It was a lot smaller and lot more modern than she expected.
 
The front door opened into a small square lounge, the two-seater sofa dominating what little space there was.
 
Windows gave her a look onto the street, and on the opposite side, a small unkempt garden.
 
Ernest had never been one for gardening, as much as Maureen had tried to entice him. However, she was pleased that he did keep a large number of pot plants that were dotted around the place, geraniums mostly,

At the opposite end of the lounge two rooms led off, equal in size, one a kitchen that looked only slightly older than Maureen's - she'd had her cooker thirty years now and, touch wood, it was still going fine.
 
In the other was a small bathroom; no shower, just bath, toilet and sink.
 
A few feet in front of Maureen and the front door, stairs led up from the lounge to the floor above.

As houses went, it was fairly basic, but it appeared to have electricity and a running water supply; far more than Maureen expected.
 
She'd expected castles and candlelight and wooden benches.
 
Of course she had no way of knowing whether this was indicative of the whole of New Salisbury or whether being a wizard granted him some special privileges.
 
Surprising that Ernest never said, but then perhaps the issue was her misperception that Venefasia hadn't moved on.
 
I guess everyone appreciates electricity and sanitized water
, she thought.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" she asked before she'd had time to think.
 
She should have just remained quiet, pretended that no-one was here.

"I come clean," came a voice in broken English on the other side of the door.
 
Maureen needed to get rid of her quickly before anyone came along and questioned why there were now two cleaners.

She opened the door, and thought there was no-one there until she looked down and saw the Gnome woman standing there, hair done up in a beehive as she drew on a cigarette that whilst normal size seemed as big as her forearm.

"You're late," Maureen said sternly.

"You trying being on time when you have three kids and lazy layabout husband," the woman scoffed, before blowing a smoke circle big enough for her to climb through.

"Well, I'm sorry, we had to get someone else."

"Motherfucker!" the Gnome exclaimed.
 
"A couple of hours.
 
That's all."

"Times are hard," Maureen shrugged.
 
"The early bird catches the worm."

"Early what?
 
Fucking wizards, all same.
 
Think they can stamp on little folk cos they have mana mojo."

The gnome took a long puff on her cigarette, then threw it to the ground and stamped it out before exhaling long and slow.

"Fuck, I need this job," she said.

"Well," said Maureen, feeling guilty, "How about I give you something for your trouble?"

The Gnome looked up, her expression not revealing any form of gratitude or pleasure.
 
She just stuck out her hand.

Maureen rummaged in her pocket and pulled out the largest coin the wizard had given to her.
 
Even the Gnome couldn't hide her surprise as her eyes seemed to slightly bulge at the sighte of it.

She placed the coin in the Gnome's hand and the Gnome immediately snatched it away, before looking at it, and saying with fake nonchalance, “it'll do."

Maureen knew she’d probably paid her far too much, but then it wasn't her money to begin with, so no real loss.
 
The Gnome scurried away before there was chance to question the payment.

With the real cleaner now gone, Maureen could get to work.
 
The wizard had said the boxes were upstairs, so on closing the door, she proceeded carefully and slowly up the stairs, trying not to look at the portraits of Ernest that lined the wall, and especially that one of a little cottage that looked remarkably like her own.
 
Did Ernest paint?
 
She'd never known.
 
So many secrets.
 
No, not secrets, things she'd never bothered to find out.
 
Too busy wrapped up in her own world to worry about others.

The floor plan of the first floor matched that of the ground.
 
In place of the lounge, stood a small library, bookcases along all the walls, a well-worn armchair in the centre.
 
Above the bathroom and kitchen were two bedrooms.
 
One looked like it has been used to store things, filled with boxes and papers, but the other was relatively tidy.
 
A small wooden bed was up against the wall, Ernest’s bed.

She sat on the edge of it and wept in mourning for her friend.
 
All doubts about why she was here faded.
 
She'd find that notebook, and somehow, she'd find his killer.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Mr West Takes Charge

Mr West had elected to teleport to tonight's meeting, rather than walk the streets of New York.
 
He'd done that once and saw no need to do it again.
 
Besides, the snow had been churned to slush and was now starting to freeze.
 
Last thing he needed was to slip and break a bone.
 
Did he even have real bones to break?

It had been a busy twenty four hours and West was feeling pleased with himself.
 
No, he'd not turned up the missing notebook, but he'd executed his mission against the vampires with lightening efficiency.
 
Say what they like about him using probability, everything had gone to plan.
 
A few more days rounding up the stragglers and he'd have that notebook, he was sure.