The Garden of Unearthly Delights (37 page)

He
nearly
tripped. But not quite.

‘Are
you injured, good sir?’ asked the knight.

‘I’ve
dropped my shopping,’ said Dave, for such was the name of the yellow-haired
youth.

‘I
would gladly help you pick it up,’ said the knight, ‘but I can’t bend in this
armour. Do you know of anyone who might wish to earn ten gold pieces for
delivering a message and returning with a reply?’

‘That’s
hard to say,’ said Dave.

‘I
didn’t find it so,’ said the knight.

‘No,
what I meant’, said Dave, ‘is, it’s hard to say who might wish to earn
ten
gold
pieces. There are some, I’m sure, who might wish to earn fifteen, and others
twenty. But then there are probably those who would gladly take on the job for
as little as four or five.

‘Perhaps
you might suggest the name of one of these,’ said the knight, patiently.

‘I
don’t see how that would do any good.’

‘Why?’
asked the knight.

‘Because
you specifically said
ten.’

‘Perhaps
you might take on the job yourself,’ the knight suggested.

‘I
should be so lucky,’ said Dave. ‘A job like that I’d do for three.’

‘Then
your day’s blessed, because I have here that exact sum, which I am eager to pay
anyone for delivering this message and returning with a reply.’

‘I
thought you said ten?’

‘That
was a different message,’ the knight explained. The knight issued Dave with
specific
instructions and handed him the large white envelope. Dave hurried away and
the knight watched as he ran towards the manse of MacGuffin, falling only once,
when a civet sprang out of his right trouser bottom.

A while passed. It was
neither a long while nor a short while, but one in between. When it had passed,
Dave returned.

He
handed the knight a small brown envelope. The knight peered at this through his
visor and made approving sounds.

‘Might
I have my three gold coins now?’ asked Dave.

‘Three?’
asked the knight. ‘Did we agree three?’

‘We
did,’ agreed Dave.

‘Three
is a paltry sum. Ten is much fairer. You should have asked for ten.’

‘You’re
right,’ said Dave, ‘I should. Next time I will.’

‘Quite
right too,’ said the knight. ‘It should be ten or nothing, don’t you agree.’

‘I do.’
And Dave agreed once more.

‘So do
I,’ said the knight.
‘Nothing
it is then. A pleasure doing business with
you.’

And
with that he turned about and marched away.

The knight marched out of
the village and returned to the cricket pavilion. Here he tore open the brown envelope
and examined the contents. A letter, penned in Maxwell’s handwriting.

It
read.

FOR THE EYES OF EDDIE VON WURLITZER ONLY

Dear Eddie,

The apothecary has just arrived at the
camp with the special elixir you ordered which will neutralize the explosive in
the metal woman. Do you want me to dispatch a bottle directly to where you are
now? If so then just return this note to the messenger, sealed for security in
the enclosed envelope. The knights will remain in hiding awaiting your orders.

Yours, Captain Beefheart of the magic
guards.

Maxwell
screwed up the message and tossed it into a corner. ‘PHASE TWO completed,’ he
said, ‘and now on to PHASE THREE.’

Somewhat after lunch-time,
a stooped figure, wearing the distinctive red-and-white striped gown of an
apothecary, with the cowl drawn low across his face, shuffled into the village.

And
here he met a young man with a very glum face who had just fallen down and
dropped his shopping.

‘What
ails you, young man?’ asked the apothecary in a creaking ancient voice.

‘I’ve
fallen down,’ said Dave.

‘You’ve
an infestation, I believe.’

‘I
have?’ said Dave. ‘I mean, yes you’re right, I have. How did you know?’

‘I saw
the weasel that sent you flying.’

Dave
made a glummer face still.

‘I have
a potion that could cure that,’ said the apothecary.

‘You
have?’

‘I
have. But it would cost you three gold coins.’

‘Damn,’
said Dave.

‘However,
you might earn three gold coins from me.’

‘I
might,’ said Dave. ‘I only wish I knew how.’

‘I have
a bottle of elixir that must be delivered to the manse of MacGuffin the mage. I
would pay three gold coins. The bottle is full right up to the top, so you must
not spill a single drop.’

‘I’m a
very careful fellow,’ said Dave.

‘You
are nothing of the kind, and you know it. Walk very carefully with the bottle.
I will have my eye on you all the way.

‘Rely
on me,’ said Dave, receiving the bottle and bearing it away with a great show
of care.

And he
didn’t spill a drop.

Which
made him doubly sad when he returned to find that the apothecary had gone.

The apothecary sat in the
cricket pavilion with his feet up and a drink in his hand. ‘PHASE THREE completed’,
he said. ‘Which leaves just PHASE FOUR to do.

It was around five of the
afternoon clock when Maxwell returned to the village. This time he wore no
disguise. This time he wore a yellow bowling shirt, a really nifty dove-grey
zoot suit and his fine substantial boots (which due to their fine
substantiality, had survived the stamping he gave them in MacGuffin’s pouch).
The suit and shirt had been gifts from Sir John (nice thought).

Maxwell
sauntered into the village, his hands in his trouser pockets, he was whistling.

He was
just passing Budgen’s, when he came across a young man carrying two shopping
bags. He was a very dejected-looking young man. Very down at the mouth.

‘Wotcha,
Dave,’ said Maxwell. ‘Careful how you go now. You don’t want to trip over.’

Dave
stared, open mouthed at Maxwell. Then he managed a blank, ‘Hello.’

‘Do you
have a decent ale house round here?’ Maxwell asked.

‘Sadly
no,’ said Dave. ‘All I have is a little private house.’

Maxwell
smiled upon Dave. ‘Let me put it this way then. Do you know of a decent ale
house, that you would recommend to a thirsty traveller?’

‘Yes,’
said Dave, ‘I do.’

‘And?’
Maxwell asked.

‘And,
what?’

‘And
what is its name?’

‘Fangio’s
Bar,’ said Dave.

‘Would
you care to join me for a drink there?’

‘I
certainly would. It’s a shame it’s closed for renovations.’

‘There’s
an ale house over there.’ Maxwell pointed. As this was a statement, rather than
a question, Dave was somewhat stuck for something to say.

‘That’s
where I’m going,’ said Maxwell. ‘If you join me I will buy you a drink.’

Dave
mulled the concept over. ‘You will buy me a drink, simply for joining you in a
walk across the road?’

Maxwell
shook his head and strolled off to the ale house.

It was
one of those sleepy little country pubs. The ones with the copper bed-warming
pans, the toby jugs and horse brasses. The ones with the reproduction
Windsor
chairs, the shove-halfpenny boards
and the old boy with the gammy leg who talks about the
Somme
. The ones— ‘Out you!’ shouted the barman.

‘Me?’
asked Maxwell.

‘Not
you. Him.’

‘Me?’
asked Dave.

‘You,’
said the barman. ‘Last time you came in here we had bloody okapi running all
over the pub.’

‘I told
you I wasn’t lying about the okapi,’ Dave told Maxwell.

‘Bugger
off,’ said the barman and Dave buggered off.

‘Now,
sir,’ said the barman to Maxwell, ‘how
exactly
may I help you?’

‘Drinks
all round,’ said Maxwell.

‘Drinks
all round what?’

‘Drinks
for everyone in the place, at my expense.’ Maxwell cast a fistful of golden
coins onto the counter.

The
barman stared hard at Maxwell and opened his mouth to ask questions.

‘As
many drinks as the money will buy. Begin by offering each customer one drink of
his or her choice. I’ll explain what to do with the change.

‘Very
well, sir.
Lads,’
the barman called out, ‘this gentleman is offering to
buy everyone in the place a free drink.’

A brief
moment of silence was followed by a great trampling of feet and a surge towards
the bar. The barman did the business.

‘I’ll
have one myself also,’ said Maxwell. ‘From that pump there, in a pint glass,
full up.’

The
barman finished doing the business.

‘And
one for yourself.’

The
barman finished doing the extra bit of business. ‘Are you celebrating
something, sir?’ he asked.

‘Very
good,’ said Maxwell. ‘That’s what I’m doing and I want you all to celebrate
with me.’

‘Celebrate
what?’

Maxwell
spoke in a good loud voice. ‘The death of MacGuffin,’ he said.

There was
that sharp intake of breath. There was that spluttering sound of beer going up
noses. There was a terrible gasping and somebody fainted.

‘Before
this day is through’, said Maxwell, ‘MacGuffin will be dead and you will all be
free men.’

‘MacGuffin
dead?’ The barman’s jaw hung down to his chest.

‘Dead.’
Maxwell drew a finger across his throat. ‘And you will be free.’

‘You
are clearly insane,’ croaked the barman. ‘Kindly leave the premises.

‘Remember
my name, for I am your deliverer. It is Carrion. Max Carrion, Imagineer.’

‘Mick
Scallion?’

‘Don’t
even think about it.
Carrion’s
the name. And now, farewell.’

Dave sat in the gutter
outside. He looked up at Maxwell. ‘That was a quick drink,’ he said.

Maxwell
smiled down at Dave. ‘Dave,’ said Maxwell. ‘Dave, it would probably be best for
you to leave the village for a while. I am going now to the manse of MacGuffin.
Within the hour he will be dead. It is a well-known fact that when dictators
are overthrown, those who collaborated with them often end up swinging from
lampposts.’

Dave
did not reply to this. But he stood up and he walked away. And he didn’t take
his shopping.

Maxwell strode along the
high street. The whistling strains of
High Noon
were more than he could
resist. It was showdown time. The big confrontation. The moment he had waited
for. The moment he had dreamed about. The moment he had planned.

Black
Bess still stood at the hitching post. Maxwell untied her reins. ‘Go along,’
said he, patting her rump. ‘You are liberated. Gallop free.’

Black
Bess whinnied, tossed her mane about, then sauntered away up the street.

Deep-breath
time once more. Maxwell took it, pressed open MacGuffin’s gate, strode up his
garden path and knocked hard upon the door knocker.

No
reply.

Maxwell
put his ear to the front door.

Only
silence.

Maxwell
pushed the front door. It swung slowly open.

Maxwell
hesitated. Perhaps he should have brought Dave along to take that first step
over the threshold. No, it was all down to he alone. Just go for it.

And
Maxwell went for it. He stepped into the hall. ‘MacGuffin,’ he called.
‘MacGuffin, are you there?’

No
reply.

Maxwell
crept along the hall. Something might spring out. Something horrible. And what
to do if it did? ‘Run,’ Maxwell told himself.

Along
the hall and into the room of obscene animals. Did those glass eyes watch him?
Maxwell shuddered. No, of course they didn’t.

Out
into the hall of statues. ‘MacGuffin,’ called Maxwell. But there was only
silence. Apart from the beat of Maxwell’s heart and the tread of his
substantial boots.

Up the
staircase. One step at a time. Slowly. Slowly. Maxwell’s hand ran lightly up
the banister. Sticky-palmed it was. ‘MacGuffin.’

Maxwell
heard a distant sound. A low growl? Or a groan? Maxwell continued up the
stairs. He approached the doorway of the wonderful circular room. Another low
growl. Maxwell stopped, breath caught in his throat. Another sound.