Shell Shocked (The Cosmic Carapace, #1)

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Barnaby Yard

1 | Multifabriced

2 | The Tortuga

3 | Ingress

4 | Drugged Bacon

5 | Mr Pall

6 | The Beret Nipple

7 | Morgue Thunder

8 | Bad News

9 | Missing

10 | Queen Lisa

11 | The Strangs

12 | Jail Time

13 | Nebwett

14 | The Cosmic Carapace

15 | Mrs Strang’s Rally

16 | Double Ended Vibobbler

17 | Distractions

18 | Scattered plans

19 | A Death

20 | The Overground

21 | Goodbyes

Epilogue

Also By Barnaby Yard

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It's hard to not stare when someone is wearing a bowler hat in modern England. It leaves the starer contemplating many things. Do they still make bowler hats? Is there still a market for them? If so, who is this market? Recently arrived time travellers from the 1920s? Mime artists?

The mind truly boggles when you then attempt to bring in the leather jacket to this ensemble.

This was a fifties style biker's jacket. Something a James Dean character would wear. Not something you would immediately accompany, mentally, with a bowler hat. By the time you reach the trousers, you are surely convinced that this person has either lost a bet with very severe consequences, or is someone to whom reality is but a fleeting dream. The trousers you see, are multicoloured.

'Multicoloured?!' I hear you cry. 'Is that all?!' No, it is not all.

These trousers are also multifabriced.

Now of course, multifabriced is not a real word, but that's how out on a limb we are right now. We have, in clothing terms, reached the end of the thread of rationality.

These trousers contained elements of silk, dashes of corduroy, hints of denim and a great deal of audacity. These trousers didn't just announce your arrival, they screamed it while hitting a very large gong.

The man whose arrival they were currently screaming had got on the N11 bus at Ealing Broadway and taken a seat at the rear. The other man, who was unable to stop staring at this nightmarish apparition of fashion, was one Spencer Blake. It had been a long day, and the pub had certainly taken it's toll on Spencer's mental faculties. When he'd first boarded the bus for instance, there had been a stumble which resulted in a certain amount of undignified splaying on the ground, earning him a tut of disapproval from a rather hawkish faced woman with a tight, bun hairdo. That said, he was fairly sure that what he was currently seeing, he of the screaming trousers, leather jacket and bowler hat, was not commonplace.

This strangely attired fellow had got on four stops ago, Spencer should have got off at the last, but he couldn't. He was transfixed by this strange little person. Almost as peculiar as his clothing, were the man's mannerisms. He had a rather plain, rounded face, accented by thin framed, round spectacles. Spencer thought he had the look of a bank manager about him which, unbeknown to Spencer, he was. His small, button nose was twitching like a rabbit who had recently had a large bag of carrots wafted in front of him only to have it snatched away as he was about to tuck in. He looked lost, a little confused, but most of all, he looked frightened. A small bead of sweat trickled down from under the bowler hat and came to rest in his right eye. Spencer waited for him to wipe it away and when he didn't he glanced at the man's hands. They were balled in tight fists, tinged white with the force.

Spencer had many faults, most of them finely honed over the years into full blown personality flaws, but a lack of inquisitiveness was not one of them. His interest had been piqued, which is a terrible thing to happen to a mind currently dulled on numerous pints of ale, but an even more terrible thing to happen to a mind like Spencer's. It created a mental itch of the brain, which could not be left unscratched. He was only dimly aware that he had missed his stop. He just knew he had to find out more about this man.

They sat at opposite ends of the back seat of the bus. Spencer being a master of subtlety, had only been spotted twice staring at the man, but this seemed to have been enough for the man to have become even more agitated, adding furious blinking to the twitching nose. Spencer decided that proactive action was required. He began sliding up the seat towards him. He decided to add what he thought was a friendly comforting grin to his face, which glowed in the yellowing lights of the bus with an alcoholic sheen.

“Are you ok?” Spencer thought this was a pretty safe opening gambit. Kind, friendly, not making a big deal about the fact that this chap was dressed like he'd fallen into a charity clothes donation bin. So it was somewhat of a surprise when the man screamed at a quite incredibly high pitch directly into Spencer's face, before leaping up and running down the aisle of the bus towards the door. Spencer's ears were ringing. As he tried to stand, the man screamed again, this time at the bus doors. The driver swerved to the curb and opened the automatic doors with a hissing noise, prompting another scream before the man ran out into the teeming rain of the night. Spencer's legs were decidedly wobbly, but despite this he took off in pursuit. He passed the lady with the tight bun who seemed to be clutching her handbag to her as though it was her life support, and a shocked looking driver who had his fingers jammed firmly into both ears. He jumped off the bus and saw the man running into a side street to his left, he continued his stumbling run after him, splashing the puddles he vainly sought to avoid as he went. His long, navy duffle coat flew out behind him as he ran. His faded and beaten jeans striding purposefully, if not accurately. He was catching the figure in front he noted, giving himself a mental pat on the back, he pushed on, down the pavement of the small deserted street. It looked like he was in a small commercial area. He passed a tiny carpet shop and a pet store, both closed. Parked cars lined both sides of the road. The man was running wildly, his arms flailing to the side as he moved. The screaming had stopped, but there was a sort of intense, loud humming coming from him, which echoed round the street. Spencer decided to shout.

“Hey!” Ok, Spencer considered, it wasn't very original, but it was a classic, and to the point. Also, it seemed to have worked. The man had stopped dead. The humming had stopped. Spencer slowed his run as he realised that he was now running towards a stationary madman rather than one that was moving away from him. This changed the complexion of the situation somewhat. The man raised his arms slowly up above his head, his fingers straight, pointing to the heavens.

Spencer was walking now, just a few feet from the silent, outstretched figure. If he could only see his face... There was something slightly disturbing about looking at the back of this particular outfit.

“Can I help at all? You seem to be...”

It wasn't that Spencer had become lost for words at this point, that would have been an unlikely event. No. Spencer's unlikely pause was due to a sudden, unexplained loss of consciousness. Well, unexplained to Spencer. The explanation was perfectly obvious to the young woman who stood over him holding the sock full of coins.

~~~~

M
ist wallowed in the streets like fat on the city's arteries. It was late, but the city didn't notice. The streets were just as busy, work still continued, people still milled about with nothing better to do. The only difference was that these were a different set of people than during the day time. There are certain professions after all, that are better performed in the dark.

The jet black carriage came down the street at speed. Just inside its metal framed wheels were mounted springs which allowed the wheels to rise and fall with the bumps of the road, but not the carriage. It's four black horses wore dark feathered plumage and glistened with sweat as they moved. People, without looking up, moved back against the walls either side of the narrow street as it approached. The occupant sat upright, hands steepled in front of his face. He was close, he could feel it. He had received the message twenty minutes ago, they should have her by now.

~~~~

S
he could feel her heart beating almost out of her chest, a mixture of adrenaline, fear and the fact she was running as fast as she could. She had no idea why the two men were chasing her, but they looked like the kind you shouldn't stop and ask. She ducked into a narrow alleyway and sprinted on. She knew this area, maybe they didn't? At the end of the alley was a street always busy at this time of night, not necessarily with the right sort of people, but men were often willing to help out a female in distress, even round here. That is, until they could work out some distress they could give her of their own.

She'd spotted them when she'd left the Rose and Crown after another long shift behind the bar. Whoever they were hadn't been very subtle. From leaning under the lamppost looking conspicuous, they had leapt up and started coming for her the moment she had crossed the street. Her pace had quickened, as had theirs, until they had become locked in a chase. She could see the end of the alley and summoned up everything she had into moving quicker. She could hear their breath echoing up the narrow walls behind her. She burst from the alley onto the street.

~~~~

T
he occupant of the black carriage felt the driver heave on the reins of the horses and apply the wheel lock. The deafening scrape of metal as the carriage jerked sideways, he hung to the loop of material which hung from the ceiling for passengers to steady themselves. The horses screamed and wood splintered until the cacophony of noise ended with a sickening thump and crack of flesh and bone next to him on the outside of the carriage, before it rocked to a halt. The occupant straightened his velvet waistcoat and jacket before reaching up and with both hands, smoothing and twirling the end of his mustache out. Once he had also smoothed his hair back in place, he pulled a thick cord which made the heavy blind lift revealing the open window of the carriage on the side the impact had occurred. His driver was crouching over a woman whose neck was bent in an obscene fashion, her dead eyes open towards him.

“I didn't see 'er coming Master, she just shot out!” The driver was shaking, tears rolled down his grubby cheeks which he wiped away with his neckerchief. The occupant looked up at the two large men who were at the end of the alley, panting and looking sheepish.

“Stop sniveling and put some light on her face man!” The driver visibly jumped at the snapped instructions and lurched over to the front of the carriage where he removed one of the lanterns from the brass clasp that held it in place and held it to the dead woman's face. The occupant's face showed a flash of his suspicions being realised before he turned his face to the two large men.

“Alive I said." His narrow eyes bore into them, suggesting that disappointing him was not a long term problem. In fact, the men thought he was looking at them as though they wouldn’t have many long term
anythings
anymore. A crowd was beginning to form around the scene. The two large men were looking sheepishly around.

Not bright enough to know they should run
, thought the occupant of the carriage.

“Take the body and make sure no one can see who she is. Driver! Home!” He let the blind fall back over the small window and sat back into the leather seat, lighting a thin cigar. This was unfortunate, but he could still go ahead with his plan. As soon as he'd realised that she existed, he'd known he had more than one chance of getting her. One down...