Shell Shocked (The Cosmic Carapace, #1) (7 page)

“Bloody hell Colin, I don't know! He didn't exactly stop and chat, he just went for me! There wasn't much chance of a gossip after he was spread like jam on street below!”

“If only I'd been there, I would have shown him."

“What exactly would you have shown him which would have affected him more than being turned into human pâté?! Ugh.”

The woman lay sprawled on the sofa, her left hand hung off, limp, while her right pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. The group was huddled around her, looking nervous and listening intently. Except for Colin. Spencer glanced at him, he looked annoyed that he had missed a chance to play the hero. Prat.

Spencer was in a daze. As if this hadn't all been the proverbial emotional rollercoaster of a morning already, he was now fairly sure that he was in love. This woman, this small, furious whirlwind of hair and attitude who talked so easily about a man who she had apparently just witnessed dying horribly, had struck him a blow to his heart. He was, it was true, very prone to overreactions to members of the opposite sex, but this was different. She was different. He was so dumbstruck, he hadn't spoken since she had arrived, and didn't notice the arrival of Spangler who Norbert had scurried off to find as soon as she had burst through the door.

“Becky, go through everything from the start.” The woman, clearly called Becky, sat up from her prone position. All annoyance gone from her voice, she spoke in a calm composed manner as if giving a police statement.

“I was cutting through the rooftops between Back End and Squidgy Lane to get to the Lansun market as I always do on a Thursday to see Afet. Suddenly a guy appeared in all black; he had a black bandana on the top of his head, and another across his face. He obviously wasn't there to wish me good morning, so I managed to react before he leapt at me. I ducked and rolled to the side, but he still caught me. We both went over the edge, my handbag caught on a runoff pipe and I managed to swing back up. He wasn't so lucky.”

Spencer noticed that she was gripping her handbag tightly to her chest with both hands as she recounted her story. Everyone was now looking at Spangler, waiting for what he would say.

“Did anyone see you get away?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Good. Be careful for a while Becky. You need to stay low, maybe stay out of Alexandria until I can find out what the authorities know.” Becky nodded silently.

“Norbert, get out on the street and see what the word is. Who was this man? Did anyone see what happened? Then get back here sharpish.” Norbert shuffled off to the door muttering under his breath

“Do this, do that, don't even bloomin' work for you, just trying to earn a livin'."

“While we're playing it safe...” Spangler looked meaningfully at Becky as he said this, “we have something to follow up on, on Three. A woman has died there, it concerns me.”

Becky looked across at Spencer, seeing him really for the first time. What she saw was a ridiculously cheesy grin shining back at her, from a man who felt like he had suddenly looked into his overgrown, wilderness of a garden, to find everything had come up roses. To Spencer's dismay she turned away again to Colin.

“Colin, if you go near the market could you tell my friend Afet that I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier, she works on the hat stall on the corner by the east gate.” Colin puffed out his chest which ran about eye level to Becky and ran a hand the size of a dinner plate through his blonde hair.

“No problem babe, you can rely on me.”

Becky rolled her eyes.

~~~~

“Y
ou are joking? It almost killed me last time!”

“No, you were almost killed because you hadn't taken it last time.”

Spencer was not happy. He had in his hand another glass of the clear liquid (topped with lemon once again) which had caused him such consternation previously. Becky was telling him to drink it and despite already being pretty sure he would walk into to the jaws of hell for her, this seemed a bit much. She was fiddling with what looked like a large brass bell on little feet. A metal horn protruded from the top like a gramophone, but with all manner of grills and dials over its surface. On one side, there was a small handle. The room was the same one Spencer had first run into from Bushy Park, the patio doors were still there but outside bore no resemblance to the place he had entered from. A high stone wall ran around a courtyard which was empty apart from a few tall weeds which grew in the darker corners.

“Look, have you heard that people who are drunk in car accidents are often completely unscathed compared to someone else who was sober?”

“Is that because the drunk person had run them over?”

“No. The point is that when you've had a drink your body relaxes and you're more likely to be flexible enough not to break anything.”

Spencer stared at the liquid with dread. Time to change the subject.

“What's the deal with Spangler? I'd swear he's not the same guy who came to my house the other night, but at the same time, it's definitely him.”

She looked up from the box and smiled at him, causing his head to itch instantly.

“Ah, let me guess... jolly old man, twinkle in his eye, couldn't do enough for you?”

“Yes, so was it him?”

“Yes and no. They are all him really, each personality. I've only seen four or five, I don't know how many he's got in total. According to Norbert, originally he was a professor who with his partner invented this.” She tapped on the wooden box in front of her.

“When they fired it up for the first time something went wrong, I don't know what, and the partner died. Norbert said he had hidden away the mind that had created it as he's afraid what else it might do. He set up G.R.I.N. to try and make up for past sins I guess. Whatever happened, happened here. This place seems to be in every universe all at once. Things turn up from other worlds from time to time, last week we found a history book from another world, weird place where they all wear bowler hats...” She stopped suddenly, realising what she had said.

“It was you that knocked me out wasn't it?” Spencer asked.

”Yes, sorry, I did leave a note though. Right, the device is ready, drink up.” She held her nose and downed the liquid in one. Her face went hard and twitched slightly, but overall Spencer had to admit she handled it a lot better than he had earlier. He lifted the glass to his lips, composed himself for a moment, swallowed, and then tried not to scream. After a few minutes of tensing every muscle in his body, he trusted himself to speak without crying.

“God what
is
this stuff?!”

“Ma Beesley makes it on Sheep Street. I've no idea what's in it, but it took all the gold off the plughole in my bathroom when I tipped some away. It's best not to think about it. Right, we've got about five minutes.” She sat down with her back to the wall, Spencer took up the space next to her.

Fog was clouding Spencer's mind in both a literal and metaphorical sense, but something had been bugging him.

“Why are we ‘unique’? Why aren’t there copies of us in other worlds if there is of everyone else?”

“I don’t know,” Becky replied distractedly while she fiddled with the machine. “Just drink up.”

~~~~

C
rime here was a strange beast. There were almost countless gangs in the city, each had its own area of influence. Generally turf wars were a thing of the past since the police borough's were introduced. Each had about four or five gangs in its area who they took a small percentage from on the knowledge that they would help out if any of the gangs tried to take another's territory. It created a status quo where the police got to lounge around drinking and playing cards. The gangs, without the need or desire for expansion, had become like small families, looking after people who lived in their areas by making sure everyone got along and that people weren't struggling. In short, everyone was happy. Of course there was good, honest petty thievery and murder, but it was the upfront 'that's life' kind, not the sneaky underhand sort.

The city was old, and had grown out and then up. Narrow winding streets crisscrossed in no particular order and you were more likely to find a straight line on the bottom of one of the rudely carved statues on the town hall, than on any of the roads or building walls in the inner city. Everything was packed so tightly that the terracotta and slate tiled roofs overhung each other, creating a continuous patchwork of red and black from above.

Above was certainly where Colin Fartheid was, about five hundred feet above currently. He was catching the Overground to the market after he had decided that helping Becky out, while also possibly meeting another female, warranted a far higher priority than discovering where Augusta's gang members had been disappearing off to. The glass cage descended down the thick metal wire which supported it and landed with a gentle bump at Market Station where people hurried off. Colin strode out and stood for a moment admiring the scene. The market place was alive with noise, colour and smells. Shouts from fishmongers mingled with those of fruit vendors, customers haggled and argued with stall owners. The stalls themselves were made of bright red and white canvas around metal frames, with wooden benches to display the wares inside the front opening. Smells of fish mixed with spices and the sweat of the crowd. The assault on the senses made you feel like you had walked into a carnival that was determined, that if you did make it to the other side, it would be with only the shirt on your back. Unless you wanted to use it as a down payment on this lovely earthenware bowl? I could do you a lovely price?

Colin however was largely impervious to the patter of the young men who walked alongside him offering him charms and trinkets. Colin was impervious to many things. From above he created a bow-wave of people as he marched on through the centre of the large square which played host to this daily festival of commercialism. He saw the hat stall long before he got there, partly because he was a good six inches taller than most of the crowd, but also because it was hard to miss. There was a huge crowd surrounding it, but they seemed quiet and subdued, as though they were watching a performance. The audience seemed to be almost entirely men which seemed odd, as many of the hats he could see which decorated around the frame of the stall were women's. Colin reached the edge of the crowd and peered into its center. He saw a woman, no, he saw a goddess. Her long black fell in ringlets at the side of her delicate face. Olive skin framed her large dark eyes as she demonstrated a range of hats to the enraptured audience.

“This is a fez. It is red and has a tassel on the top.”

“Oooh!" the crowd responded, although this may have had more to do with the way she had delicately twirled the tassel with her finger as she spoke, rather than the hat itself.

“This is a beret, it has this funny little nipple on top which I just can't stop playing with!” Several members of the audience passed out at this point, quite a few left to lie down in a dark room for a while. Colin was made of sterner stuff of course, but even he had to admit that he was pretty sure the temperature had risen by a few degrees in the last few minutes. Despite the large attentive crowd, he made his way to the front easily. It was like a fridge walking through hat stands.

“Excuse me miss, is your name Afet?”

Her dark eyes flashed at him.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Colin Fartheid, I'm a friend of Becky Ness.” At the mention of Becky's name all signs of cautious suspicion vanished from her expression and a wave of what looked like relief swept across her delicate features.

“Ok lads, the shows over for an hour,” she called. The audible groans as the crowd slowly dispersed were matched with some pretty nasty looks in Colin's direction. If he hadn't been roughly the size of a small dung cart a couple may have even said something.

“Where is she? She was supposed to be here hours ago.” She looked nervously over his shoulder to the tall buildings which lined the east side of the square.

“Never fear my beautiful Afet, Colin is here now to aid you in any way you desire.” This last phrase was uttered with a tone dripping in such confident smarm that you are lucky you are only reading it in text.

“She was going to help me with... women's problems.”

“Ah, of course, yes, well, right. She is unable to make it I'm afraid.”

Colin’s face reddened deeply.

“Do you work with her?”

This was somewhat firmer ground and Colin recovered quickly.

“As a matter of fact I'm sort of a leader of the team you see. From a young age I was regularly marked out for greatness, I....” Colin's journey into his fabulous past was suddenly cut short by Afet pressing a body that would have turned the Venus de Milo green with envy against him, and whispering with hot, enticing breath into his ear.

“Could you come back to mine and help me with something?”

“For you oh delicate English rose, of course.”

She moved off into the crowd, Colin striding behind her. Finally, a chance for him to help a poor delicate creature with some terrible problem she had. It would be an evil uncle who had managed to wrestle her inheritance from her, or a landlord who kept putting up the rent and making it clear that if she couldn't find the money, there were always other ways to pay off a debt... She made a sharp turn to her left and headed for a tiny alley, no more than a gloomy, forgotten space between two buildings.  Colin had to turn sideways to fit through the narrow gap while trying to not touch the sides in case he stained his white shirt. They came to an opening at the back of the buildings, on the far side was the rear of a warehouse, on either side two more small alleys leading behind the buildings were currently being blocked by two men who even rivalled Colin in the beefcake stakes. Colin moved in front of Afet and puffed his chest out in one movement.

“Now friends, there is no need for any of this to get unpleasant. The lady and I were just taking a stroll, so please let us go on our way.”

“Unpleasant? Now there's a word."

Colin looked up and noticed the man leaning in the corner of the small square in between piles of old, soggy boxes. He was scruffy looking, his clothes were non-descript, ragged affairs in brown. His hair was long and straggly, it hung down the sides of his face like streaky bacon. He had a small tufty beard which just covered his chin and he currently held a large cigar in the corner of his mouth. Almost anyone viewing this man for the first time would have alarm bells ringing in a deep, animal part of the brain, and the alarm would sound ,'Run! Run you bloody fool, run!'