Authors: P R Mason
And Petra thought I was a bitch? This woman was an iron bitch if there ever was one.
“You do not realize how depleted our forces are,” she continued. “Sending fighters with you would be a fool’s errand.”
I’d been going on a lot of those lately.
“All right.” I shot a glance at Rom. “We’ll go without our things.”
“No.” The general shook her head. “You’ve both been drafted. You are in the Resistance now. We mount a major operation in thirty-six hours.”
“Thirty-six hours." I cringed. “That’ll be too late. The portal—”
Rom jumped up and put a hand on my arm. “Our friends will not survive that long.”
“If our friends aren’t rescued the portal won’t reopen,” I warned.
The general considered me for a few moments before she said, “That is just not logical. I believe you can open the portal when you choose.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” I tried to bluff.
The general’s jaw clenched and she turned on her heel to leave.
“Rest. You’ll need your strength for the assault," she called walking out of the room.
“I want that Downy Woundwort,” I yelled after her as the door was closing. “Or the next person who comes in here won’t live to tell about it.”
The securing of the lock clanged.
“What the hell are we going to do?” I rounded to face Rom. “They're going to hold us here for thirty-six freakin' hours. The portal—”
Rom put a finger to his lips and inclined his head toward the door. Just then a four-foot by four-foot portion of the bottom of the door lifted. A silver tray slid into the room and the trap door snapped shut.
On the tray sat a teapot with two cups and a china plate of finger sandwiches and cream-colored linen napkins. How very civilized. Also on the tray sat a mortar and pestle, a pile of Downy Woundwort leaves, a vial of oil, and a handwritten note on how to prepare the healing poultice.
Eighteen hours, nineteen minutes, nine seconds until the portal sealed.
Waiting sucked. We had nothing to do or say after we’d treated Rom’s arm, eaten the sandwiches and drunk the tea.
Jump out of my skin? I was ready to jump out of my bones.
“Let us talk about something,” Rom said. “The silence increases the volume of my thoughts.”
“Mine too.” My fingers tapped against my thighs. “But what should we talk about?”
“Any topic.” Rom covered my fingers to stop their movement.
“My last trip to London was before my parents divorced." I gazed at my lap. "Even though Adam was only a couple of years old, he came along. It was our last vacation as a family together.”
“A happy topic not one of sadness." Rom squeezed my hand.
“That’s going to be hard to think of under the circumstances.”
“How did you and Petra meet?” he asked.
“Oh, that is a funny story." I smiled. "Fourth grade. My family had just moved to Savannah and on my first day of school this little girl came up to me and said, ‘Your hair looks crazy, like you’re schizophrenic or something.' She started chanting 'Skizzy Kizzy' at me.”
“And Petra beat up this mean girl?"
“No, silly. Petra was the mean girl.” Chuckling, I twisted one of my electrocuted locks between two fingers. “Anyway, I hauled off and bopped her one in the nose when she wouldn’t stop teasing me.”
“You struck her?” Rom's eyebrows arched.
“Yes and after I hit her, Petra held her damaged nose, broke into a smile and said, ‘Feisty. I approve. We’re going to be good friends.’”
“And you are.”
“Yes. The best of friends.”
The sound of a key in the lock brought Rom and me up from where we perched on the edge of the bed to a standing position. When it opened, Amy, with our duffels slung over her shoulder, stood on the threshold holding bandaging materials. She walked in and handed the duffels and the bandages to me. Our weapons were gone from the bags of course. At least the bandages were usable.
“Very good,” she said, examining Rom’s arm and the green poultice goop packed in the wound.
As I re-bandaged over the poultice, Amy inspected the remnants of the plant and then handed each of us half.
"You should eat the rest of the leaves," she suggested. "We think they might ward off infection from the ghoul venom if you get bitten.”
I gulped down my half. They tasted a little like mustard greens.
Amy walked to the bed and plopped down. “So,” she said, “You two have to get back to Tower Bridge in about seventeen hours or you're buggered.”
“We know not—“ Rom started.
"Please." She held up a hand to halt him. “I heard you talking at the bridge before the colonel appeared. You said the portal will seal and you can’t get back to your world.”
Glancing at Rom, I could see he was as upset as I at her words. If she knew about our deadline, Amy knew she only had to delay us to stop us from returning to our world.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t told the general.” She crossed her skinny trouser clad legs. “And I’m willing to help you get out of here.” The way she kicked her top leg reminded me of Petra. “But I have a price.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” I asked. “What price?”
“When you go back to your world, I want to go with you.” When neither Rom nor I answered, she continued. “You don’t realize how hellish this place is.”
Oh I think I did realize.
“So I want to immigrate.” Amy grinned. “I want to go to your world.”
Rom’s expression said “No freakin' way” and I agreed.
“Sure,” I said, facing Amy. “You bet. Just get us out of here and to the palace. We have to rescue our friends. Once that's done, you can be first who goes through the portal.”
Sergeant Amy didn’t seem to notice any deception. My poker face must have become really awesome.
She rose and crossed to the door. After opening it, she spoke to the guard outside.
"Get the general. The off-worlders have information for her.”
“But Sergeant—"
“Don’t argue, private. I’ll guard the visitors.”
When he’d gone, she motioned us out the door. We abandoned the duffels but I grabbed my messenger bag from inside one of them before we slipped out.
Sergeant Amy closed and locked the cell. She picked up a rifle from where it leaned against the wall and we crept down the hall to a back stairwell. In less than five minutes we made it out of the building and into an alley.
Once outside, Amy broke into a run. Rom and I kept pace with her. Our feet pounded on the cobblestones and the rifle slung over Amy’s shoulder slapped against her side. Three blocks away, we slowed to a walk.
Heavy acrid smoke wafted over us causing me to cough. I spotted a fire in the building on the corner that had obviously been burning for some time.
“Doesn’t anyone put out a fire here?” I asked, choking again.
“Nobody around to do it,” Amy replied.
The buildings for the most part were in a terrible state of disrepair with rotting stinking rubbish everywhere. Strangely, even though there was garbage, no one seemed to be around. When I mentioned this, Amy said that most of the inhabitants of the area were nocturnal.
“But keep alert,” she said. “We’re in enemy territory here. However, this is the most direct way back to the river.”
We approached a shop with household pots, pans and other junk hanging in the window and also sitting atop a table outside. As we neared, a short, stocky man appeared. Closer up, I saw from his sharp nose, pointed chin and red glowing eyes that this was no man. However, he also wore white face and clown make-up and so where the make-up ended and the creature began, who could have known for certain.
“Amy,” the thing called out. “Have you anything to sell today?” He eyed Rom and me. Clearly, we were the commodities that interested him.
“Not today, Fenwick.” Amy stopped. “These are for the prince.”
Fenwick frowned and he spat on the ground. It sparked a tiny flame when it hit.
“I’ll give you two hundred fifty for each,” he offered.
Amy shook her head.
He spat again, this time toward Amy’s feet. She stood her ground even though, again, a spark ignited from the thing's saliva.
Five hundred apiece,” Fenwick said.
She shook her head. “I’m not selling them to you." With a stony gaze on him, she fingered the end of the rifle.
“I know I have something in my shop you want.”
“I just said no," she stated through gritted teeth, lifting the rifle to point it at the thing.
“You will regret cheating me of these humans.” Fenwick whirled and stalked into his shop.
“Demon,” Amy sneered. “A scummy little wretch. They're all liars.”
“I always suspected clowns were inherently demonic,” I tried to joke. This failed to draw a laugh from anyone.
“He’s supposed to be dressed as a mime,” Amy noted.
Ugh that was worse. “Aren’t mimes supposed to be silent?”
Amy acted as if she had no interest in what I was talking about and obviously Rom had not heard of mimes.
“Never mind.” I rolled my eyes. “It's completely unimportant.”
Eventually, we came to another bridge over the Thames, this one not as recognizable to a tourist as Tower Bridge. Built on five stone arches, this bridge, thankfully, was low and flat. I’d had enough of suspension bridges and heights. At least from here we'd survive if we hit the water.
Amy stopped before stepping onto the length of the bridge and peered around to the underside of first on side. She walked to the other side of the path and examined the underside there too. Smiling, she waved Rom and I forward and we began to cross.
At first, Amy’s steps were tentative but soon her stride grew confident. About two-thirds of the way across a low growl emanated from beneath the bridge followed by a loud belch. The stench of beer drenched vomit wafted up to us.
“Ugh,” I groaned. “What is that?”
“Oh no,” Amy yelled. “Run for it.”
We broke into a sprint and had almost reached the opposite bank when a grayish green slug-like creature slithered from the muck under the bridge at the shoreline. The creature pulled itself onto the bridge, rearing up on two legs and waving stubby arms. The thing stood about ten feet tall and, at a width of about five feet, it blocked our way. Its face was part of the blob-like body with a few sprouts of kinky hair on top of its head
“Grrrrrrrrrrooooowwwwwww,” it growled.
Great. Crossing a low bridge wasn’t such a bargain after all.
“Bloody hell,” Amy swore, not taking her eyes from the thing. “We need to give it something.”
“What?” I asked hoping it wasn’t us but I couldn’t imagine what else it would want.
“Coins, jewelry, something shiny.”
“Why?” Rom asked.