The Forty First Wink Page 10

  Clearing his throat, he continued. "As to where he's taken your little friend, like I said, it's no secret they all hang out Downtown. I'm sure you've seen the signs. If you go snooping around there, don't worry about finding him. Just look for the scariest place you can find, the chances are he'll be sat in the dark there, waiting for you." The grin was back, perhaps only returning to mock what was quickly turning into a severely unpleasant proposition.

  Trying not to think about the dark places he had visited in nightmares past, Marty pressed on with the interrogation. "We'll worry about that when we land. What about how I get out of here?" The shake of the head and shrug that came from the mirror was not the answer Marty was looking for. He flung his hands up in exasperation.

  The tiny scream that flew past his ear reminded him he was still holding the compact, and he quickly bought it back down to eye level. Mirror Marty was steadying himself against the sides of the compact frame and shot a frantic glance outward. "Look, I don't know. How would I know? When Peepers was explaining the plan to me, he must have left out the part where I tell you how to escape."

  Marty rubbed his forehead. Even if they had a plan, things would not be going according to it at this stage. He felt in over his head, and although the same could be said for most of the events that transpired that day, a course of action was not presenting itself. There was neither a cunning scheme pointing him to, nor a pursuing danger driving him at, a specific direction. Their current purpose seemed only to gallop, head down into the waiting arms of a monster. At least it was for a noble cause, he thought.

  And hey, if his plan was to arrive without a plan, they might just get in and out before anyone realized what was going on. After all, he himself had very little idea of what was going on, so how could anyone else? Heartened by this thought, Marty set the compact down, stood up, and headed over to where Whipstaff navigated.

  Looking over the first mate's shoulder, Marty could see a looming mass of gray buildings, some at the height of the lifeboat, some even higher. And higher still, a static black cloud hovered like a moored airship, shrouding much of what was below in a foreboding darkness. He knelt down next to Whipstaff, craning over the side to get a closer look. "Is that where we're going?"

  "That's it; Downtown," Whipstaff replied with unease.

  "Looks like a serial killer's vacation spot." The voice from behind Marty was Kate's. She had also come over to admire the frankly depressing view. "Or where colors go to die."

  Marty managed a half smile and a reply that was even less comforting. "It might well be. On both counts."

  Shifting his gaze from the sprawling mass of monochrome below, Marty upgraded his half smile to an encouraging full one. "It'll be fine. We'll be in and out before anyone even notices."

  "In where exactly?" Whipstaff piped up. "We still don't know where the captain is."

  Marty flinched. He knew what the next question would be. It would be a request for details of 'the plan.' "Look, we'll ask around. When we get down there, we'll find someone who isn't a clown, and we'll make some enquiries. Then, when we find Timbers, we'll create some sort of distraction, and get him out in the confusion." Marty flinched again, but this flinch was more welcome than the first. That had sounded just like a plan. He had winged it and managed to put a collection of words into the correct order so they sounded like a plan.

  "Sounds like a plan," Whipstaff confirmed cheerily, his smile returning, ironically as the boat passed into the ominous shadow of the vast dark zeppelin cloud above them.

  Over the sound of rushing wind, Oaf spoke up from his post at the bellows. "Erm, 'scuse me. We're here," he declared, clearly still rationing his words.

  Still riding on the crest of the plan he had stumbled into, Marty turned his attention from the view below, issuing an order as he did so. At the exact same moment, Whipstaff made a similar movement and called out. "Take us down," they ordered in unison.

  In his enthusiasm to see his plan realized, Marty had completely forgotten he was not in fact the captain of a flying pirate ship, and by proxy was therefore not the captain of this bellows powered lifeboat. He smiled awkwardly at Whipstaff, but the tiny first mate was already holding his hands up. "No, you go on. This is your show," he conceded, smiling. Having observed the behavior for the better part of a day now, Marty delivered the best piratey wink he could manage and re-issued the order to Oaf.

  Complying, Oaf stemmed the air from the bellows and the lifeboat descended steadily, drifting between the tall gray buildings and into the murky streets below. As they made their descent, Marty caught sight of Kate just as she was catching sight of him. Her eyes were a mixture of amusement and admiration, which flushed Marty's face but also provoked a knowing smile from his lips.

  "Nice plan," she sang cheekily. "You've even got me believing you believe it'll work."

  With a new sense of purpose filling him, Marty had convinced himself of his assertions as well. "It'll work." He winked, and it was Kate's turn to blush.

  "Like I said," she replied playfully. "I believe you." There was truth in those words, and Marty felt the urge to deliver another cocky wink. So soon after the last one, though, he felt it would come across as some sort of nervous tick, and instead opted for a hasty thumbs up, which he immediately regretted.

  Kate giggled. "Are you this sure of yourself when you're not in your own little fantasy world?"

  On a roll, Marty replied with a shrug. "I'm always in my own little fantasy world."

  She nodded her approval, and Marty remembered again why she had preoccupied his thoughts so much when they first met. The moment between them would have no doubt lasted longer, but before either of them could think up any more flirtatious comments to fence with, a resounding thud signaled their arrival back on terra firma.

  The landing was textbook, or would have been if anyone had been demented enough to write a textbook on landing flying boats. Whipstaff wandered up the deck as Oaf busied himself releasing and stowing the huge bellows, which had propelled them on their journey. As they passed, the first mate delivered a nonchalant high five to the massive paw of his compadre. "Nailed that landing. Nice one." He beamed, drawing an even bigger smile of appreciation from his oversized shipmate.

  Marty nodded in approval, although secretly he would have quite liked a high five, too. Moving to join Kate at the edge of the deck, they peered out into a grimy, dingy street that stretched out into darkness ahead of them. The pale light from the few working streetlights gave some outline to the surroundings, but were clearly not up to anything more useful than that.

  Although the afternoon was in its infancy, it felt like night had fallen under the steady canopy of the storm cloud, and again Kate's hand found Marty's as he moved to disembark from the boat. He glanced back at her, and immediately saw in her face the exact same trepidation that was ringing alarm bells in his own head. "I know. It's not a tourist spot, is it? Let's just do what we have to do and get out of here, okay?"

  Kate took a deep breath and nodded, dropping Marty's hand only to swing over the railing and onto the street below. Marty followed close behind and was soon joined by his two pirate cohorts.

  As Whipstaff eyed the street, Oaf produced a lantern, lit it, and held it out to afford a little more light in the gloom.

  "I don't like leaving the boat out here," Whipstaff mumbled, wrapping the small protruding anchor chain around a streetlight and securing it with a padlock. "All right people, remember where we parked."

  With the lifeboat moored, attentions turned to the street in which they landed. It was desolate, run down, and filthy. A thin mist hung in the air, giving a further chill and forbidding quality to the semi-darkness. Boarded up buildings flanked the road on either side and tattered posters and billboards fluttered eerily, their brand messages having long since been lost to the ravages of time and the elements. Aside from a few figures huddled in doorways, the street was empty, the only movement coming from various articles of deb
ris blowing here and there: tin cans, plastic bags, and even a random beach ball.

  Marty hitched up his collar. It had suddenly gotten quite cold as though the wind had picked up. "Come on, this isn't the sort of street we want to be hanging around on for too long."

  There were several transient doorway dwellers huddled here and there in the darkness, but a cursory enquiry gleaned nothing but a few death threats and a gibbering proposal of marriage. Marty tried to remain optimistic, however, as there was plenty more street left, and surely one of these slouching troglodytes must know something. He gestured towards the next hunched figure and the group hastened over to where it sat in the entrance to an alleyway. As they approached, the meager glow from Oaf's lantern lit up what appeared to be a huddled vagrant, sitting amongst a bank of small metal cages. He did not stir as they arrived at his side and remained sat on the curb, eyes gazing steadily forward, unblinking. The cages that surrounded him housed ten or twelve brightly colored but miniscule canaries that flapped and skittered about their cages as the party approached.

  The vagrant was a bearded man, who looked about three hundred years-old. Dressed in a filthy gray overcoat, tattered black trousers, and grubby worn boots, he sat silent, gargoyle-like, staring straight ahead and seemingly oblivious to his visitors.

  Marty cleared his throat in hopes of eliciting a response, which was not forthcoming. "Erm, hello? We're sorry to bother you, but did you happen to see a group of clowns with a small pirate in tow recently?"

  Silence greeted the question. The stoic transient's gaze remained fixed on the air six inches in front of him.

  "Listen, it's quite important," Marty continued, glancing nervously from side to side. "We need to find our friend. Have you seen him?"

  "Why are you asking him?" A new voice boomed out into the gloomy ether, startling everyone but the static hobo. "He doesn't even know what day it is."

  Marty's gaze sprang in the direction of the thunderous voice, resting upon the nearest canary that was perched in the closest cage and eyeing them curiously. The tiny bird cocked its head as though studying Marty, and then impossibly spoke again.

  "You people are new around here aren't you?" It bellowed in a thick, Jamaican accent. "Are you lost?"

  Having recently become somewhat accustomed to having things that really had no business speaking in the first place addressing him, Marty fought back the enquiring prods of reality in his brain and replied, "We're looking for our friend. He was brought here by a group of clowns. Have you seen him?"

  The canary ruffled its feathers, bringing a wing up to stroke its tiny chin. "Hmm, there are plenty of clowns around these parts. Don't recall seeing a pirate though. Didier! Have we had any pirates come through here lately?" The last comment was directed at a canary in the adjourning cage, that suddenly stopped pecking at the ground and raised its head in recognition.

  "Ah, no, I do not think so," the pecking bird replied with a strong French accent. "All we get through here is clowns, so I would have remembered a pirate." Didier hopped up onto his perch alongside the heavy voiced canary who had addressed him. "Who are these people, Bruno? Do they have any worms?"

  The first canary, whose name was apparently Bruno, ignored his friend's question and continued to address Marty, "You'll have to forgive Didier. He is used to the finer things in life. Worms may not seem like much to you, but when all you've got to eat is seed." Bruno made a stab at a shrug, which is no mean feat with only wings to work with. At his side, Didier was still jabbering away in French and attracting the attention of the canaries in neighboring cages.

  Sensing this particular line of enquiry was shaping up to be something of a wild canary chase, Marty took a step back. "All right, well, thank you for your time. We'll keep looking." He held his hands out to quell the throng of canary banter welling up from the surrounding cages.

  Whipstaff tugged at Marty's jacket. "This is getting us nowhere, let's get going," he chirped, shaking his head.

  "No, wait!" a canary with a decidedly German lilt piped up. "This pirate you speak of, is he winzig? Is he tiny like you?" it asked, pointing at Whipstaff. "I saw him with the clowns. They came by here not long ago."

  All eyes turned to the Aryan aviator. Whipstaff lunged at the cage. "Where did they go?" he shrieked, almost knocking the bird off its perch with his frantic request.

  Bruno turned to his winged cellmate. "What are you talking about, Berthold? I didn't see any pirate."

  Berthold regained his footing on the perch. "Ja. Not long ago." He was addressing Whipstaff now, who had his face pressed against the cage. "These others did not see him, they were looking for worms. Me? I do not care for worms." He shifted awkwardly. "Do you have any cheese?"

  Whipstaff turned towards his comrades, away from the bird who was implausibly smiling at the thought of cheese. Oaf checked his pockets redundantly, and Marty shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, we don't have any cheese. Do you know where they went with our friend?"

  Berthold deflated slightly, dropping back onto his perch. "I'm sorry, no. You might try the Big Top. It's just up the road. It's where all the clowns go," he imparted sorrowfully, lowering his head and muttering as he did. "No cheese."

  Whipstaff was already on the street and scuttling in the direction Berthold had pointed them. Not wishing to lose another pirate, Marty made his farewells brief.

  "Thank you for your help," he called over his shoulder as he headed after the fleeing first mate. "I'm sorry we didn't have any worms. Or cheese!" Kate and Oaf were already in pursuit, and in an instant the group was just a dancing lantern glow in the distance.

  Bruno flapped his wings at their backs. "Dammit!" he cried. "Sorry guys, no worms." Groans leapt up from the surrounding cages, and Bruno turned to eye the comatose tramp who had remained motionless throughout the proceedings.

  "Who are you, anyway?" he grumbled at the motionless figure.

  #

  Timbers paced to and fro across the length of his tiny cell, casting impatient glances up at the tiny barred window as he marched. It had been a good ten or fifteen minutes since the mysterious voice from above had promised him freedom, and pirates were not renowned for their patience. Just as he had given up on his erstwhile savior, however, and turned his mind to alternative means of escape, most likely involving some degree of swashbuckling, the voice returned.

  "Hey, are you ready to leave?"

  Timbers snapped out of his plan making, in which he had dispatched a dozen clowns using only a potato and was making a sharp exit on a giant ostrich. Peering into the gloom, he responded in the affirmative. "Ready when you are, squire."

  The words had scarcely left his sack cloth mouth when a resounding boom thunder-clapped through the cell, bringing with it a cloud of dust and debris. Having slightly misjudged his earlier ‘Ready’ claim, Timbers flew across the cell, buffeted by the blast, and came to rest heavily against the far door. Quickly hopping to his feet, he patted himself down, checking to see if he still had the requisite number of limbs, and then peered into the settling carnage where the window once was. In its place, a hole now opened invitingly, and a green gloved hand beckoned from the other side.

  "Come on. It's safe to assume they heard that."

  Impressed by the sudden explosion, Timbers scampered to the new exit, chuckling and making satisfied "Boom!" noises. Using the bed as a trampoline, he threw himself towards the protruding hand and grasped it firmly, his momentum carrying him through the breach.

  In the darkness of the corridor into which he vaulted, Timbers could make out a small figure standing before him. Thankfully, it was not clown-shaped, and before the tiny captain could utter another word, it was hightailing in the opposite direction, calling back over its shoulder as it did so.

  "Follow me!"

  Timbers needed no further encouragement and galloped after his mysterious ally, catching up to him at the end of the corridor. The passageway veered sharply to the right, and Timbers' rescuer wa
s already making good headway in front of him. The light was still annoyingly sparse, and from his vantage point some way behind, Timbers still could not make out who he was following. Given his admittedly limited experience of prison breaks, though, and with his list of alternative options currently at none, he pressed on, attempting to keep up with the silhouetted figure currently bounding away like a grasshopper on steroids. Presently, the corridor terminated at a large metal door, and the figure ahead came to a stop, allowing Timbers to catch up. Pulling up alongside him, Timbers peered upwards, firstly at the door, and then at his liberator.

  The former was large and rusted, and not nearly as interesting as the latter. Timbers found himself standing beside a bespectacled old gentleman in a bright green bodysuit. Tufts of gray hair sprouted from beneath a green cowl from which sprang two antennae. Metallic green lycra covered his wiry frame, tapering into tight black leggings which nobody of his apparent advanced years had any business wearing. Transparent gossamer wings ran down his back, and his chest was emblazoned with a shining, silver 'L.'

  Catching his breath, the old man glanced down at Timbers and held out his hands reassuringly. "Don't be alarmed. We'll be out of here in a jiffy."

  Timbers suppressed a chuckle. "I'm not alarmed, old timer. Confused perhaps." He gestured towards the metal grate. "After you?"

  The lycra-suited pensioner turned his attention to the door. "Hmm, an elevator. Invented by Archimedes in 336BC to transport gladiators into the coliseum of ancient Rome." He leaned closer, peering owlishly through his spectacles. "Of course, they were much more rudimentary back then. This one is much more reminiscent of the industrial models employed by Elisha Otis in the 19th century—"

  Scratching his head, Timbers interjected, "This is very interesting, it really is, but you didn't break me out for a history lesson. Can we just move this along?"