The Fathom Flies Again Page 4

  Marty was already donning the clothes he had carefully flung by his bedside, and attempted to bring up the rear. It was no mean feat in the dingy glow of the landing light. “Okay, so where are we going now?” he gasped, almost toppling as two legs went down one trouser hole.

  Timbers ceased his purposeful advancing at the door. He turned, a familiar glint in his eye. “There’s shenanigans afoot, matey,” he declared excitedly. “What pirate in good conscience could sit idly by as the possibility for reckless adventure wiggled its cheeky backside in his face?” He beamed, fixing Marty with his one good eye. “Do I really need to ask if you are in?”

  Marty could find no flaw in his miniature friend’s logic. Something was most assuredly going on, and what was the alternative? Slinking off back to sleep to wait for the invisible man eating dust bunny to crawl out from under his bed again? He was still not altogether sure what had attacked him, but he was fairly sure it hadn’t been a clown. There was no smell of greasepaint and candy coated fear in the air, and anyway, clowns don’t just vanish. Do they? Whatever it was, further theorizing would have to wait for a more opportune moment, which, given Marty’s track record for spectacularly winging it, would probably be the next time whatever it was happened to be breathing down his neck again.

  He shrugged, finally placing the correct limbs into the proper items of clothing. Even in the face of impending monster breath, and the almost certain hijinks which were waiting mischievously somewhere out there in the night, he felt suddenly refreshed by the rampant madness wantonly reintroduced to his life.

  “And besides,” Whipstaff chipped in, obviously caught up in the moment, “if we came through, you can bet that there’s a clown or two in need of some serious keelhauling.”

  It wasn’t the best caveat to what had been a rousing call to arms. Marty shuddered at the thought, but still fell in line with the departing pirates. They had resoundingly, if somewhat fortuitously, kicked clown bottom before, and it had been kind of fun, hideously terrifying near misses aside.

  A gruff shriek called a halt to the merriment, and a muffled voice rang out from the darkness on the other side of the landing. “It’s coming! It’s after me!” it bellowed, causing Timbers to once again draw his sword. Two pirates and one almost dressed human barreled towards the cry for help, which grew louder and more high pitched as they approached the front door.

  A blonde, thatched sack cloth head poked awkwardly through a freshly wrought hole in Marty’s front door. It was Oaf shaped, and the source of the squealing. As they approached, Oaf seemed to calm down, his eyes still darting here and there, presumably for signs of his assailant.

  “Where is he, Oaf?” Timbers barked, his trusty cutlass waving dramatically. “And what exactly are you doing?”

  The tiny giant flushed, still trying to dislodge himself from the hole. “I was trying to get in, and I got stuck,” he mumbled sheepishly. “And then it came for me. There it is!” He resumed his squirming as the smallest spider in the world trundled past him.

  Timbers rolled his good eye and again sheathed his blade. Whether his frustration was with his lily livered crewmate, or due to the fact that he still hadn’t had the chance to buckle his swash wasn’t clear, but he took the bull by the horns—or more specifically the Oaf by the head—and delivered an unceremonious push. Like a cork from a bottle, Oaf was freed from his bonds, and Marty swung the door open to reunite the crew on his front doorstep. Mere steps away stood the lifeboat, sitting proudly if implausibly on his front lawn, and within seconds it was heavy four crew. Marty sat back in the stern, feeling simultaneously confused and elated. He had gotten his wish, and reality had veered sharply into crazy town. Muttering about spiders, Oaf took up his position behind the large, boat propelling bellows and hefted a mighty gust into the sails. “Let’s be off,” Timbers crowed, already caught up in a new, maniacally enthusiastic moment. “Back to the Fathom, and ales all round!”

  Marty coughed and tapped the little captain on the shoulder. There was an agenda that needed to be addressed here, and a huge, apparently shiny elephant in the room that they needed to investigate. “And we’ll get to the bottom of this, yes?”

  “Of course, yes, that too,” Timbers assured, his grin wider and more gleeful than ever.

  “But ales first?” Whipstaff whispered.

  Pirates are a simple folk. They will run headlong into danger, laugh in the snarling face of peril, and apparently stow shiny things beneath big sandy X’s, but every engine needs fuel, and for the sailors of the seven skies, that fuel came in bottles, and brought with it the possibility of beer monkeys in the morning.

  Chapter Seven

  Far below the lifeboat, several things that really had no business being anywhere near a normal plane of reality scuttled through the dark, moonlit streets. Unidentifiable in the murky streetlight, they darted in through open windows and unlocked doors, and generally set about looking for something downright naughty to get up to. Some of these things had found their way into the Pickled Judge, which probably looked as lively and murderous as it did every Friday night from where Marty and the pirates sat amongst the clouds. A few of these hellborne things had even chased someone out into the alleyway behind the pub, who had promptly hightailed it into the night, much to the indifference of the crew of the lifeboat, who had spectacularly failed to see any of these events unfold.

  As far as hightailing had panned out, Kate had burst out of the alleyway at speed, and reached the other side of the street. A line of shrubs sat, silent and seemingly bedlam free, and far enough away from the decimated pub entrance to pass as a decent enough hiding place. Kate made the decision even as she was in mid-air, ploughing head first into the nearest bush, and bowling over a figure crouched within in the process. Suddenly bathed in bright yellow light, she reeled, expecting a cackle, a chuckle, or a pie to the face. The fate of poor Sir Reginald flashed briefly in her mind, and she lashed out, connecting again with her fellow shrub dweller. Kate squinted as more yellow light pulsed beside her, a startled yelp matching its sudden brilliance and intensity. Just as quickly, it subsided, and Kate found herself staring with some measure of disbelief at a small, glowing koala. The measure immediately became a stiff double, with a chaser of ‘what the hell?’ as the little creature addressed her.

  “Please don’t strike me again miss, I haven’t done nothin’ to you,” it whined, still radiating the sort of yellowy iridescence which was not too common for a koala. “Is this your little tree? I only took a few branches.”

  Kate sat amongst the wreckage of her own rapidly diminishing reality and stared blankly at the babbling marsupial. Why she should be so incredulous after her recent reintroduction to the clowns from nightmare central was unclear. She supposed that, as ghoulish as they were, the clowns were at least grounded somewhat in her version of reality. This little guy, with his own built in nightlight and apologetic ramblings, didn’t seem to be part of any sort of reality, and Kate fought to process what was going on.

  The koala shifted uncomfortably, aware that questioning eyes were upon him. “Name’s Benji.” He dropped a half-gnawed twig, wiped his hand against his side and offered a greeting. “I ducked in here when the painted gentlemen arrived. It’s quite cozy, so I thought I’d have a bit of a munch.” Benji stared down at the small pile of sticks at his feet, a guilty glance quickly returning to Kate. “I’m sorry, I’ll be on my way.”

  Across the street, Alley Clown poked his grinning face out of the shadows and peered around for signs of life that he could potentially murder. Kate’s thoughts sprang again to the teddy bear he had effortlessly dispatched moments ago, and she turned quietly back to the now departing Benji. “Wait,” she whispered, as gently as she could, given the fraught circumstances. “You don’t have to leave. This isn’t my tree, and besides, you were here first.” She managed a smile, in an attempt to calm the jittery creature. Quite apart from anything else, if he did scramble out of the bush, he would most likely bring every googly eye
to bear on their leafy hiding place. The smile, or possibly the kind words seemed to have the desired effect, and Benji stopped in his tracks. Turning to face Kate, his hue changed from faint yellow to glowing pink, and a look of relief fell across his face. At least, she imagined it was relief, having never seen a relieved koala in her life up until now.

  “Thank you, miss.” Benji beamed, a little too loudly for Kate’s liking, and she ventured another glance across the street. Alley Clown loped back towards the entrance of the Pickled Judge, seemingly having spied more poor unfortunates to terrorize. She let out a sigh which felt as though it had been hiding in her lungs for the past five minutes. Returning her attention to Benji, she realized that he was still babbling. “Truth be told miss, I really don’t know what is occurring here. My dream person usually calls me to places that are a lot more colorful than this. Less monsters, too,” he whispered, poking his head out of the shrub and eyeing the surrounding carnage worriedly. His pink radiance had receded, and replaced by a bluish tint. “Also, these trees taste awful. And the floor’s a bit soggy. I really should find my dream person.” He wiped stray leaves from his face and stared up at Kate with wide, sorrowful eyes. “Please miss, can you tell me where I am?”

  Kate wasn’t sure that any sort of answer would have fit that particular question, and instead replied with one of her own. “How long have you been here? After, you know, arriving. Tell me everything.”

  Benji seemed to brighten, literally, at the prospect of providing helpful information. “Oh, I’ve been here quite a while,” he chirped. “A big, bright whirly thing opened up, and I went to have a look, but it turned out to be only bright and whirly on my side. Over here, it was dark and damp and made of concrete.” He motioned back down the road behind them. “I wandered around for a while, looking for trees, and hiding from more whirly things. There were a fair few cropping up here and there.” He rubbed his paws anxiously. “All sorts of strange things came out of them, like the painted men over there, so I decided to hide here. Then you showed up.” The little creature paused, seemingly unsure as to whether this was indeed ‘everything’. “We started talking, and you shushed me and told me to wait,” he added uncertainly.

  Kate had no clue who this creature was, where he came from, or in which direction to point him. She had seen the clowns before, though. The same wholly un-common-or-garden circus freaks that she had encountered in Marty’s dreamspace. The kind that were likely to make balloon animals out of your insides, or turn a kids’ party into a game of Tag, you’re it! to the death. If they were here, then who knew what else had suddenly arrived on her side of the fence. As if to emphasize this notion, something only a street or two away from them exploded, and not in a good way. “Hold on a second,” she whispered to the little koala.

  “And we’re still talking now,” Benji replied, clearly still in ‘tell me everything’ mode.

  “Yes, all right. Thank you, Benji. And it’s Kate, by the way.”

  Benji blinked, absently pulling another twig from the shrub and raising it to his mouth. “Oh, is it? All right then, Miss.” His glow changed to a comforting, soft white.

  Kate patted at her pockets, almost instantaneously realizing that the phone she was searching for was still in her locker at work. Ridiculous, she thought. This sort of thing only happened in cheap horror movies, with heading off to retrieve said phone coming in a close second. Then again, she needed to call Marty, and they were a hell of a lot closer to Stellar Island than they were to his place, so movie clichés be damned.

  This was all fine in principle, of course, but the explosion heard moments earlier was unlikely to be fireworks, and there seemed to be more hellish harlequins darting around in the street beyond their hiding place. She couldn’t be sure from where she sat, but it seemed as though the whole town was succumbing to some kind of circus Armageddon. And again, this was not the fun kind, where a person would get to wield something sharp or shooty, and fit their car out like a small, economical tank. Kate reminded herself again that this was reality, or had been until very recently.

  Caught up in her internal musings and plans of becoming an apocalyptic vigilante, Kate had barely noticed that the clowns seemed to be heading away from them. They appeared to be heading deeper into the town, fanning out in some kind of manic conga line, as though drawn to the explosion that no doubt carried with it the delicious prospect of mayhem. Clearly for them, the explosion had been the good kind.

  “This is our chance, Benji.” Kate turned towards the marsupial, who was rummaging around his person for something. “It’s not safe for you out here, come on, we’ll try to figure this whole thing out.” She paused as Benji produced a sprig of eucalyptus from his pouch. “Wait, I thought only female koalas had pouches.”

  Benji was still mumbling about the awfulness of the shrub, and how he would have to use ‘his own stash’. “Do they?” He stared down at himself worriedly. “Maybe I should get this looked at, then. How embarrassing.”

  Kate began to reply but stopped short. Why should this small anatomical inconsistency make any sense at the moment? And besides, their window of escape could be filled by gibbering faces at any moment. Snatching up Benji and diving out of the bushes, she made for the nearest clump of shadows, hopeful that they were not currently occupied.

  Thankfully, there were no ghoulish clowns waiting to predictably leap out of the darkness. They had danced, jittered, and flung themselves away into the night. A whole town lay ignorant and unravaged (nearby explosions aside), a twenty block sweet shop just waiting to be plundered by eager, white gloved hands. Kate paused in the shadows to catch her breath and her thoughts. There were going to be serious wrong-doings tonight—the cavorting parade of freaks would see to that—and something had to be done about it. She couldn’t do it alone, however. Even with a magical glowing koala at her side, who admittedly didn’t seem to know what the hell was going on either. No, she needed backup from someone she trusted, and who knew what was descending upon the town. She needed to make a call, and she dearly hoped that Marty was still awake to answer.

  The street ahead looked as though a herd of sumo wrestling elephants had used it for sparring practice, but was mercifully clear. “Sorry, Benji,” Kate muttered to the bemused figure in her arms. “But you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  As they stole past the ruin that was once the Pickled Judge, Benji managed a confused reply as they made stealthily for the lights of Stellar Island. “Miss, what’s a Kansas?”

  Chapter Eight

  All things considered, it was a rather pleasant night to be looping silently through the ether in a flying lifeboat. Even the crisp, whooshing breeze and incessant pirate chatter did little to disturb the calmness of the air, and this in itself was worrying.

  Marty had spent the last few weeks berating the unabashed normality of the world that he had re-awoken into, ho-humming at the humdrum, and generally wishing for something ridiculous, absurd and even downright dangerous to gatecrash his life. Now, here he was, reunited with his pint-sized compadres, having narrowly escaped becoming something horrible’s bedtime snack, and currently speeding into the gaping jaws of who knows what. His prayers had been answered, his dreams had literally come true, or so it seemed.

  It was the quiet that bothered him.

  Marty leaned over to where Timbers sat, engaged in a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with his first mate, apparently for a handful of shiny buttons. “Timbers, isn’t it a little strange that there doesn’t seem to be any…bedlam occurring?”

  The little captain glanced up with his one good eye, halfway through delivering a devastating paper attack on his opponent.

  “I mean, if you’re here, it stands to reason something is amiss. Where are the…you know?” Marty reached up to his nose and mimed a honking squeeze, drawing a shiver from the captain.

  “Ain’t seen any.” Timbers shrugged, halting the shudder, mid-shud.

  Marty was unconvinced. “They’ll be here,” he mutte
red, shaking his head. “If you’re here, they’ll be around somewhere, lurking, sneaking, cavorting. Where are the screams? The carnage? The explosions?”

  Somewhere below them, a rippling boom helpfully answered Marty’s query, and four faces peered over the bow. A plume of aforementioned orangey-yellow carnage erupted from one of the streets beneath, drawing gasps from the lifeboat’s passengers (even the ones who secretly loved exploding things).

  Whipstaff shot a glance at Marty, before drawing his attention skyward. “Where are the pies and buxom ladyfolk?” he shouted, clearly wishing that some magic still hung in the air. Oaf peered hopefully into the heavens, his hands held out in anticipation, but neither pastry nor wench was forthcoming.

  Timbers joined Marty, who was already standing, and craning over the side of the lifeboat for a better view. Something had indeed exploded on the ground below, and was now throwing columns of smoke and flame into the air, obscuring whatever had caused it, and whatever was now so much cinder and ash.

  A huge gust from the bellows flung the lifeboat into a sweeping upward arc as Oaf set about putting some distance between them and whatever dispensed fiery unpleasantness below. Inside the boat, brows furrowed, nervous glances exchanged, and a tiny voice complained that he’d gone with scissors, and therefore won the buttons.

  “They are here,” Marty finally declared, echoing what the rest of the crew were already thinking.

  “Either that, or fireworks in the real world need to carry some serious warnings.” Timbers interjected. His one-eyed gaze darted anxiously towards Marty. He desperately wanted to find some mirth in the situation. After all, he was an avid supporter of explosions.

  Whilst quite partial to the odd incendiary detonation or two himself, Marty was already thinking two steps ahead. This was a good one and a half steps more than he was used to thinking at, and he fought back the urge to panic. Kate was somewhere down there, possibly completely unaware of the impending unreality which might be sat, giggling on her doorstep even now. He peered out into the darkness behind them. It was a good few miles back into the suburbs, and Stellar Island loomed garishly only a few hundred yards before them. Whatever was down there, it was most likely going to take more than a flying canoe and its passengers to deal with.