Pestworld

by Colin P. Davies

Part 5, Part 6
Part 7, Part 9
appear in this issue.

Part 8

Stringfinger: popular name for the dupres binding monkey. The appellation does not do justice to the ingenious fibrespinning glands and rotating fingers which permit the creature to plait, wrap and knot. The stringfinger has long been a major headache for the Mail Service due to its predisposition for parcelling up smaller rodent pests and depositing them in mailboxes. Rumours of address labels, correct postage and successful deliveries have become part of the mythology of the Service.

Old Fool “Shifty” Shakeshaft could get you anything, legal or illegal, as long as you were willing to talk to the back of his head. Right now, Parvo would have happily talked to his backside if it meant he could get hold of the forged invitations he needed.

He was led through to the rear of the Plateau baker’s shop and directed into a darkened room which smelled of doughnuts and disinfectant. The door shut behind him. Beyond a steel wall of diamond mesh a seated man faced away from him, white-gloved fingers tapping on a data screen. The wall in front of the man was trivee screens from left to right and top to bottom. There was a view of the street outside and scenes pirated from security cameras around Plateau.

“Sit down, Parvo. It’s been a while.”

Parvo sat upon the chair provided in front of the mesh wall. He tried to shuffle it forward, but found it was secured to the floorboards — that was a change since last time. “Afraid someone will steal your chair?”

“A few customers experience an emotional urge to smash up my furniture.”

Parvo nodded. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you again, Shifty.”

“No-one sees me.”

All Parvo knew of Shifty’s appearance was what he could see above the back of the chair: unkempt grey hair and a bald patch which he was sure was larger than last time. “Have you had your hair done?”

Shifty laughed. “You don’t make friends easily, do you Parvo!”

“Who needs friends.”

“Well what do you need from me? And this time make it something less troublesome than a virus. When was that... two years back? What have you been doing with yourself?”

“As if you haven’t monitored...” Shifty remained silent, so Parvo continued, “Contract work, apprenticing, slumming... waiting for Old Fool Marat to retire. Preening myself for this job.”

Parvo glanced around the dim room. The light from the screens was more than sufficient to illuminate the dozens of certificates of competence and sworn testimonials which adorned the walls — not that they meant much in a forger’s office!

“I need about forty invitations,” said Parvo. “I think forty will do... Have you any idea of the size of the cast of Pests?”

“Invitations? Invitations to what or where?”

“To the Palace.”

* * *

Proceed to part 9...