Pestworld

by Colin P. Davies

Part 5, Part 6
Part 7, Part 8
appear in this issue.

Part 9: conclusion

Kanazawa turtletooth: a large, amphibious, vicious, mean-spirited and generally nasty, shelled creature, capable of achieving high speeds on waterways by means of high-pressure ejection of digestive gases from the rear. Dubbed the “Picnicers’ Peril” by the tabloid press, the turtletooth has been reponsible for numerous mutilations, deaths, and loss of picnic food. Of late, an illegal sport has arisen whereby spiced-up teenagers throw hooked reins on the creatures and surf to the throbbing beat of arcane rock music. The turtletooth has long been the official emblem of the Association of Amputees.

The parade marching down the colonaded Avenue of The First Fools towards the Palace was a sight to behold. Parvo had always fancied himself as a theatre director, and now here he was, leading the entire cast of Pests, in full costume, towards the greatest performance of their careers. The band were on top form and the blast of brass echoed off the marble elevations of the administrative offices to each side. Everyone was honoured and awed to be heading to this Official Reception and Congratulation by the High Lords of Plateau. It was almost a pity, Parvo thought — he couldn’t help smiling — a pity it was all a lie.

Up ahead the six sky-blue glass minarets at the corners of the hexagonal Palace appeared to melt into the low, sunlit cloud. The famous windvane styled in the shape of Benoletti’s spaceyacht was beyond view. Here and there upon the face of the towers jewels caught the setting sun and glinted laser red.

Parvo hurried towards the front of the parade. He wanted to be the first to reach the gilded gates. After all, it seemed only fitting that Benedict Benoletti, the late lamented mad scientist and founder of Pestworld, should lead his legacy into the grounds. Parvo fidgetted in the white lab coat. He felt constricted and too warm. Perhaps he should have removed his trench coat before throwing on the disguise — but that coat was his uniform and he would feel naked without it. He jammed his clipboard under his arm and slipped the fake spectacles into his top pocket. He noticed spots of blood on his white sleeve; luckily they were not too obvious. He felt a little guilty, but the primadonna who played Benoletti in the musical had been somewhat reluctant to submit to his surprise understudy.

Parvo broke into a run. He passed tindall telescopic gazelles and hindenberg hover-grazers, marconi fermenting gargoyles and brunell toe-tasters. The scale was sometimes laughably inaccurate, but Parvo had to admit that the costumes were fun.

It was late evening after the last performance of Pests, and the cloud was turning the colour of blood-ale. Parvo had spent most of the day in hiding and had managed to avoid the spies he knew would be hunting for him. What he didn’t know was exactly who they would be working for — Jay, Dimitri, or the Palace. He had gathered many enemies with an ease which amused him. He did not go out of his way to be unlikable, but it was clearly a gift.

He reached the front of the parade, which was headed up by an actor in a black trench coat, who played Old Fool Piper, the first ever Pestmeister of Pestworld and founder of the Academy of Pest Control.

“I’ll take it from here,” said Parvo.

He turned and held up his arms. The leaders halted and the message swept down the column like a whipped wave in a rope. The band stopped in mid-march. Trumpets trailed off; flutes floundered. The wheeled euphonium toppled, but was saved by the flat hats of the fiddlers. Parvo pirouetted theatrically to face the gates again.

Up this close, the gates were impressive. They filled a six metre high arch in a stone wall twice that height. The vertical bars were plated with gold; the horizontal bars were sheathed in obsidian. No visitor to the Palace could mistake the wealth and power of the High Lords.

Five guards appeared on the other side. They wore the Palace silk-snake tunics and glitter-kilts and were obviously nervous. Guards didn’t like surprises — the parade hardly looked like a threat, but they would expect to be informed.

A corporal came forward and Parvo took a paper from inside his lab coat and handed it through the bars.

The corporal scanned the paper, which carried the Seal of the High Lords, and announced, “This here says you are to proceed directly to the Grand Gallery... I’ve had no instructions on this.”

Parvo smiled. “One of your superiors must have slipped up.”

“She’s never done this before.”

Parvo took the spectacles from his pocket and placed them on his nose. Fortunately they were clear glass. “It would be unwise to expose her to reprimand.”

“She’s only just made it to Sergeant.”

“Embarrassment is not easily forgotten or forgiven.” Parvo stabbed a finger at the paper. “See here... it says surprise. This is a surprise organised by High Lord Antonio for Lady Macduff. It would not do to let the calconi spitting cat out of the bag.”

Jewels of sweat appeared under the corporal’s fanger fur hat.

One of his men stepped up to the gate. “Corporal... I’ve seen Pests. This is definitely the real cast. No doubt about it. That fanger is Harrison Small. I’ve got his autograph.”

A mumble of agreement and celebrity names came from the other guards.

It was that easy. Bravado and brass neck. Benedict Benoletti had returned to his Palace.

Parvo directed the troupe to follow the corporal through to the Grand Gallery and instructed them to commence the performance immediately. Then he slipped away down a dark narrow passage and unfurled the plan Shifty had provided for him. The records office was his target. He orientated himself, threw his glasses and clipboard to the stone floor, then took off at a dash.

The first guard he encountered he laid out with a punch. The next guard had an unfortunate collision with the stone wall.

The records office turned out to be a small cell, much too close to the latrines for the comfort of his sensitive nose. A lone data screen and chair were sited in one corner.

He approached, and the screen came to life. The face of High Lord Antonio appeared and turned to gaze directly at Parvo. “Well done, Sigmund Parvo. Your initiative, cunning and courage does us proud. You have not disappointed us.”

Parvo felt like he was drowning; he could not formulate words for the influx of water.

The image spoke again: “Please go to the Grand Gallery where your discomfort will be eased.”

The screen died, and with it went Parvo’s supreme confidence in his superiority and street smarts. He could not bear confusion — you could not build a plan out of confusion. But he had not given up. That was not in his nature. He only needed time to figure out what had just happened.

The route to the gallery was as dark and sombre as his thoughts.

As he hurried towards the final door shown on his plan, he could hear the band and cast belting out a raucous performance of There’s a Pest In the House, and We’re All Gonna Die.

The door slid back and he emerged into a hall, five houses high and as large as two lawn-tennis courts end to end. At intervals huge faceted amber globelamps protruded from the walls and icicle chandeliers hung coldly from the vaulted ceiling, while far below them the dancers floated over the marble floor and a menagerie of pests gyrated, cartwheeled and fought as they acted out the dramatised story of Benoletti’s madness and the inauguration of the Pest Challenge Tournament which had ultimately led to the Infestation and life as it was today. Parvo gasped — even his thoughts were short of breath. It was a marvellous sight.

Parvo kept his head up and his back straight and strolled down the side of the hall, past the performers, to where High Lord Antonio was standing. The Lord’s wavy grey hair was tied into two bunches above his ears, revealing gold test tube earrings. He wore a grey business suit and his black shoes gleamed. He was also wearing a fanger waistcoat and a sidearm. That jacked-up Parvo’s spirit; it suggested a degree of uncertainty and caution.

Antonio gestured for Parvo to stop. Then he spoke, but his words were swallowed up by the noise of the performance. He shouted, “Excuse me if I gloat a little, but we’ve outsmarted you, outmanoeuvred you, and now we’re going to out you!”

Parvo stepped forward and Antonio’s hand edged towards the gun.

“We’ve been testing you!” Antonio yelled. “Training you. And you’ve been more than we could hope for. You are the magic bullet that will finally rid us of these costly pests.”

From doorways to each side of the Gallery guards began to appear. Then came Lady Macduff and several of the other Lords and Ladies. Meanwhile the performance continued behind Parvo.

Antonio’s fist punched the air. “This is what Benedict Benoletti strove for, what he yearned for, and what he failed to witness in his own lifetime. The experiment has finally succeeded!”

Lord Pestmeister Dimitri was there now, and Old Fool Gregory, and Jay.

The band percolated to the front as the musical thrashed headlong towards the famous flashback scene where Benoletti creates his first artificial life form. Out of screeching chaos would soon come order. But, right now, there was only screeching chaos. Antonio drew his handgun and put a bullet though the euphonium. The music, the performance, and the player died instantly.

The hall was silent, except for the chuckling of Lady Macduff. Confused and fearful faces, beaks, bills, proboscises and snouts turned towards High Lord Antonio. Rather grandly, he announced, “Sigmund Parvo — you are not human. Benoletti manufactured you.”

Parvo shook his head. It couldn’t be true. He would know if he was not human. He struggled out of the white coat and dropped it on the floor, then straightened out the lapels of his trench coat.

His attention was caught by movement over to his left. A group of six soldiers were pulling a cart. The pneumatic tyres squeaked as they turned over the marble floor. On top of the cart was a cage — the cage which Gregory had constructed. Inside the cage was the cooking pot steaming freshly and a huddled, hairy, heavily-muscled creature, about the height and shape of a man, and naked as the day it was created.

Jay came forward to halt the cart. He looked around at Parvo. “We had this flown in for you, Sigmund. Your plan worked. Here we have a benedict, still drugged by regular hose-downs with dreamtea. And an ugly creature it turned out to be.” He struck the bars with his fist, and the creature lifted its head.

Parvo gasped. It had his nose, his teeth. His face!

Antonio roared with delight. “Do you see yourself, Parvo?” He pointed his gun into the cage. “This thing is Benoletti’s failure. An experiment the Master carried out with his own DNA. He wanted to create a life form superior to a human. Stronger, swifter, more cunning. He incorporated ideas and anatomy from other creatures. But the experiment did not go as planned.”

The wild benedict gripped the bars and shook them sluggishly. The cart rocked. Even drugged, its power was evident. Jay backed away and Parvo noticed that the bounty hunter had been disarmed by the Palace guards. It appeared there had been a lot of connivance, but not much trust.

“So Benoletti tried again and this time succeeded,” said Antonio. “And here you are, Sigmund Parvo. Benoletti’s dream made flesh.”

Parvo glared at the pest in the cage. He shared DNA with this creature. They were both children of Benoletti. This thing was a relative! And this was no way to treat a relative...

Now that he had the facts, he was able to plan again.

Benoletti was cultivating you secretly when he died,” said Antonio. “We found you decades later in a pickled onion jar at the back of his refrigerator. He didn’t trust anyone.”

Parvo glanced over at Lord Pestmeister Dimitri. More than ever the fat sloth must fear for his position. Who better to become Lord Pestmeister than Parvo — Meister Pest? He caught Dimitri’s eye and smirked. He made sure it was an evil smirk, a smirk which said, It won’t be long now... don’t buy any new furnishings.

Dimitri was trembling.

The knife had been sunk and twisted; now Parvo withdrew it. “Considering my provenance,” he said to Dimitri, but so that all could hear, “I would suggest that I am the rightful heir to this world... not Old Fool Antonio here, or Ancient Buffoon Singh, or any of the offspring of Benoletti’s other laboratory assistants who melded this corrupt administration after his death.”

Antonio laughed again, but there was no amusement this time. “Clearly Parvo, you have gone mad.”

“That would seem quite likely, considering the bloodline.”

Dimitri sidled forward. “Lord Antonio. While I understand the reasoning behind your intention to install Sigmund Parvo in the new post of Pestmeister General, directly under my control, I feel that he is undoubtedly too unbalanced to be considered for any position of authority. He is, as you said, a successful experiment. However, the experiment must now be terminated.”

Dimitri had seen the chance to remove the threat to his position, and Antonio had been caught unaware by Parvo’s claim. Parvo meanwhile had used the distraction to move up beside the cart. He slipped his hands under the edge and heaved. It took superhuman strength, but that was exactly what Benoletti had given him. The cart and cage toppled and crashed to the floor, crushing Gregory.

“Sorry old friend,” said Parvo. “But, apparently, you’re dead.”

Dreamtea and blood flowed together across the marble and towards the High Lords and Ladies. They scattered.

People in the hall began to panic. They ran for the exits, but guards had been instructed to block them. There was nowhere to go.

Parvo grabbed a pulse rifle from a guard and, taking care not to inhale the dissipating fumes, leapt up onto the cage. The door was now on the top. He was aware of Antonio levelling his gun. Parvo blackened the High Lord’s grey hair with a blast from his rifle. Antonio crumpled lifeless.

The lock submitted easily to another shot from the rifle and Parvo threw the door open. The wild benedict grasped for purchase at the open doorway. Parvo grabbed its wrist and hauled it from the cage, then thrust it away from the dreamtea spillage and towards Dimitri and Jay, who was searching for Antonio’s weapon.

The wild benedict was shaking its head violently, filling its lungs with clean air. Dimitri seemed stunned for a moment, then ran. He’d waited too long. The creature ripped out his throat.

Screams echoed around the hall. The guards had now vanished and the exits were clear. The exodus began. The wild benedict made a queer whooping sound and chased after the fleeing humans.

But Jay remained. He had Antonio’s gun and pointed it at Parvo.

“You’d better be accurate,” said Parvo as he jumped down from the cage. “You’ll only get one shot.”

They stood facing each other. Jay was just out of Parvo’s reach.

“You could be a valuable Pestmeister for me,” said Parvo.

“The prospect fills me with delight.”

“It’s too late to stop me now, Jay. You knew I was different from the Academy days. You always said I wasn’t normal.”

“Just one bullet will make you as normal as the rest of us.”

“I suggest you look behind you.”

“Ha! That might work in the theatre, but not...”

Huge hands gripped Jay’s head and the benedict snapped his neck, then tossed the body aside.

The hall was now deserted except for Parvo and the wild benedict. Strangely the creature did not attack, but stood, slightly stooped, cocking its head from side to side. Then it circled Parvo. It seemed curious. Perhaps it could see the similarity to its own kind.

“I suspect you can’t understand me,” said Parvo softly. “But we’re like brothers... almost. Anyway, you’re the closest thing I’ve got.”

The creature snarled and exposed its prominent teeth. Perhaps this was communication. Parvo snarled back. The creature’s bushy eyebrows leapt up.

“It would be crazy if we hurt each other. We’ve got enough enemies amongst the humans.”

The wild benedict straightened up, as though trying to look more like Parvo.

“I feel you’re understanding me,” said the Pestmeister. “What little difference there must be between us. Just a minor error could have made you what you are... perhaps a wrong symbol in a calculation, a misjudgement of quantity, a sneeze in a test tube... You deserve justice, not hunting down.”

Parvo stepped closer. The creature seemed to be accepting him. “We’re like brothers,” he said.

His wild brother opened its mouth and in a surprisingly gentle voice said, “Bro... thers.” The thin lips lifted in what could only be an attempt at a smile.

It was the perfect moment, and Parvo’s fist came swinging round so hard onto the creature’s chin that it was thrown bodily backwards, skidded across the marble floor, and only came to rest when its skull cracked open against the stone wall.

Parvo cradled his victorious hand. It hurt like fire.

“Mad am I?” he said. “Maybe, or maybe not.” He licked his bloody knuckles. “But you’re no brother of mine!”

He walked over to where High Lord Antonio’s body lay huddled, kneeling, as though in his last moment he had offered up a prayer to Benoletti — for forgiveness. Parvo stooped and pressed his thumbnail into the soft over-fed flesh of the dead man’s cheek. Slowly, he drew his nail downwards, parting the skin neatly and easily. He held up his thumb like a smoking gun. Yes, his claws remained sharp and ready for action.

He would get little rest for the next few days — there were pests to be tracked down. And then there was the question of what to do with the High Lords and Ladies. In their smug scheming and complacency, they had forgotten one uncomfortable fact.

Humans could also be pests.

* * *

Wild benedict: an immensely strong, wily, and vicious creature, which resulted from experiments carried out by Benedict Benoletti, employing his own DNA, in his lifetime crusade to build a superior humanoid. Named as the prime target in High Lord Pestmeister Parvo’s first clean-up campaign, A Pogrom For Pestworld, the wild benedict is now extinct.