The Monster on Mandrake Street(A Pestworld Story)by Colin P. Davies |
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Part 2
section 1 of 2 |
The pounding on Parvo’s bedroom door grew louder: first fists, then shoulders, finally feet. In moments, the parma puppeteer with Parvo’s face would be upon him and, much as the pestmeister rated his fighting skills as second to none, he also knew when to retreat.
Parvo reached through the bars he’d had installed to keep the more athletic and ingenious intruders out and threw open the window. The courtyard was clear. He jumped up and aimed both legs between the bars, exhaled until his body flattened, and slipped out, wriggling his arms free, until only his head stopped his escape. Bones creaked as his flexible skull — gift of his unusual ancestry — narrowed to allow him though.
Once clear of the bars, he rubbed the pain from his ears, then flung himself up to the gutter. His fingers grasped the old ironwork and he clambered over onto the frosty tiles of the roof.
A shout. He’d been spotted.
An arrow zipped up at him, but he snatched it easily from the air. Quite why he had archers amongst his security staff was a question he would have to consider later. But, right now, he was grateful. He hurled the arrow down again and was rewarded with a yelp of pain.
He had to move before the sharpshooters with pulse rifles arrived.
With a deftness uniquely his own, he scaled the slippery roof, ran along the ridge, and leapt onto the pinnacle over the palace bakery. He dived at a flag mast, tore down the flag, dropped to the giant bronze statue of Andrea Anchovy, Pizza Princess — pioneer and connoisseur of edible-pest cuisine — and scrambled down her apron to the ground.
Guards came tearing round the corner, but they saw only a blur as Parvo whirled amongst them, punching, pounding and punishing. Finally, he halted, drew in a deep breath, and gazed over the slumped and groaning bodies. He was both pleased at his own skill and yet despairing of the quality of his guards.
The familiar squeak of wooden wheels told him that the pesticide cannon was being brought to bear. He wasn’t sure whether the fluid would have any effect on him and he had no intention of waiting around to find out. He charged down the narrow gap between the windowless armory building and the smooth steel wall of the security office.
A guard jumped out from a doorway, blocking his path, but Parvo vaulted him easily, felling him with a careless heel to the head.
A second man stepped out and swung a curved sword at Parvo’s leg. The pestmeister skipped over the weapon and brought his knee up under the guard’s chin. Then he was running again.
Another attacker stepped out of the security office and Parvo threw an instinctive punch at the pale and startled face. He stopped the punch short.
This was Anyar.
With no time to stop, Parvo dodged around her and darted up the alleyway. He glanced back once to see her staring at him, then scaled up the stone outer wall of the palace as if gravity were only an ugly rumor put about by heavy people.
He was away into the black alleyways of the old town before the guards could even unlock the main gates.
He was safe for now, but without his trench coat, without money... and without the tooth.
* * *
Hiding in shadows was a pastime Parvo thought he had left behind in his schooldays, but shadows were the safest place to be while he planned restitution and retribution.
Soldiers and police were out in force and for a few days he had to be careful, slipping out only to steal food and gather snow for his thirst. Eventually, a combination of lack of success and a wish to return swiftly to the comforting laziness of the status quo led the searchers to report his escape to the lower lands. The heat cooled.
When Parvo judged it safe to venture out, he dressed in a hooded coat he’d acquired from a sleeping vagrant and headed into the Merchant Market. A light snow fell. With his hood pulled low he weaved through the shoppers. The crush and the noise were intense; Plateau thrived commercially. Almost anything could be bought at the market. Only an occasional police officer wandered between the stalls, exchanging a little legal flexibility for a cappuccino or an iced doughnut.
Parvo soon found what he wanted — a Rodent Rehabilitation stall — and, as he rummaged through the bags, boxes, trinkets and traps on the table, the elderly stallholder attempted conversation. “Got a rat problem, my friend? If you can’t find what you need, I can get it for you in a hour.” The man slipped into his spiel:
“Rodent pollution? I’ve got the solution.
“Difficult pest? My traps are the best.
“Need a cat? There’s one under my hat!” He lifted his tall, narrow-brimmed hat and there, perched upon his thick grey curls, was a calconi-spitting cat.
Maybe the cat caught a whiff of Parvo’s rodent DNA, or perhaps it could spot a pestmeister when it saw one... either way, it narrowed its orange eyes and pursed its pouting lips and spat in Parvo’s direction. He dodged successfully.
“Apologies, my friend.” The stallholder clapped his hat back over the cat. “He’s not normally so unfriendly.”
Parvo avoided the man’s gaze and held up a large canvas bag with a glass bottom and a spring-loaded lid. “This will do nicely.”
“Two hundred lira, my friend. Would you like that trap in a bag?”
“Yes... thank you.”
When the stallholder turned to find a bag for the sale, Parvo slipped away with the trap and blended into the crowd. “I’m not your friend,” he muttered. “But you will get your money eventually.”
Parvo left the market and hurried along the narrow crooked streets until he reached the old historic Turnip Exchange. The tall and elegant timber structure had been built on short stilts in an attempt to restrict pest infiltration. This had been a regular call-out for Parvo during his time on work experience from the Academy.
At the rear of the building, near the delivery doors, the clutter of storage sheds restricted access to the underfloor gap to a space about the size of a big man’s foot. Carefully, Parvo placed his new bag-trap over the hole and lodged it into position with stones and soil. He then returned to the front of the building.
At the top of a short flight of stairs was the entrance and beside that was the old fire bell. Parvo skipped up the steps and, holding the clapper silent, unfastened the bell from its bracket. He now jumped to the ground and squeezed his head and shoulders into the narrow gap under the floor, bringing the bell up in front of his face.
He sounded the alarm, rattling the clapper furiously. The sound was deafening in the confined space under the house. He heard urgent fluttering below the floor and panicked footsteps above his head. People crashed out of the building, chattering in confusion and searching for the source of the ringing. Leaving the bell behind, Parvo wriggled out of the gap and got to his feet. He brushed dirt off his checked trousers.
Faces turned towards him.
He shrugged. “No fire under there.”
He strolled round to the rear and retrieved his trap. The lid had been sprung and was now locked shut. He took his haul and hurried away.
That was the easy part. Now he had to visit an old friend.
* * *
After sunset Parvo took himself to a place only the real Parvo could know — the secret lair of Shifty Shakeshaft, the all-seeing eyes of Plateau.
A young girl led him through to the rear of the baker’s shop and into a darkened room. There was the memorable smell of doughnuts and disinfectant. When the door shut behind him, he saw again the steel fence of diamond mesh and, beyond it, the wall of trivee screens. Shifty sat facing the screens, separated from his guests by the mesh. The monitors showed the street outside and feeds from security and secret cameras scattered across Plateau.
“Back again so soon, Parvo. I suppose congratulations are in order on your successful coup. What’s it like to be in charge of a world?”
Parvo leaned upon the chair in front of the mesh screen. “Not funny.” He was too restless to sit. “You know why I’m here. You’ve been watching the police turn the city upside down.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t find your hiding place.”
“Good... although I suspect you wouldn’t tell me if you had.”
Parvo gazed at the back of Shifty’s balding head. He had never seen the mysterious man’s face.
“This is quite some mess you’ve got yourself in,” said Shifty. “I saw someone who looks just like you directing the searches. Curious.”
“A parma puppeteer,” Parvo told him.
“I guessed as much. Odd that this one should have ambitions of power. They’re more at home in the theater where their facial flexibility is highly valued. Though I have heard they are terrible hams.”
“You can make light of my problems all you like, but can you get me a feed from the palace?”
“I have no cameras in the palace.”
“Oh come on...”
Shifty shook his head. “No cameras.”
“Then outside the palace. The gates... what’s been happening by the gates?”
Shifty put up a picture of the giant, ornate gates and ran the recording in reverse, gradually increasing the speed. Suddenly, Parvo said, “There! Go back and zoom in. Show me who’s leaving the palace.”
“This was two hours ago.”
The scene showed the gates shortly before sunset. Two sharply-shadowed figures emerged into the low orange light and the gates were closed behind them. Closer examination revealed one of the figures to be Anyar, wrapped in a long, hooded coat. What was she doing? She knew that Plateau was not the safest city for a young woman. The other figure was the girl from the monster museum on Mandrake Street. She was also wearing a long coat, but her uncovered bald head shone like a beacon. Under her arm she carried something bundled up in a blanket.
The two women walked briskly down the Avenue of First Fools and into the shadowed ways of the capital. Shifty followed them from street to plaza to graveyard to alley until finally they turned down Mandrake Street. The image froze.
“I can’t look down that street,” said Shifty. “The police did try to put up cameras, but nothing works. Someone doesn’t want to be watched.”
“I’ve seen enough anyway.” Parvo went up to the mesh screen. “I appreciate this, Shifty, and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.”
“Just knowing I’ve done the right thing is reward enough.”
“Sure... and I became a pestmeister just to help people. Do you want cash or cameras?”
“Cash.”
Parvo looked at the frozen picture of the entrance to Mandrake Street. Snow lay on cobbles and canopies. The cold seemed to reach out to touch his face. “Shifty... can you get me a gun? Something tells me I’m going to need one.”
“Just ask in the shop for a stick loaf. They’ll know what you mean.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a lot of help.” Parvo grasped the mesh screen and examined the back of Shifty’s head. Who was this character? Had Parvo passed him in the street sometime without realizing? One day he would find out.
Shifty shifted uncomfortably under Parvo’s scrutiny. The multiple monitors changed to all show the same view of Parvo’s back as he stood at the mesh wall.
“Is there a problem?” said Shifty.
“No... but there is something else I need you to do for me.”
* * *
Copyright © 2009 by Colin P. Davies
