the aberration
chapter six
One week earlier...
The Gregorian monks reached a crescendo, and then dropped to a fade.
Simon Hyde, the man with the plaited ponytail, sat at the bar contemplating his drink, while the berobed bartender, his face hidden as usual beneath the hood of his cowl, cleaned out glasses with a rag.
'Pint of bitter please, mate,' said a voice.
The bartender nodded and moved silently towards the tap, drawing the pint with pale hands.
Simon turned. The man who had sat down beside him looked like he had stepped straight out of a Dickensian novel. He wore threadbare clothes, torn and patched, and a battered tophat. He fingered his stubble distractedly, and curled his lips in what may have been a smile when he found himself under Simon's gaze.
He pulled some coins out of his pocket and placed them on the bartop where the bartender gathered them with a single sweep of his arm, the tramp's pint appearing in their wake.
The tramp threw back his head and consumed his drink in three or four heavy gulps, his larynx bobbing up and down in deep appreciation. The tramp then wiped his mouth dry with a sleeve, nodded at Simon, and departed.
Simon watched him leave.
'I saw him again that night,' recounted the other detective, his hands in his trenchcoat pockets. 'I'd left the Captain's Fall and was on my way home when I heard someone whimpering. I stopped and listened to what then sounded very much like one half of an urgent conversation. I retracted a few steps, found myself standing in the opening of an alleyway. There was the tramp, talking to shadows.
'I was curious, so I hid myself behind the wall and watched him from around the corner. I mean, it was such an odd sight. He kept peering over his shoulder. He seemed quite nervous.'
'Who was he talking to? Anyone?'
'I asked myself the very same question, detective. Albeit not vocally. Then, as if to answer my question, something emerged from the darkness. It was a pale, ghost-like thing... a floating woman.'
'What?'
'Not a real one. A sculpture or a model of a woman. Very white. I only got a brief glimpse, though, because the tramp must have heard something, and came ambling out of the alley. He was quite drunk, and while I could have easily dealt with any misdirected violence, I wanted to remain unseen so I could find out more. So I left.'
'Hm,' said Amelia. She was sat on top of the Mini Cooper listening to his story, her deerstalker keeping her ears warm. 'This definitely sounds like the same guy who hired me. He also mentioned a porcelain woman. But none of this is really making any sense.'
The other detective looked thoughtful.
'Did you find out anything else? I'm guessing you did, since you're here.'
'I didn't see either the tramp or the floating woman for several days, despite return visits. When I did, it was back in the Captain's Fall. This time the tramp had company: the gentleman in the pink rabbit costume.'
'Master Beef,' said Amelia, considering the bizarreness of his name as she recalled it. 'Know anything about him? Why he wears the suit?'
'Well, he's a regular patron of the Fall. But other than that, no. Nobody seemed to know much.'
+04:38:54
The man frowned at the mission clock displayed incorrectly on his watch and tapped it several times. The digital figures morphed, broke and reshaped.
+02:36:01
Cursing, the man ripped the watch from his wrist and violently shook it.
'Damn it!' He threw it on the floor and crunched it into the earth with his boot. He stood in the clearing, breathing heavily. Then he took off his beret and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair, letting out a constricted whimper of desperation. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to calm down.
He took off his camouflage jacket and tied the sleeves around his waste, revealing an olive drab shirt and his dog tag. His hand rested on the pistol of his belt, which he gripped to remind himself it was there. His other hand retrieved his compass and he determined north in an attempt to re-establish his bearings.
Then he heard movement. He jolted alert and drew his firearm, holding his breath, scanning the surrounding area with the pistol bobbing uncertainly at the trees, hopping frantically from one sight to the next. As he turned, he received a blow to the back; the pistol fell from his grasp as he hit the ground, bouncing away across the grass.
The man reached for it, but it was kicked out of range by a large green boot, which then kicked him too for good measure, knocking him sideways. He felt at his lip and clutched his jaw. He made to get up and looked around for his gun.
Then his attacker wrapped an arm around his neck and heaved him backwards. His boots slid on the grass as he tried to struggle upright, squirming as he was choked. The man clutched hopelessly at the arm around his throat. As his face turned a deep, unpleasant red and his eyes bulged, he became dimly aware that the arm felt strangely coarse.
His assailant dragged him back further. His eyes rolled as the grip became desperately tight. He then felt his own gun pressed against his temple, and a voice hissed in his ear: 'Where am I?'
The man continued to struggle. The grip on him was suddenly released, but no sooner had he filled his lungs with air than he was struck to the head and knocked unconscious.
'They sat talking for a while. Drank a lot. When they left, I allowed them a moment to determine where they were going next and then, at a distance, I followed them.'
'And?'
'And they went back to her. I didn't see her because I couldn't get close enough, but what else could it have been? Then Mr Beef took off. I don't know why. And the tramp didn't seem to know why either.'
'But they met up again,' interjected Amelia. 'I mean, they were both in that old lady's house. With that other guy. The tramp seemed pretty on edge, but Beef...well, I don't really know what to think of him.'
'Yes, I saw them enter her house.'
'You sound like some creepy stalker guy,' said Amelia, looking at him through the corner of her eye. 'In what capacity are you a detective, exactly? How did you even get on this case?'
The man shifted and shrugged. 'I was curious,' he said. 'It's not every day you see this kind of stuff. And anyway, I never meant to get this--' He gestured expansively. '--actively involved.'
'Hm,' said Amelia. 'And what about those guys in tweed?'
'Oh, you met them too, did you?'
She slid from the car and brushed off her clothes. 'I would say so.'
He nodded. 'Last thing I saw.'
'Well,' said Amelia, looking around. 'We have ourselves quite a mystery, Mr--'
'Hyde. Simon Hyde.' He proffered a hand.
She shook it. 'I am Amelia Muse. And I'm an actual detective. So maybe we'll find out some stuff. The others have to be somewhere. Let's go find them.'
The shaven-headed man considered closing his eyes again when he opened them to the sight of Beef. There was also an oppressive and, he felt, completely unnecessary pain in his head. And his back. And his face.
'Where am I?' he mumbled stupidly, looking around with half-closed eyes.
'Good question,' replied a voice.
He grunted and tried to move, but couldn't do so much. His belt was ridiculously tight around his waste, and his arms had been bound beneath it. The clip had been pulled around to the other side of the trunk, out of his reach.
'So many trees,' said Beef, and there was regret in his voice. 'So very many trees, and yet so little material with which to tie you to them. You could probably wriggle your way out of that.' He pointed his newly acquired pistol squarely at his captive's head. 'But I wouldn't recommend it.'
The man turned his head and spat. There was no apparent reason for this. 'You won't make me tell you anything,' he said, looking fiercely at his own reflection in the surface of Beef's uncompromisingly blank visor.
'What's your name?' asked Beef, levelly.
The man did not reply, and tried to flex his shoulders.
Beef gestured to the man's camouflage attire with his gun. 'You're a marine?'
The man looked at Beef with an expression of hatred, his lips peeling back into a snarl. His hands were slowly but surely sliding upwards. Beef trained the pistol accordingly.
'Keep still. Where are we?'
'Like you don't know,' he mumbled.
'Yes, exactly like that. Now tell me.'
'I won't play your mind games!' the man exploded. 'They won't work!' Suddenly he shivered.
Beef inclined his head inquisitively. 'What was that thing in the underground passage?' he pressed. 'The machine with all the legs.'
The marine's eyes widened. 'You saw one of them?' He cast his eyes about. 'Was it close? How close was it?'
'There was some impressive engineering down there,' said Beef. 'What's it all for?'
The marine made no sign of being about to answer his questions. His attention was barely on Beef anymore.
Beef sighed. 'Give me a name, at least,' he repeated. 'If you don't,' he added offhandedly, 'I will have to think of one for you. And I will not be kind.'
There was yet another figure sprawled across the dead grass.
On his sleeping face was already the pained expression of one weary of things happening. Around him was a stillness as dead as the trees. But then, on the very edge of hearing, or so if the figure had been in any state to hear, a faint sound began gradually to penetrate the silence, gaining strength until it became a distinct drone that filled the air for lack of any other sound to compete.
Mike opened his eyes, at first unaware that the droning had signalled a new arrival. He rolled from his side onto his back and held a hand to his skull, dazed. Tufts of his recently cut purple hair protruded from between his fingers as he rubbed his head.
Then the sudden close proximity of the droning caused him to jolt upwards, propping himself up on his arms. He gawked at the extraordinary apparition hovering like a wasp before him.
'Hello there!' it said, addressing him cordially.
Mike blinked. He was staring at a microwave.