The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 29
‘Where are we then?’ asked Viv, ignoring him outright.
Bennet shone his torch around them. They had arrived upon a flat stone platform up in the rafters of the colossal structure. Bennet’s beam locked onto a door.
‘I guess we go through that, then,’ suggested Viv.
‘Well, it's the only exit, so yes,’ agreed Bennet. ‘Here, let me go first. I’ve got the gun, after all. Viv, take my torch, will you?’
‘Gotcha,’ replied Viv, accepting his flashlight. ‘Lead on.’
The door resisted briefly but, after an agony of creaking, gave, allowing Bennet and his tiny pistol to push through, Viv, Gabby and Vasilakis following on behind.
It was clear to them immediately that this was a public arena. Tiers of stone benches, one above the other, were leading down to something akin to a football pitch, the full extent of which was difficult to make out in the limited beam of Bennet’s flashlight.
‘Turn off the torch!’ whispered Gabby, urgently grasping Viv by her arm and pointing. ‘Look!’
On the opposite side of the stadium, lights had appeared, rising up from an access tunnel.
‘Hide!’ ordered Bennet, taking cover behind what had likely been a Minoan refreshment stand. ‘We’re not alone.’
‘Friendlies?’ wondered Viv optimistically.
‘They rarely turn out to be friendly,’ replied the vicar, peering anxiously round the corner. ‘We should assume the worst.’
There was another burst of bellowing and roaring. Immediately after that, came a cacophony of violence in the streets beyond the arena, now considerably closer.
The torches opposite instantly swung to the right, towards the sound.
‘Are we safe in here, baaaaaby?’ whimpered Astrid, as the oligarch’s team emerged fully onto the stands. ‘Only I am so very, very frightened.’
‘We will keep you safe, little mouse,’ replied Nahrapov, kissing her protectively on the hand. He turned to the blind man. ‘You. What is this place?’
‘An arena,’ answered the Greek, looking hard into his senses. ‘For public spectacles.’
One of Dima’s men ran over, hand pointing away across the stadium to where the Purgatorians were crouching.
‘Comrade Boris,’ he reported. ‘As we came up, the men think they saw lights in the opposite stands.’
‘Damn,’ snarled the Russian. ‘Purgatorians. They must be watching us. The sooner we get out of this stupid place, the better.’
‘Agreed,’ said Dima, pointing upwards. ‘See that tower? We can scope out the city from there. Find an exit. He threw his binoculars to one of his men. ‘You … get up there. Look for a way out. The rest of you form a perimeter.’
Back on the far side, the Purgatorians were stuck, waiting for the Russians to make their move.
‘What are they doing?’ asked Gabby, trying to peer around the stall.
‘Not sure,’ said Bennet, squinting into the darkness. ‘Can’t be certain, but I’d say they are staying put. How very annoying. Until they clear off, we’re obliged to sit tight. I do so hope they pass us by. The last thing we want is a firefight. I’m only packing a pee-shooter.’
More enraged bellowing and crashing broke out, Newton’s pursuer taking out his frustration on yet another empty building.
‘Where the hell did the Bonetaker get to?’ said Viv. ‘He needs to get to Newton before whatever that is … does.’
*****
Though he was unaware of the close proximity of his Purgatorian allies, Newton was nursing similar sentiments. It was all too obvious that the house in which he was heroically hiding was the last one that the enraged beast had not trashed. Sure enough, as he began looking for an escape route, the monster started its assault upon the front door.
‘I’da relocate iffa I wassa you,’ said Enrico helpfully from behind him.
‘Relocate where?’ demanded Newton. ‘There’s only one door!’
‘Da roof?’ suggested Enrico.
‘Roof, got it!’ confirmed Newton, immediately looking for the stairs.
There weren’t any.
The old door was being pummelled by successive seismic punches and kicks. The furniture Newton had wedged against the handle was beginning to be shaken free.
Time was running out.
‘Enrico old, chap … how exactly does one get to the roof?’ enquired Newton, trying to remain calm.
‘Oh, right, sì, sorry,’ laughed the Hermit. ‘I forgot. Dese early Minoan houses used da ladders.’
‘Dammit!’ wailed Newton. ‘Look around you, man! There’s no ladder either!’
‘Ah,’ said Enrico. ‘It’sa probably up onna da roof. Hold on a second.’
‘Seconds I have,’ yelled Newton, transfixed by his failing barricade. ‘Minutes … I don’t.’
The door convulsed again, a giant shoulder slamming hard into the wood. Then the pile of chairs and shelving that had been keeping Newton safe exploded across the floor as, with a horrifying crack, a massive fist punched a hole through the dead centre of the door. A cloud of fragments blasted towards him across the room.
Amazingly … the door held.
The assault … stopped.
Newton, heart in his mouth behind his teeth, stared with disbelief at the ravaged door.
At the hole, a huge eye had appeared. Blood red, massive, and obviously far from happy, it swivelled around the room, looking for its prey.
It found him.
‘RAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.’
The roar was so loud that dust, engrained in the door since the days of the Pharaohs, exploded into the room like a pyroclastic flow.
‘Watch outta below,’ shouted the hermit from the hatch in the ceiling above.
A primitive ladder slid down, then bounced on its end upon the stone floor before coming to a rest. Simultaneously, with renewed fury, the nightmare threw itself at the door, tearing the old timbers into matchwood.
Blasting into the room in a cloud of splinters, the creature staggered into what was left of Newton’s barricade, massive arms swinging as it lunged after him. Newton, every cell awash with adrenalin, shot up the ladder.
The first of several rungs then broke beneath him.
Newton went back down.
In raw panic, he shot back upwards, heaving himself hand over hand up the remaining rungs towards the roof.
Urgently solid, the hermit grabbed at Newton’s hand, pulling him upwards as the beast waded through the tables and chairs, and leapt up at Newton’s rapidly disappearing legs.
The ladder, its work done, splintered into a thousand pieces as the monster, blinded by target fixation, crashed onto it, then, arms empty, dropped back into the chaos below. Boiling with frustration, it roared up at them from the darkness below.
‘RAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.’
‘Flippin’ ’eck!’ panted Newton, looking into the glowing red eyes. ‘That was too bloody close. What the hell is that?’
‘This is notta da time for da explanations. You need to get away from it fast!’ advised Enrico. ‘He not gonna stop.’
‘Go where?’ demanded Newton, spinning around.
‘Data way,’ suggested the hermit, pointing. ‘Go acrossa da roofs. Towards da bigga buildings. Pronto!’
‘I’m going, I’m going!’ replied Newton. ‘Trust me … I’m going!’
He began his charge across the rooftops.
Tearing through long unused clotheslines and bounding over empty boxes, Newton leapt the gaps over innumerable back alleys, surprising himself with an athleticism fuelled by terror.
Behind him, enraged by his escaping prey, the monster smashed his way back out of Newton’s hideaway and barged furiously along the adjoining street, smashing pots as it went. Following the Purgatorian’s scent as it blew back down from the roofs above, it just wasn’t going to call it a day.
‘Is … it … following?’ shouted Newton from bursting lungs. ‘I can hear it … following.’
‘Sì,’ replied Enrico. ‘It’sa definitely following.’
‘Oh God!’ wheezed Newton, tumbling over a low wall to leap yet another alleyway. ‘I don’t think … I can keep this … up.’
‘Here’s an idea,’ shouted Enrico from beside him. The hermit pointed ahead. ‘Head for dat greata bigga building inna da distance, da long one. If we can lure him inaside, we can maybe lock him up. Trap him.’
‘By …. lure,’ puffed Newton, the stitch in his side like a backstreet appendectomy, ‘you mean?’
‘Dat’sa right,’ said Enrico. ‘You issa da bait.’
‘Any … other … ideas?’ asked Newton, optimistically.
‘Er, … no,’ answered Enrico. ‘Dat’sa all I got.’
‘Ok,’ gasped Newton, stopping monetarily to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. ‘God help me. … Let’s do this.’
Then he was away again, bounding across the last roofs towards what he sincerely hoped would be his salvation.
After five more dwellings and one uncomfortably wide alleyway, Newton finally reached the ledge opposite the target building. It was huge, rearing out of the darkness as one vast, blank wall of Bronze Age architecture.
‘There’s no door!’ wailed Newton, as the now familiar crashing and bellowing began approaching up the road beside him. ‘There’s no bloody door!’
‘Get down in da street,’ instructed Enrico, flashing past. ‘Then … go left! Trust me, da main entrance is to your left.’
‘Left … er … right!’ confirmed Newton, landing heavily in the ancient street, a mess of arms and legs. ‘OOOOF!’
A nearby roar soon had him back up again, lolloping frantically away down the dark street, caked head to toe in thick white dust.
‘Dere!’ shouted Enrico, pointing ahead. ‘See! Da bigga gap! It’sa open! You go through, da beast, he follow you in, you come out, I pulla da lever, I clossa da doors.’
Spotting two massive wooden doors, topped by a colossal portcullis, Newton didn’t hesitate.
As soon as he reared up to the entrance, he was through, pushing on a respectable distance inside before skidding to a halt. He looked back, waiting for the monster to follow him in through the doors into a long parallel-sided public arena stretching off into the darkness.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ he growled defiantly, taking up a goalkeeper’s crouch. ‘Come and get me.’
A massive shadow hurtled through the doors, smashing them aside … then halted, its glowing red eyes scanning the blackened stadium for the trespasser. Newton, standing dead centre of the stadium, wasn’t hard to spot. Locking on to his target, the beast roared again … worse than ever.
‘RAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.’
The monster was inside the trap. As planned, Newton dashed forward as fast as his tired legs could carry him, racing horribly close to the huge snorting shadow as he hurtled back towards the entrance where his colleague was readying himself in the darkness to pull a lever and slam the huge doors closed.
‘Gotcha!’ yelled Enrico triumphantly, pulling the lever.
The doors didn’t move.
What did move was the portcullis, ten tons of bronze that fell like doom towards the ground, it’s five sharp arrowheads digging deep into the soil to let loose a Hiroshima of accumulated dust.
‘Noooooo!’ wailed Newton, instantly sensing his doom. ‘Too early, you idiot! I’m still in here!’
‘Eh?’ replied the hermit.
‘You utter moron,’ screamed Newton, staring in horror at the massive obstruction now blocking his salvation. ‘You’ve locked me in here … with it!’
‘Ah …,’ said Enrico apologetically. ‘Merda.’
‘Well, pull the bloody thing back up, then, dammit! Let me the hell out!’
‘Ah!’ Enrico replied, holding up half of the cracked lever. ‘Issa bit offa da problem.’
‘Now!’ demanded Newton, as the dust began to subside. ‘What the hell are you waiting for?’
‘Sorry, Signor Barlow,’ offered Enrico, shrugging furiously. ‘But I can’t. Sorry! Issa broken.’
The monster, delighted with the mix-up, had ceased bellowing. Its irritating prey finally cornered, it was triumphantly kicking at the dusty ground, mere yards away as Newton slowly … slowly … turned.
Then the lights came back on.
Chapter 24
Bullish
The Minoan arena, previously swallowed in the darkest of shadows, was now utterly illuminated, revealing rows of staggered seating lining a space the length of two soccer pitches. Perched on colossal Greek columns, massive circular orbs were spaced along each side, angled down like stadium floodlights. To add to the unreality, thousands of ghostly Minoans were taking their seats, their wraith-like forms filing out of the access tunnels and along the terraces in anticipation of the imminent entertainment.
Newton was under no illusion regarding the form this entertainment would take. Revealed in all its mythological horror, he was staring directly at one-half of an impending spectacle.
‘Bollocks,’ sighed Newton, in no doubt he was the other half.
To add insult to his imminent injuries, Newton could now also make out the fancy dress forms of Robin Hood, William Tell and Spring-Heeled Jack, waving at him enthusiastically from what appeared to be a Royal Box.
The Minotaur, because that was undoubtedly what it was, was clearly furious. It was also hungry, lonely and mad, its red eyes staring at Newton with a road-rage intensity. Keen to get things out of its system, it stamped its hooved legs into the dirt, readying itself for the charge.
Terrified and incredulous in equal measure, Newton swivelled his head like a radar antenna, searching his surroundings, desperate for an exit.
There wasn’t one.
What doors there were had been either chained together or blocked by mountains of debris. Thanks to the hermit, of course, the main entrance through which Newton had just lured the monster was barred shut as well.
Newton was trapped.
Meanwhile, Nahrapov and his men had adjusted to the lights. Catching sight of the Purgatorians crouched in the stalls opposite, naturally, they opened fire. Watching their tracer arc across the arena, Newton was horrified to see the unmistakable faces of Viv, Gabby, Vasilakis, and the Reverend Bennet, diving for what little cover was available.
‘Ok,’ said Newton, taking a deep breath, ‘one of those days.’
‘Who’s dat uppa dere?’ asked Enrico, following his gaze.
‘That,’ replied Newton, both proud and disappointed, ‘is my girlfriend, my daughter, one of your Cretan operatives, and my fellow Purgatorian, Bennet.’
‘What they do dere?’ asked Enrico.
‘Good question,’ answered Newton, looking down the stadium to the Minotaur. ‘Why don’t you ask them for me? I’m busy.’
‘Comrade Nahrapov!’ shouted Dima, above the fusillade. ‘Look! On the pitch. Is that … a minotaur?’
The oligarch thought for a second, looking for a more acceptable alternative, but didn’t find one. ‘Da!’
‘It’s a monster!’ screamed Astrid.
‘Who’s the guy?’ asked Dima.
‘He’s a Purgatorian,’ shouted Helena.
‘You know him?’ shouted back the oligarch.
‘We had a run-in in Vales,’ replied Helena. ‘And, he took our family relics. I thought I’d killed him.’
‘Want me to waste him?’ asked Dima, looking at Newton through his telescopic sight.
‘Niet,’ replied the oligarch, looking at the seething Minotaur. ‘Don’t waste your ammo. He’s about to die in a far more interesting way.’
A bullet from Bennet’s tiny handgun pinged into the wall beside him.
‘Dammit. You see that?’ said Nahrapov, above the gunfire, brushing the fragments from his jacket as Astrid put her hands over her ringing ears. ‘Now I’m really pissed. Kill the bastards.’
Dima’s lookout returned from the tower. ‘Comrades, I’ve been looking through the binoculars. I can see a way out to the north-east. An intact bridge … leading out of the city into a tunnel.’
‘Excellent,’ approved Nahrapov. ‘Then that’s where we’re going. Dima, keep shooting. Keep their heads down. Theo, look after Astrid. When we start moving, head along the stands towards the far exit.’
‘Oh God! Newton!’ shouted Viv, grabbing a quick glance into the arena. ‘Down there. It’s Newton!’
‘Get down, Viv!’ ordered Bennet, as a volley of automatic fire cracked into the masonry beside her. Risking a bullet through the forehead, the vicar put his head around, then pulled it back as the tell-tale red light of a laser sight danced over the stonework. Immediately, it was followed by a swarm of 9mm rounds.
‘Dammit,’ yelled Bennet. ‘They’re on the move. I think they’re trying to flank us.
‘Is that a minotaur?’ asked Gabby, unsure whether to panic or laugh. ‘Really? That’s ridiculous.’
‘A minotaur?’ gasped Viv, trying again to see the arena. ‘There’s a bloody minotaur? Whaaaat? Down there with Newton?
‘There’s more,’ added Bennet, pointing away along the seating to either side. ‘You might not be sensitive enough to see this, but … we’re not alone.’
‘No kidding!’ exclaimed Gabby. ‘They’re firing at us.’
‘Not them; the stands!’ explained Bennet. ‘They’re filling with spirits.’
‘They are?’ said Viv. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘You won’t. You’ve not been sensitised. But, trust me, they’re there, all right.
‘Who are they?’ asked Gabby. ‘Anyone we know?’
‘I’m no expert on Bronze Age fashion,’ replied Bennet, ‘but they look a lot like Minoans. And there’s thousands of ’em.’
‘Why? Are they waiting for some kind of entertainment?’
‘I’m afraid they are, Gabby,’ answered Bennet.
‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed Viv. ‘It’s a bullfight. That Minotaur thing is going to kill Newton.’ She lifted her head, desperate to check how her boyfriend was doing, catching a glimpse of Newton edging fearfully away from the bull-headed monstrosity before the relentless gunfire forced her back into cover. ‘Oh my God …. Oh my God! Bennet, what do we do? We have to save him.’
