Banner Men
CAPTAIN ORCUS FAWK
The old ways had gone. The new world had not so much grown from the old, rather forced its way out of the cracks in the pavements and roads, like weedy tendrils probing for light.
He sat in the shade as he watched Robucke's Secretary, Devon Yeth, approach. He was getting all existential as he watched the thin, painful man getting closer. What are we made of? Nought but a string of errors that join together, replicated throughout the body. We are protein strands and nothing more. In each pocket of molecules, we are stored in our entirety. All that is needed is the right stimulation and we are reborn. Many times and forever.
It was true he was on a perpetual search, for any sign of his Sister. This made him retrospective, made him contemplative about the human condition and whether there was any point to it. Those who had observed his life closely would have seen he had started looking for her the day after the - let's just say he started looking more or less straight away. That was back when he was fourteen.
Their parents were Engineers, always out in the Battle Grounds, or in the Repair Suite, fixing the Machines, so he never knew from one day to the next if they existed or not. But he always knew she was alive. He sensed it. He heard she had turned to drugs and that she had sold her body. If that were true, then fine; at least she would be alive. All he wanted was his family back.
"Captain Fawk. Admiral Robucke instructs you to -"
"Instructs does he?" interrupted Captain Orcus Fawk with raised eyebrow.
"Yes. Instructs." reiterated Devon Yeth caustically, "Admiral Robucke instructs you to commence with the mission. He said that a lackadaisical attitude, followed by your continuing procrastination, will result in punishment. He says to go see Terry Sayas and Basil Getty immediately. They will give you the information you need to complete the mission. And he says you are to go right now, or I am authorised to -"
"Okay, okay, Devon. Let's not test what it is you will do and won't do, eh?" smiled Fawk as he stood, "Never mind. One day, right?" said Fawk to a slack jawed Yeth.
Deep in the downturn of Rindlebrooke, where desperation lay, there was a man. He was ground like the alleyway he was prostrate in, and he cut the rock-like powder before licking it clean from the wrapper. He rolled onto his back in slow motion. What light there was in this makeshift rubbish dump was cut to tight shadows as the figure of Captain Orcus Fawk swept past him. The junkie would complain, but he preferred to live instead.
Katabasis. A word of warning and a welcome. Some smart arse had graffitied it above the partially visible drain, barely wide enough for Fawk to slide through. Certainly it was a squeeze, and he was tagged once or twice on extruding material, but eventually Fawk broke through to the other side. Climbing out, one boot landed in a soggy slap, while the other crunched in the seemingly never drying water underfoot. Once out of the pipe, the entranceway led to a grooved tunnel, which became progressively darker the further he went in. It was disgusting, but at least it was only mostly mulch and odour.
Fawk looked about him, trying to pick out the lines of something familiar, when he saw a cabin, covered in all sorts of rubbish. It seemed to bleed from the walls, like it had organically grown from the rock to form a pod or cocoon. Lights flickered inside. There was life in there. It must be his destination. Fawk waded over to the cabin and its door, which had the words written above it in haphazard letters, "Sleep Means Death".
Fawk ventured in.
The inside looked not unlike its outside - akin to the innards of the beast. A pungent smell and the faint sound of crackled music came from behind a false wall. A mole-like man looked up from his work, observing Fawk calmly over his bottle-rimmed glasses, his grey hair unkempt and sticking out like horns from either side of his balding head. Almost immediately another man walked into the room. It was more like he seeped from the wall behind him in an act of metamorphosis. This man was wiping his already dirty hands and staring at Fawk, who stared back. Guardedly, the second man put his hand secretively over his companions work, as though trying to hide something.
Without taking his inquisitive eyes from Fawk, the second man spoke to his companion, "Put it away Basil. We have guests."
Fawk got to the point, "I'm searching for the Crown of the White Dragon, and I was told to find you. I take it you're Terry Sayas and Basil Getty?" they nodded in unison, "Well, I was told you knew where it was and how to get there?"
Terry looked to Basil, whose pen was still poised where the paper Terry had secreted away used to be, "Get the seat out for our guest then Basil dear." Terry motioned the mole-like man to the rear of the cave, where he retrieved a chair severely burned and black, with flecks of greenish mould, "I'm sorry about him, my dear sweetie. He's been like this since our, ahem, thing." Terry stroked the virtually non-existent hair on the head of his aged companion.
"Thing?" asked Fawk. Terry had the look of a spider weaving a web, whereas Basil looked like frightened prey.
"Many here, in this place, don't have a memory beyond their current fixations; the drug addled, the lost, the dystopic. But me and my companion Basil here, we remember. We were once Princes. Once architects of policy and change. Back in the day, we told people what to do; now we do as we are bid. Such is the way of the ever evolving world. We call it home now though, don't we sweetheart? But up there, up there we were Fathers of the New World, until those with better tongues and smarter suits decided we weren't needed anymore. But ah, we still have our uses, don't we, Basil? Here we get to live."
"Your patron is Robucke, then?"
"That man is a saint. Held our lives in the palm of his hand and let us live. Such grace and generosity."
"It was Robucke who bade me to come find you. It's his desire to retrieve the Crown."
"Ah yes, the Crown. Many have come, but none have found it. They don't know the way, you see? It is found by crossing many tunnels and a river. The Dragon, it merely rests. Doesn't it Basil?"
"Do you have a map? Any special instructions?" asked Fawk, getting increasingly uncomfortable.
Terry moved to an alcove in the wall he had seeped from. Basil took his chance and leaned in to Fawk's earshot. Basil looked fixedly into Fawkes's eyes, "What will be after heaven and earth and the whole world are burned? All the Gods will be dead, together with the whole of mankind." Basil, then, looked sheepish, almost fearful, quickly turning his head back to the desk. At that moment, Basil seemed afraid of the consequences of the words he had used, and that Terry might have heard him.
But Terry returned, oblivious to the exchange. He handed a map to Fawk, "Here it is! It's a bit torn and stained, but legible enough for you to find your way."
Fawk took the offered map and looked at it. There were lines that crossed and intersected each other, of different colours and markings, but a specific route was just visible, outlined over the paper with a thick black line. Fawk had all he needed and made to leave. He prepared for the ever encroaching, venomous darkness.
The echoes got to him the most. His repeated footfalls were often followed by a returned clump-clump of a different rhythm. Each desolate, dirt covered turn led to more clatters and clumps, followed by the hint of a shadow caught in the corner of his eye. He was too used to being pursued not to recognise the signs. Whatever they were, they kept to themselves. He should have brought a weapon. Damn! At least the walls were wide and the shadows seemed more scared of him than he of them.
Fawk fought hard against the low light, relying rather more on his sense of direction. But the fast pace he maintained forced him to rest sooner than he had hoped. He found a shelf high enough to avoid the majority of the wetness below. It certainly wasn't luxury, but it was good enough. Huddled in a corner of the shelf, he drifted off to sleep, but not before he glimpsed a face, inquisitive, staring at him.
Captain Fawk woke with a start. Without opening his eyes, he knew he was joined by another.
"Who you be? Whatcha guvva! Wakey at last, ain'tcha! You here for the smelly smell?"
"What -" Quite frankly, Captain Orcus Fawk could think of nothing more than that to say. Even that was a stretch.
"Matey! Looks likey yews come fer the smelly smell, like." He seemed unafraid, this one. So far, he wasn't a threat.
"Who are you?" asked Fawk, at last.
"Don'tcha talk funny! Say summut else!"
"Who are you? How are you down here?"
"Down here? What's down here? We be the peeps of this horse!"
"Right." said Fawk, getting the picture. "You got a boss, a chief around here?"
"We got a Monty. Ours is the Full Monty."
"Can I see him, or her?"
The man smiled, "Sure. He gunna piss himsell when he hears you!"
The open area to which the diminutive man led Captain Fawk was covered in home-made huts, made from the collected debris of the underground tunnels. Illumination came from cleverly built fires strategically placed about the open area, small enough not to choke the air with smoke. The man, who Fawk learned was called Arfa, led him to the largest and dirtiest hut in the chamber. Fawk's passage was marked by many ooh's and ahh's, some muttering and a little prodding. Fawk didn't react - not until he knew what he was up against. Again he cursed himself for not bringing a weapon.
Arfa opened the flap on the hut. Inside sat a man not dissimilar to Arfa, except this one had a crown, of some kind of weeds wrapped up together in a garland of sorts, and was being fellated by presumably a female, "This is the Full Monty, Deynys. Oh, and his missus." The woman looked up from the job literally in hand to acknowledge Fawk.
"Hey, you don't look as shitty!" said the Full Monty, not breaking his fellating.
Fawk presumed a short, curt nod would suffice as introduction, "No, your Full Montyship. I'm from - up there."
"Up where? There ain't nuffin up there, matey Jim."
"Never mind. Arfa here tells me about some smell -"
"Oh, yeah. The fackin smelly smell. Like a shitter, it is. You gonna take it, kidda?" asked the Full Monty hopefully.
"Well, if it's what I think it is, then yes, I'm going to take it."
"What the hecky he just say, Arfa? Jeebus! Sound like a fackin mentaller to me."
"He wantin to look at the place the smelly smell comin from, fer him to take it away."
"Well, why dint he say that then?"
"He got funny mowf I fink, yer Montyful."
"Right-o. Well, it be too later to do now, so bedfords and wakey early, eh Arfa? Take em soulters wiv ya, also. Hey guvva, want a bit of wangle sucky, afore bedfords?"
The woman raised her head again, with a toothless smile.
"Nah, you're alright, mate." said Captain Fawk
"See? Ya speakin proper now, ain'tcha, matey!" said Arfa as he led Fawk from the hut to a less opulent hut, where he was fed something almost edible, washed down with possibly piss water. Then he slept. Then he woke and puked. Then slept again. Then puked. Eventually the puking stopped and the sleep took over.
The passage from the little underground village to the river was almost completely uneventful. Fawk fell over once or twice and the Underdwellers, as Fawk had named them, only laughed a little. Mostly Fawk was distracted by Arfa, constantly talking to him, making little to no sense.
The river was massive. Underground though it was, it ran fast and turbulent. Impassable. Impossible. But there, over the way, was the huge oval, metal door with a small wheel valve the only way of gaining entry. A set of large white letters had been printed on the wall there eons ago, and as such the letters had almost completely faded. Fawk could barely make out the word, "Kingsway." Kingsway; the Crown. Such obvious pointless metaphor.
"We getcha over there, matey, trust me." said Arfa, patting Fawk on the arm. But how? Not only did Captain Fawk think it, he said it too.
"We walkin wiv hands up wall over roof, down nuvver wall."
"What? You want me to climb over there? With no rope?"
"Nah. Yer too biggy to use the holes, matey. We carry you over."
"How?"
"Swingy."
"What?"
"I walkin over there wiv me hands, line to you, I get that far, Bloki there wiv uvver line to you walkin wiv his hands, you swingy indy middle."
"Right. Is that safe?"
"Fer us, yeppers. Fer you? Dunno. Waiten see."
"There's no alternative?"
"Nopes, matey. This'r buggrall; nuffin guvva."
Captain Orcus Fawk reluctantly agreed, before kissing his arse goodbye.
The first part went without a hitch. Arfa got to a point near the opposite wall, climbing incredibly deftly, despite the green slime everywhere down there, slippery to the touch, smelling like an old uniform Fawk had once forced down a toilet when he was younger. As Bloki began to climb, the line became taught and Fawk was forced to swing out into the torrent. Straight in he went, submerged, taking in water with every gasp. He felt himself being pulled hard down the river. With a flick, he broached the surface and spluttered the liquid from his lungs.
"Yer alrighty, matey?" yelled Arfa from somewhere overhead.
"Gerd! Fat bastid, this fackin guvva!" was all Bloki managed. Fawk indicated to both that he was, in fact, okay. With rough jerky movements, Fawk eventually alighted on the other side of the river. He collapsed to the floor, exhausted. Bloki looked at him.
"Yerd fink he done it all, wouldn'tcha?" he said.
"Give him a bitta slack, Bloki. He not used to it." Bloki shrugged and motioned for the others to follow. Fairly soon, the whole party was on the right side of the river, and Captain Fawk was ready to resume the mission. He walked to the valve.
It seemed such a tiny thing holding this thick door shut. It took a little bit of pressure, but Fawk soon had it spinning. The door opened a smidgeon and the air of years gone by escaped through the gap.
"This where smelly smell come from. Not gone in, but know it comes from in dere." said Arfa. Captain Orcus Fawk stepped inside. Almost immediately he regretted it. Inside was the White Dragon Military Bunker, and the security system had just started up.
#
She was beautiful. Even her Brother thought so. Not weird. Never weird. Clara; that was her name. Always somewhere, doing something, usually bad. But she wasn't a mindless Sister. She cared for Orcus, saw he was looked after, never bullied, never scared. Being some five years his senior, she was able to intimidate his potential bullies. When that didn't work, she flirted with them instead, which did the trick.
When it happened, that incident Orcus never spoke of - rarely thought of even, if he could help it - it nearly killed him, emotionally. It left him alone, with no comfort or security. Rindlebrooke, as a House, was largely unsympathetic. They didn't look further into the situation. But Orcus wasn't aware of anything else; he didn't wonder if they were being particularly cruel or anything. He joined up, as though he had a choice in the matter, determined to find her, whatever the cost. But it had cost him so much already. Almost too much. It would never be enough for his Sister.
#
An alarm began to chime, whoop-whooping somewhere within the complex. As if that wasn't enough, an automated voice called out, "Security procedures initiated. Please insert code to abort."
"Wassit sayin, guvva?" asked Arfa at Captain Fawk's elbow.
"Hopefully nothing - hopefully." replied Fawk, walking further into the complex.
"It sayin summut, boy." said Arfa, trying to convince himself he wasn't going mad.
The alarm and the voice continued to sound, but nothing else followed. Fawk came to a heavily closed, solid metal door, sealed like a watertight ship. Fawk released the catches and pulled the door open.
And there it was. The Crown, as had been extensively described to him.
All of a sudden, the noise and the voice stopped. Arfa popped his head in through the door, "We made the sayin stop, guvva. And the whoop-whoop."
"Good. Here it is, Arfa. Here is what I came for."
"Thatsa fing that smelly smell?"
"It is. Help me with these straps. This backpack is heavier than it looks. Just don't press anything."
"When we stop it sayin, some uvver fing sayin summut. Dunno what." said Arfa, helping Captain Fawk on with the last bit of the hefty backpack. Having done so, Arfa led him to where he had seen this other thing being said.
There was a security office just off the main hall, and inside a tumult of wires had been haphazardly flung about the place, like technological tendrils of weeds growing in abundance where they could. Arfa showed Fawk a panel, where a series of numbers were counting down to something. Whatever it was, it was coming in five minutes. Fawk tapped a few buttons. The display read, "Self-destruct initiated. Have a nice day."
"Arfa, get your people. We've got to leave."
"Right-o, guvva. But Bloki said the big door shut up and not open again. He and uvvers are tryin to get open agin."
"Shit." commented Fawk, and almost on cue, water began to poor into the chamber from previously unnoticed pipes near the ceiling. "Shit." Captain Fawk repeated.
"Umm, Bloki?" shouted Arfa, "Like ter get a hurry up on door, afore we fackin drown or summut?"
"It's not going to work." said Fawk suddenly. Realising what was happening. He grabbed Arfa by the arm and began pulling him, "Arfa! Get your people to climb up there, up that staircase! Keep climbing until you're at the top! Come on! We're running out of time!"
Arfa understood and called back to the men on the door, "Bloki! Steyv! Pitter! Darrun! Sidni! Roni! Rechi! Uppy here! Walkin wiv hands and footsies upper dere!" They didn't need much persuading, as they were already waist deep in the freezing cold water.
Captain Fawk sprinted up the metal stairs, clanking his way to the platform above. An escape hatch had been conveniently placed up there, high in the chamber. Fawk tried to pry it open, but it was stuck. Arfa and his kin had made their own way up there, and now were holding onto the latch that would open the hatch, pulling even as Fawk was. The water was now at Arfa's neck and Fawk's chest. With one last Heraclean effort, they jointly forced the latch down. Unfortunately it brought the hatch with it. There was no way of closing it behind them, but blind panic was taking over, so they just pushed through, into the constricting pipe that hopefully led to freedom. Some of Arfa's people were too slow though, and were swept away with the water. Fawk just held his breath and hoped.
Their lungs burned as the journey seemed to take minutes. They pushed and they kicked, swam and struggled. Eventually there was a respite, as they came out into another chamber. This one had a pair of thick metal lines that stretched in both directions forever, it seemed. Only Fawk, Arfa and one other, Sidni, emerged from the pipe. Fawk slammed the hatch this side shut.
"I'm so sorry, Arfa. I killed your friends. I can never repay you."
"Ah, shutit, guvva. They knowed what them was getting inta. Not yer fingy, fault."
"But, you don't know me? Why help me?"
"You got the smelly smell outa there, matey! Yer a hooray!"
"But -"
"Notta nuvva, ya hear? We matey now. Gunna go finda way back now. Speakin layta, guvva!" expressed Arfa, picking up Sidni and leading the way down the tunnel. But Fawk's destiny lay in the other direction. He had his orders. Despite what he had gone through, the help he had gained - he had no choice but to lay explosive charges, which were soggy, but intact, on the walls of the tunnel at strategic points, leaving the area before the explosion caved-in the tunnel.
Besides, there was still much to do on the other side, and his Sister was still out there. But, at least for the time being, the Dragon continued to sleep.
#
"Your Sister, you say?" said Pravedni Shandon Conroy, upon receipt of the Crown, "You desire knowledge of her current whereabouts?"
"Yes. If you know, please tell me." said Captain Orcus Fawk, barely a breath from returning from his adventure.
"I do, Captain."
"Tell me, please?"
"Hmm. Let me think on it. In the meantime, return to duties, Banner Man."
What could he do? What was there to do but comply?
So he was out there, at least.
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