The Collector of Remarkable Stories Page 14

  Grandma Doyle raced outside but it was too late. The pair was nowhere to be found. A strange silence hung in the air, as though every living thing in the immediate vicinity – the grass, the trees, the air – was holding its breath, too afraid to make a sound.

  "It were the Shadow Herders," said a shaky voice.

  The Giant was peering out the caravan looking suddenly quite enormous in the tiny doorframe.

  "The Shadow Herders?" cried Grandma Doyle clutching her face. "But why? They don't get reassigned unless they've done something bad."

  "Maybe they did!" said The Giant tugging unnecessarily at the towel on his hand.

  "They were two of the sweetest freaks I’ve ever known," retorted Grandma Doyle angrily. "They wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t understand it. It's just not possible. Oh, they must be terrified. We have to do something."

  "Where have they been taken?" asked Margie.

  "Somewhere terrible. Oh, it’s just too much to bear. It’s a dark place; a violent place. It’s awful. Just awful." And with that a tear fell down her cheek.

  "Who reassigns them?"

  "Oh child, there’s so much you don’t know. There’s nothing you can do that they won’t see. Their eyes are everywhere; in the trees, in the sky, in the air all around us. There are no secrets in Limbuss; not even your thoughts are secret. You can’t get away with anything here. You may think you have but it always catches up with you."

  "How long will they stay?"

  "As long as it takes. It's all just one big game of snakes and ladders. You do good you go up ... you do bad you go down. Problem is, it's easier to go down; you know what I'm saying? Gravity!"

  "You still have me!" whispered Margie placing her hand on Grandma Doyle's shoulder.

  A voice interrupted them.

  "No she doesn't. You ain't welcome here!"

  It was Mary.

  Margie was taken quite by surprise. "What do you mean?"

  Sitting awkwardly in her wooden wheelchair, Mary’s body shook with rage and pain. She was clearly fighting something within ... couldn't bring herself to meet anybody's eyes. She scratched her ear nervously and her cheek twitched erratically.

  Grandma Doyle was thoroughly bemused by Mary’s strange behaviour. Perhaps she had also just witnessed her friends being dragged away. Maybe she too was in shock. With so many questions that needed answering, she beckoned Mary over.

  "Come here child," she called out kindly

  Mary ignored her and repeated what she had already said, only this time with more anger than before.

  "You 'eard me. You ain't welcome here."

  The Giant and Margie glanced at Grandma Doyle. Something wasn’t right here. Had Mary been possessed by something - or someone? Was she under some kind of spell? She couldn’t be sure. What was certain was that Mary was behaving in a most peculiar manner.

  "Why don’t we go back to my caravan and have a lovely cup of something warm," suggested Grandma Doyle cheerfully trying hard not to betray her true feelings.

  "You can’t make me," snapped Mary. "The others were right. You don’t care for none of us!"

  "Child," scolded Grandma Doyle. "How can you say that? I rescued you from a muddy pond when you were two years old. You’d been thrown in there to live with the frogs and newts. I brought you here, cleaned you up and raised you as one of my own."

  "You never gave me no diamond ring," she spat.

  The truth suddenly dawned on Grandma Doyle and her eyes narrowed to slits.

  "You want my money? You want the jewels? Go on, have them." Grandma Doyle took a key out of the small shoulder bag she carried with her and threw it at Mary, hitting her in the face. "You know where they're kept. Take the bloody lot while I go and find out what happened to your friends. You have no shame!"

  Mary quickly tucked the key down the side of her wheelchair."You're a fool to pity them," she hissed. "You want to know why they were taken?" Mary's voice was shaking with anger. "They killed Tatty."

  Grandma Doyle laughed. "You've gone mad?"

  The Giant turned away as though distracted by something in the sky.

  "Yea, you saw it didn't you!" said Mary to The Giant.

  "Did you see something, Giant?" asked Margie.

  The Giant returned his gaze in Margie's direction, his face fraught with worry. "I seen them all kill Tatty. Beat him when his back were turned too."

  "Didn't do nowt to help him though did you!" spat Mary.

  "I don't believe you," stammered Grandma Doyle, unable to comprehend the news. "Why would you kill him?"

  "Because he was going to call Torquere's henchmen ... to come and get rid of her." She pointed at Margie contemptuously.

  "Yea, you wanted to kill her with your own bare hands, di'n't you! I heard you with my own ears!" said The Giant.

  "Yes, I did!" said Mary almost triumphantly.

  "You evil, vicious, malicious little vole you," cried Grandma Doyle. "How could I have been so wrong about you? I should have let you perish in that pond you greedy, ungrateful toad!"

  Grandma Doyle reached out to slap Mary's face when a terrific hissing noise stopped her in her tracks. She signalled for everyone to remain quiet and still. A few seconds later the hissing sound resumed followed by a loud scuttling sound. Mary dropped the knife and looked about her fearfully.

  "It’s the Shadow Herders. They’re coming for me," she shrieked.

  The Giant and Margie clung onto each other as the noise grew closer and a dark cloud cast a huge shadow over the circus. Suddenly, in a flurry of movement and a loud screeching sound, it came into view; the most terrifying thing Margie had ever seen; a giant mechanical scorpion towering above them. The great mechanical beast had been delicately and painstakingly crafted in breathtaking detail and yet in its entirety it filled Margie and The Giant with horror.

  "Well, I'll be damned," said Grandma Doyle, her eyes open wide. "It's not a Shadow Herder at all, it's ..."

  Before she could finish her sentence, the scorpion’s tail flicked forward jabbing its stinger directly into Grandma Doyle’s neck. As her body hit the floor, one of the scorpion’s great pincers snatched her up. At the same instant, an entire segment on the scorpion’s back lifted with a great hiss and a cloud of steam before Grandma Doyle’s limp body was thrown inside.

  Margie and The Giant were rooted to the spot, unable to move. Would it come for them next? They had no idea. Should they run? In their fawn-like state of alarm they were quite simply too petrified to think.

  The scorpion now turned and inched slowly towards Mary who was also frozen with fear. Just as the scorpion was about to pounce, it stopped and shuffled backwards. The flicker of relief that crossed Mary’s face was short-lived when it became apparent why the scorpion had retreated. In a flash, two Shadow Herders grabbed Mary and dragged her off into an unseen hole in the roots of a nearby tree. Mary’s screams were drowned out by the sound of the scorpion hissing and screeching.

  Margie and The Giant had seen enough. "Run" screamed Margie and so they did. At first they ran in no particular direction – they just wanted to get away from the great machine which was quickly on their tail. Past the wagons they ran, past the trailers, past the exhibition tents, intermittently ducking and diving into a crack or a crevice to try and shake off this giant mechanical predator.

  In those moments when the two of them were hiding amidst the desert shrubs and boulders, holding their breaths and praying the monster couldn’t smell their fear, Margie began to wonder what kind of world this was with its Shadow Herders and deadly scorpions. How far would it go to track them down? And would it kill them too?

  She needn't have worried. The scorpion quickly grew bored. Margie and The Giant listened in numb silence as it scuttled off into the desert and together the two of them sat and gathered their thoughts.

  It was Margie who eventually broke the silence. "Can people die in Limbuss, Giant? I mean, can people die here if they're already ... you know ... deceased!"

  "I d
unno," replied The Giant with a shrug. "Never thought nothin' of it!" He picked up a stone and threw it irritably at a nearby boulder. "Best we don't find out."

  Margie gazed at The Giant then surveyed the desert around her and for the first time since her arrival in Limbuss, Margie thought about the possibility that she really was actually quite dead. "C’mon," she said resting her hand gently on The Giant's knee and looking up into the night sky. "We’ve got a long journey ahead of us."

  Torquere’s Outburst

  In an underground dwelling, far beneath the city of Limbuss, The Great Torquere was preparing himself for the arrival of a newcomer. He had been informed of this particular newcomer by one of the many millions of Spy Flies that swarmed the city, watching and listening for anything that The Great Torquere might find useful or interesting. Of course, what you or I would consider of interest wasn’t necessarily what The Great Torquere would find of interest. For example, The Great Torquere wouldn’t be even remotely interested in knowing that this particular newcomer could wiggle her ears or that she could hold her breath for more than five minutes. No, The Great Torquere was only interested in one thing; whether she had something that he wanted. We’re not talking about possessions here. He wasn’t interested in her watch or her shoes or the ribbons she wore in her hair. He wasn’t interested in her lips or the smell of her perfume.

  In this particular instance, on this particular day it had been brought to his attention that this young woman, this newcomer in Limbuss, had a smile that would ‘light up a room’.

  It was the kind of honest and heartfelt smile that radiated pure joy and gladness; the kind of smile that instantly drew people in and made them feel like the most special person in the world.

  News of the smile had cheered The Great Torquere up. It was just what he wanted to hear and a great surge of excitement coursed through his veins. He may have been one of the most revered and feared people in Limbuss, but the reality was that in private he was a very sensitive individual.

  Truth be told, he cared far too much what people thought of him, particularly if that thought wasn’t a positive one. A compliment, for example, would buoy him for a number of hours. A criticism or an insult, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, would eat away at him for days, weeks, months or even years.

  Let’s face it, The Great Torquere wasn’t the happiest or friendliest of individuals. Smiles didn’t come easily to him. They never had.

  Born of French nobility, Torquere had been virtually raised by his older brother while his parents travelled the world trying, in vain, to find the stone of the philosophers; a legendary substance with the ability to make people immortal and (more importantly) transform the base metals lead, tin, copper, iron and mercury into gold and silver. Embittered by his perceived abandonment and tortured by his resentful older brother, Torquere made it his purpose in life to succeed where his parents had failed.

  The very thought fuelled him. In a small room crowded with beakers and bubbling glass vials he worked night and day, day and night, dreaming wildly of the adulation he would receive; the fame; the fortune. His name would be on everyone’s lips as he bathed in his sea of conjured gold.

  One evening, midway through an experiment, a small wisp of white steam escaped from the neck of a flask and instantly transformed into a huge white eagle. Torquere watched, intoxicated, as the bird circled and swooped above him and he relished in the sudden and intense feeling of spiritual and psychological freedom. For the first time in his life he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

  Unfortunately for him, this turned out to be more of a premonition for moments later an explosion ripped through his laboratory, ripping off half of his head and face in the process.

  To add to his woes, upon seeing the remnants of his experiments amid the rubble, his neighbours reported him to the local clergy who decided that he was in fact a devil worshiping sorcerer. Accused of working hand in hand with the devil to meet his own evil ends, Torquere was tortured on the Catherine Wheel – a large wooden wheel to which he was attached and beaten. Death came slowly. And painfully. Despite his horrific injury. And only then from dehydration.

  Needless to say, The Great Torquere had reason to feel as though no one liked him.

  Oh, to have a smile like the newcomer's would be a wonderful addition to his ever growing collection of personal traits (albeit pre-loved). He would keep this particular trait in a little box in his bag and carry it with him everywhere. And in case you're wondering why another person's smile would end up being carted around in someone's bag like a cheap bottle of perfume, then allow me to explain.

  Unable to rally the people of Limbuss and unwilling to even try, The Great Torquere spent all of his days doing two things: being paranoid about what people thought of him and secondly, attempting to create the perfect personality to counter anything anyone did think of him.

  In his quest to do so, and with the help of his loyal Dog Beasts, The Great Torquere kidnapped newcomers to the city and stripped them of their personality traits. Only those who had the ‘powers’ he desired: the power to laugh; the power to cry and be moved by others; the power to make people warm to him; the power to speak emotionally and with conviction; the power to love and be loved; the power to trust ...

  The list was endless.

  It had been several hours since the Spy Fly informed The Great Torquere of the smiley girl’s existence and finally the door opened and a young woman was thrust before him. The girl, pale with fear, had long dark wavy hair and wore a long peach-coloured nylon and lace nightgown.

  Filled with the heady excitement of a child on Christmas morning, Torquere leant forward holding a giant magnifying glass over his one good eye. Shadows cast by the lamps flickered on the walls. The young woman, overwhelmed by the giant eye suddenly looming in towards her, pulled away, a sob escaping her mouth.

  For a moment The Great Torquere was confused. Had there been some mistake? He pulled the magnifying glass away from his eye and regarded the young woman momentarily. In the quiet seconds that followed, the young woman’s fear evaporated. A smile slowly appeared on her face. It was the kind of smile that seemed to reach out and place its hand on the heart of anyone who saw it.

  It was a smile that would bring light to the darkest of hearts; a smile more powerful than any of the weapons in Torquere’s armoury for it was a smile that could disarm the enemy in a heartbeat.

  The girl spoke: "Please don't hurt me. I'll give you anything you want, anything. I know people who can give you money; weapons; whatever it is you need." She fell to her knees, "just please, don't hurt me."

  But Torquere wasn't listening. His cheeks burned crimson with excitement. He wanted that smile! And in a dark corner of his great underground warren, hidden away from prying eyes, was his pride and joy – a great machine that enabled him to extract and store any aspect of a person’s personality.

  He clicked his fingers and two of the Dog Beasts which had brought the young woman to Torquere stepped forward. Both bowed, their ears flat and their steel tails between their legs.

  "The Avellotractus Machine! Now."

  The dogs nodded and growled then turned to the young woman whose smile had once more been replaced with an expression of terror.

  "Please," she begged. "You can take anything. I have a ring. It was my mother’s. It’s worth something."

  "It’s okay," said The Great Torquere bending down sympathetically. "It won’t hurt. A little scratch maybe, but no blood. At least I don’t think so."

  The young woman screamed as the Dog Beasts dragged her into an adjoining room.

  Whilst the machine extracted the smile from the young woman's face, Torquere remained in his laboratory. It was filled to overflowing with all manner of flagons, jars, gauges, whirring mechanisms, cogs and sat within a large maze of mirrors, so vast and complicated that only a handful of trusted confidantes knew how to find their way through it without getting lost or going crazy. A large wooden be
nch sat in the centre of the room, flickering in the candlelight. The stench of sulphur permeated the air. At one end of the bench were old dusty books, hundreds of them all piled up in a higgledy piggledy fashion. At the other end was a large glass box containing two dice. In the centre of the table was a wooden chopping board with a Spy Fly stuck to it.

  "Right, back to business," he said. "We have three minutes and then my smile will be ready. Until then, it’s just you and me."

  Torquere leant forward, holding the magnifying glass over his one good eye which suddenly looked huge.

  "You have a secret; I can smell it," he hissed. "Tell me what it is or I’ll rip your legs off. One. By. One."

  The Spy Fly said nothing. He didn't care either way if Torquere ripped his legs off or not. He wasn't a real fly. No, these had all been wiped out when the Great Torquere arrived in the stinking industrial city. With his super sensitive hearing, he simply couldn’t bear the sound of their wings flapping (like fingers down a chalkboard to you and I) and so he’d ordered their round up and capture and subsequent transformation into silent mechanical Spy Flies; semi-sentient servants which quickly became the eyes and ears of Limbuss reporting back to The Great Torquere on anything they deemed unusual or out of the ordinary.

  Together with the Dog Beasts, there was pretty much nowhere in Limbuss that was sacred and most people dared not speak of Torquere for fear of being rounded up and sent to his notorious dungeons. Unlike the Dog Beasts which were inherently evil, the Spy Flies were simply victims of their fate. They had no choice but to return to the Great Torquere’s underground dwelling and report back – for unless they consumed a special elixir concocted and kept solely in Torquere’s abode, the creatures would simply not survive. Every day, hundreds of thousands of flies, gnats, mosquitoes and midges would swarm back to The Great Torquere’s great underground dwelling where those with anything to report would do so.

  Of course, not every Spy Fly had something to report – most people knew not to speak ill of their great and compassionate leader, but occasionally there was cause to speak out. Most Spy Flies were happy enough to do this as it usually resulted in a reward of sorts but equally there were those that either couldn’t be bothered or simply didn’t want to report something for one reason or another and this is where The Great Torquere’s olfactory genius came into play for he could sniff out fear in even the most miniature of flies; the kind of fear that comes with retaining information. His nose was like the olfactory version of a polygraph. No Spy Fly had ever fooled The Great Torquere. He was just too clever.