Tommy led the monster through a merry chase. Flames played on the monster’s back as he loped in pursuit. Tommy dodged and wove, and cut back to the house having lost the giant in the thick burning crop of poppies. He met with Tyson and together they filled the bags with coins and clutched at packets of notes and ran for Tommy’s house.
The monster spied their escape through a haze of smoke. He tried to give chase but faltered, stumbled and fell with a belly aching cry. Birds squawked, bats bucked and swooped and large dark beasts bellowed their angst. The monster’s clothes flamed and the fields ignited. Smoke billowed from his windows, his timbers cracking as flames consumed his house.
The monster rose from the ground and bellowed for Tommy and Tyson’s blood. Thick smoke surrounded him and flames consumed his body. The poppies popped and crackled, the stalks providing a black acrid wall. He fell to the ground, his bellows turned to whimpers and fire danced the length of his body as he melted into the earth.
***
Tommy stood at his back door with a wet handkerchief over his face and the garden hose in hand. Water sprayed onto the crop he'd earmarked to save from the flames. Tyson sat in the front room watching the machine printing money. He had stacked the cash Tommy had nicked on the table and the coins sagged on the cushion of the broken arm chair.
Me mum thought I did her wrong, but my purchase was an investment, you know.’
‘Too bloody right. You going to keep that field of poppies.’
‘Yeah, it isn’t against the law to grow poppies. It’s just wrong to extract the opium, but I’m going to say I’m collecting the seeds and starting my own poppy seed business.
‘It’s not good for me mum, but she’s old, you know, and maybe she deserves the odd hit of opium.’
‘Keep it private, like.’
‘Yeah, just for me Mum.’
The machine stuttered with a wisp of smoke puffing from its innards. Tyson shook the device. He prodded it and banged it with a hammer, but it sparked and a flicker of fire burnt at the insides. Tyson threw it out the window and sat on the coin laden chair. He played his hands through the coins and sighed.
‘Bugger,’ Tyson said. He looked at the small crop of poppies through the back door, his brow furrowed. ‘Eh Tommy,’ he said. ‘This poppy seed business could be a goer. Your mum, she don’t mind sharing does she?’
// // //
‘Have you heard about that drug Zing?’ The child sat with a quiet humph and yanked his hood back off his head. He ignored the man sat at the edge of the seat, choosing to survey the square, wary of the bodies parading between the stalls.
Eddie the Editor watched his nervous companion with a wry smile. Many people liked to sit with Eddie, but this child was new. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well yes, but it’s a myth isn’t it? People talk about its miraculous qualities, but I’ve never met anyone who’s taken it. It’s supposed to cure cancer isn’t it?’
‘No, it exists, like. For sure it does.’ The child sat on his hands and rocked back and forth. The eyes couldn’t concentrate, flitting from stall to stall. A noise, a shout, caused him to jump. ‘My mate’s mates’ brother reckons it got his wife pregnant after she’d been diagnosed as barren.’ He nodded with enthusiasm. ‘Serious.’
Eddie the Editor leant forward in his seat to offer the boy sitting on his seat the ‘Look.’ The boy smiled because when Eddie leant forward he knew he was hooked. The look was offered when the presses behind the stone wall were thumping and spewing out the next day’s news and Eddie was on the lookout for tomorrows scoop. ‘Tell me more,’ Eddie said.
The boy rolled a cigarette, licked the paper and stuck it to the side of his mouth. The bait might’ve been taken, but he needed to play the line, before jamming the hook hard in his catch. He turned to look at Eddie when he offered a flame for his cigarette. He sat back and puffed and drew on the butt. He could feel the shekels, could taste the pork because Eddie the Editor was going to pay for what he had.
About them the square buzzed with activity. The good citizens of Ostere two-stepped about the circuit, hands holding drinks and platters of charred beasts. Folk danced before small musical combos and the Drunken Duck had a crowd sat at its windows and on the tables laid out in the square.
The boy sniffed and pulled his coat tight. The sweet scent of lamb gnawed at his gut. He was an urchin, a street child, hungry and hopeful he’d hooked Eddie well enough to earn himself a handful of shekels to feed his empty gut.
‘You hesitate,’ Eddie said.
‘I was wondering if there was a shekel or two on offer.’
‘Ah the sordid need for the shekel. Of course there might be a shekel to be had, but the story needs to inspire.’
‘And maybe a slab of charring pig and a plate of sautéed onions, like? I been watching that pig crisping for an age. Me and the juggler reckon that’s got to taste good. He’s tossing knives and burning sticks hoping he’ll earn a feed of crackling. You know what I mean. Crackling rocks, like.’
‘And a plate of pork and onions,’ Eddie agreed. ‘But please tell me your tale before I have to attend tomorrow’s news is yesterday’s waste.’
‘Well it’s about this drug Zing and this couple who wanted to breed.’ The child laughed at his introduction. ‘Someone’s got to want to do it, like, don’t they? You know what I mean? Anyways this couple lived in a hovel just souf of Pittsville, they did. My mate said they got married around the time that bomb went off in the square. You remember. That was well stupid, like. We was in the square that day and I ain’t seen nothing like that. I saw a bloke with his leg blown off.’
Eddie touched the boys arm. ‘To earn the shekels you need to keep to the story,’ he said. ‘I need the facts, not a history lesson.’
‘Yeah cool, right. Keep your hair on, like. I’m telling it, but you got to stop with the interruptions, like.
Rufus & the Bairn
‘There was this bloke, Rufus was his name, and his woman, Maisy. He worked the docks on the river Ost and she had a stall here.’
‘Ah, I know Maisy. Women’s fashions, sort of wasn’t it? She used to have the stall outside the post office. Pretty little thing and wasn’t built for the cut throat world of bartering.’
‘Yeah, that’s Maisy. My mate said she didn’t like the work much and she had Rufus working all the hours hoping he’d make enough so she could stop the graft and lie down and get on with the breeding, like. But there was a problem there. With him working all the hours she couldn’t get him to perform and when he did she wasn’t producing, like.’
‘A dilemma.’
‘But then she hears about this herb called Zing and how her mate, Zelda, had gotten rotund and bore a healthy bairn by imbibing the herb.’
‘That’s a powerful herb.’
‘Too damn right. And this Maisy gets on the back of her man Rufus coz she wants this herb and she wants it bad.’
‘Now Rufus he don’t know where to find the herb coz he don’t move in the sort of circles you need to know to be buying illegal herbs, like. I mean I can get you anything that you want, like. Blues and reds, dope and skunk and some good old cough mixture that will cure you of coughing for life. But I never heard of anyone selling Zing. So our man Rufus was buggered, like, but his missus isn’t taking up with his reasoning and excuses.
‘So Rufus he starts hanging about the Lanes after work, talking and drinking with a right dodgy set of lowlife ratbags. Eventually he hears whispers, chatter about a place, not official or nothing, but a place where the herb grows. One bloke, for a handful of shekels gives up the whereabouts where Rufus can get his hands on this drug. Rufus pays up because Maisy is giving him hell.
‘But there’s a problem.’
‘Well there’d have to be wouldn’t there,’ Eddie said. He hadn’t expected to be enjoying the lad’s tale so much, but he was keen to hear it through. Fertility was a big problem in the world and Zing sounded interesting in that regard. He could see the front page, the banner declaring the w
onder drug Zing curing infertility.
‘The herb was growing in an allotment inside the old forest at the edge of town, but it was owned by this old herbalist hag. She was a witch who cast spells and all that crap and she was particular about who she treated, like. It cost money, but you had to be recommended like. You couldn’t just turn up at her door. That’s what this bloke said. If you turned up, you took your chances, but he’d known a bloke go there with a dysfunctional dick, right, and no appointment and he left with a dick like a metal rod. Like forever, you know what I mean.
But this bloke, for his handful of shekels tells Rufus that it can cure his Maisy of her problem and the allotment ain’t guarded. He could just take the herb. Easy, so long as he don’t get caught.
‘So Rufus and his Maisy go for a walk into the Old Forest and find the allotment like. It’s a tangled mess of herbs growing in pots and baskets and there’s this big patch of land with a vibrant green like leaf taking up most of the back half of the allotment. Within arms reach it is.’
‘That’s the herb,’ Rufus points out. ‘That’s an aphrodisiac that cures all ills,’ he tells her. ‘Makes men rampant and women fertile.’
‘Then I must have it.’
‘But it costs money and she can get angsty with folk. You need an appointment, you do and we don’t have one of those.’
‘How long are you going to be telling me No? Get it for me. Steal it, reach out and take it. Be a man Rufus and just take it.’
‘From a witch? You don’t steal from a witch.’
‘But later that night Rufus returned to the dark forest and found his way to the allotment attached to the wee cottage of the witch. He climbed the fence, his dark clothing blending with the deep dark of the night. He picked a load of the pungent herb and ran for home clutching the foliage to his chest, the thick sweet smell making his legs pump like pistons.
‘He prepares the plant just like the man in the Lanes told him. A splash of sesame oil with finely diced shallots, sweated not browned. A single clove of garlic stirred in the oil then removed, a splash of wine reduced by half and a good glug of chicken stock. The leaves of the Zing herb were to be added, lid on the pan and steamed in this mixture until slightly wilted and eaten hot with a grating of nutmeg.
‘That seems complicated.’
‘The herb tastes like shit, so you eat it raw and throw up or you chuck in a spoonful of sugar, like and keep it in your gut.
‘The woman gobbled the meal and that night they did it on the kitchen table, the floor the hall and the bed too. Old Rufus said the herb took over, made them like animals. He remembers howling he did and his missus bit and scratched and hissed like a bobcat.
‘And she wakes the next morning craving the herb. She says there is something in her gut gnawing at her insides and she needs more herb to ease her suffering. Rufus had hoped his thieving days were behind him, but she nags him big time and finally he agrees to steal more herb.
‘This time the passion is more desperate, Rufus says. But it was like they was both clinging on. Scared like, they was going to fall off or something. I didn’t get that bit, but he says his missus, that Maisy can’t sleep no more. She’s good and hooked and her body is shaking and sweating and she’s got a right rage brewing.
‘So Rufus sets off for the witch’s cottage, but it’s come the crowing of the cock and he gets caught with a handful of the herb in his hands. The hag and her cat are stood by the back door and she’s not so happy.’
‘Twice you have crept into my garden uninvited and stolen from my produce.’ She tottered forward leaning heavily on her stick. Rufus starts the old back pedal, clutching the herb, but she’s not letting him leave. The fence don’t let him get over. It’s grown and the herb has got heavy.’
‘My wife is desperate for child,’ he says. And Rufus is scared like. He’s heard the witch can be cruel and he starts to sweat and stutter. ‘We h-heard this h-herb h-h-h- … it helps with fertility.
‘But my wife, she wakes and there is a hunger and a madness to her eye and she demands more of the herb.’
‘Greed and lust. How much of the herb did you feed her?’
‘Two bushels.’
‘When a leaf would suffice.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Of course you didn’t, you silly man, when you didn’t bother to ask. I have a front door which leads to a sales desk. We accept all cards and can deliver. We offer a full advisory service, but you chose to thieve.’
‘We have no money. We had no appointment.’
‘So why do you want a child when you are so poor?’ The nag cackled and screeched and shook her gnarled finger at the man. Her cat flicked its tail and cast a patronizing glance at Rufus. ‘How do you believe you can raise a child with no money?’
‘Rufus shrugged and shuffled his feet in the dirt garden. He’d given up trying to leave as the fence stood at ten foot and was made of brick, and the herbs had become prickly.
‘Take the herbs, for your wife will need more. She is already with child so she will be needing more herb. On the day of its birth I will come to deliver the child and take it with me. I will offer your wife a sedative for the pain, to help her sleep. When she wakes she will have no memory of the child, of her pregnancy or of the herb you stole.’
She turned her back and shuffled toward the back door. With her withered hand on the handle she turned. The man hadn’t moved. ‘Come the birth be prepared to give up the child.’
***
Eddie stood and stretched his legs. He placed his hat on his head and patted at his pockets. ‘Well nice talking, young man. Not really something I can use. Fertility is an issue, indeed a growing concern, but I can’t be preaching the good behind illegal drugs, now can I? Or theft.’
‘I haven’t finished my story, have I, like?’
Eddie nodded to Porky Pete and held up two fingers. Pete sliced at the hog doing the rounds over his pit of coals and slapped the steaming pieces of meat into a large bun. He wrapped them in tissue and exchanged them for a handful of shekels. Eddie sat with the boy and together they feasted on the mix of pork and onions packed inside the thick white bun. About them the square continued to jump. Music played in different pockets with revelers dancing to the tunes. A juggler had flaming sticks flip flopping in the air and a small dark lad was enticing a snake to sway to the tune he played on a battered whistle.
Eddie scrunched his tissue after wiping his mouth and tossed the litter into the wheelie bin chained to a convict clad in orange and black striped prison gear. The boy bounced his tissue off the convict’s chest into the bin looking to high five Eddie for his shot. The convict snarled before moving onto the next item of litter needing rescuing. His leg chain rattled and the bin wobbled on metal wheels.
‘So there is more,’ Eddie said.
‘Yeah, coz this Rufus and Maisy had another child.’
‘So the witch took their first child?’
‘Yeah, I said that. But they had a second child and this child grew up right fit and healthy, it did. But on its eighteenth birthday, as a joke his mates—’
‘Slow up.’ The boy stopped and turned to the square. ‘We’ve got a time line issue here.’
‘How so?’
‘You told them about the Zing.’
‘No, my mate told me about them. His mate told him. It was his big brother we’s talking about, like. Who cares who told what, it’s me telling you.’
‘Well, you’ve just told me they had another child and he’s now of age. You can’t be more than twelve.’
‘Thirteen in two months.’
‘This child has out grown you by a substantial amount.’
‘You want to hear this story or what, like why you bothering with details.’
‘Well because I have to write the story and details are important, crucial to my readers and to my credibility.’
‘Suit yourself.’
The lad stood and pulled his hood over his head. ‘Thanks for the hog.’ r />
‘Hang on, where you going.’
‘You don’t like me story.’
‘I didn’t say that, I just want to know the facts, not the rumor. And it would be nice to know the provenance of your source, but finish your tale and we’ll work on the facts later. Come on, there’s a shekel at least coming your way. I’ve at least been entertained.’
The lad sat down, pushed the hood off his head and pulled his tobacco pouch from his pocket. Once he’d puffed some smoke into the air, he turned to face Eddie.
‘So the son of Rufus, Raymond,’ he said. A big smile spread across the lad’s face. ‘You hooked right?’
‘Come on, before the moon packs up for the night.’
‘This Raymond was out walking the track that bordered the old wood—’
‘What happened to his mates and his eighteenth birthday?’
‘What time is it by the moon Mr. Eddie? I don’t want to be holding it up.’ Eddie smiled and nodded for the lad to continue. ‘This Raymond heard a voice singing a sad tune. He follows the voice, its melancholy sort of tugging him along, dragging him deeper into the Old Forest, wanting him to find out why the song about grief. He’s left daylight well behind and he’s fighting foliage before he comes across this big old brick wall and the source of the woe.’
‘Hello,’ he calls like.
The voice stops and Raymond waits, but all he can hear is the creaks and rustles coming from the forest behind him. ‘Your song is well sad, what can ale you so bad that you sing so sweetly and forlornly?’
‘I sing of hardship, of servitude and my longing to see what lives on the other side of this wall.’
‘Tomorrow I will come with a ladder and you will see what exists outside the wall.’
True to his word Raymond returned with an extendable ladder and placed it against the wall. He climbed to the top of the wall and was struck dumb by the golden beauty looking up at him.