Djinnx'd (The Tamar Black Saga #1)

  She ignored him as best she could; there did not seem to be anything she could do for him.

  How much further? She wondered. Surely if they kept on going they would be in the bowels of Hell, a place about which Tamar had read. A nice place to live apparently – but you would not want to visit.

  The lift shuddered to a halt. They had been fairly, but not really very surprised to open the door and find a lift inside. Hank had remained behind on the grounds that there just was not room for him Denny would have preferred a snake pit, but would rather have died than admit it in front of Hank. And the idea of remaining behind with him, particularly after revealing his phobia, was too much for him. (This kind of macho behaviour is what gets most men into situations that they cannot handle.)

  As the lift stopped he looked up wild-eyed. He looked like a man who had not eaten or slept for a month (so no change there). He was chattering, not just his teeth, but his whole body. He was rocking back and forth repeating to himself, ‘Open the door – open the door – open – door – open.’

  The floor opened; this was too much for Denny, and he let out a shriek that would have split the sky, but that was, nevertheless, swallowed up by the sound of a wildly cheering crowd.

  Tamar landed ungracefully on the ropes. Denny’s shriek was cut off as he landed on the mat winded.

  A small, dapper man walked to the centre of the ring holding a microphone, and the noise of the crowd swelled to a deafening roar.

  He held up a hand. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he cried. ‘Welcome to the “Pink Parrot”.’

  More yelling, ‘Get on with it ponce,’ and other similar pleasantries.

  The little man smiled and waved a hand. ‘Tooo- night!’ he said. ‘For your pleasure – a fight ...’ long pause for dramatic emphasis. ‘To the death.’ The roar of the crowd rose to apocalyptic proportions.

  ‘Gnnng,’ said Denny, rousing himself from his disorientation.

  ‘In the red corner – the challengers – fighting for the next clue on their quest. The Djinn – TAMAAAR BLAAACK!!!’ He indicated Tamar who was standing in the corner with a look of resignation on her face.

  ‘And also,’ the little man continued, ‘a special treat – a mere mortal, DE-E-NNY SANGER!!!’

  There were some gasps, which quickly degenerated into booing and hissing. Denny was also standing by now and regaining his composure, but he still looked supremely unimposing. Skinny and pale and only of average height, he seemed to be trying to make himself even smaller. He had just enough pride left to stop himself from hiding behind Tamar, but only just.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ he managed, in a strangled hiss.

  ‘Trial by combat,’ she hissed back. ‘Standard stuff – I should have expected this – sorry.’

  Denny groaned.

  ‘They used to do it in a coliseum – with swords. Just ...’

  The booing was dying away. ‘In the black corner,’ the little man was saying, ‘we have our reigning champion – the ultimate force of destruction – the deliverer of doom – the evicerator. Your favourite and mine – the incredible the undefeated – SLAMMER LUUUNG!!!’

  Climbing into the ring was a gigantic, hulking man, with muscles the size of Volkswagens and wearing headgear that was designed by the same chap who made the mask for “The man in the iron mask”. He looked like a movable mountain in a unitard. Tamar had gone white; Denny wondered why.

  ‘That can’t be his real name,’ he said.

  ‘It probably is,’ she replied dully. ‘He’s Djinn.’

  ‘Oh Christ! Are you sure?’

  She nodded. ‘Pretty sure – I can smell it.’

  ‘Oh, well then – I guess that’s our advantage gone then – no chance of you seducing him to death?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘First the lift and now this,’ moaned Denny. ‘I’ve got to be the unluckiest bloke in the world. I’ve probably run over black cats that were luckier than me.’

  ‘Run over?’ Denny did not have a car. ‘With what, your skateboard?’

  ‘That’d be right, kick a man before he’s even down.’

  ‘Now then,’ the little man was speaking to the contestants now. ‘Let’s make it as dirty as possible – for the folks. The only rule is ...’

  ‘That there are no rules?’ muttered Denny gloomily.

  ‘No magic can be used inside the cage.’

  ‘Cage?’ said Denny, dumfounded. ‘What cage?’

  As he spoke the little man hopped out of the ring and a large cage clanged into place around them.

  ‘I blame that “Mad Max” film,’ said Tamar.

  DING, DING – ‘Round one’

  ‘Get behind me,’ hissed Tamar. ‘I’ll deal with this.’ She squared up to the other Djinn.

  ‘But ...’

  ‘Just do it.’

  She stepped in front of Denny as the man-mountain advanced growling menacingly and shaking his head like a dog with fleas.

  ‘I’m gonna crush you like a slug,’ the mountainous villain was snarling, ‘say goodbye to your intestines.’

  ‘Where’s Hank when you really need him?’ said Denny to himself. Although this guy would make Hank, look like a brownie by comparison.

  The Djinn launched himself at Tamar. ‘I’m gonna get you, little girl.' he hissed, ‘and your little frog too.’

  Tamar leaped gracefully over his head. He grabbed her by the hair as she sailed over him (curse it – too tall) and swung her round his head several times, before catching her and bodyslamming her on the mat. Denny covered his eyes, but she was up again, quick as a cat, before he could pin her.

  ‘Too slow,’ she jeered, just before he grabbed her around the neck with one massive arm and started to pummel her with the other.

  ‘What am I doing?’ thought Denny, and ran forward to rain blows on the giant’s back. He may as well have tried to move a continent. The Djinn swatted him away with his free arm, without loosening his grip on Tamar at all. Denny went flying up to the top of the cage and hung there, stunned. Tamar was going blue.

  The bar he was hanging from came loose and pulled out. He dropped with the bar still in his hand, dizzy and disoriented. He jumped to his feet, swaying. Then he charged.

  ‘AAAAGH.’ He bashed the giant Djinn in the head.

  ‘Slammer’ turned; shaking his head as if trying to get rid of flies. Tamar slid to the floor; Denny backed away waving the bar in front of him like a man swatting mosquitoes. He felt the ropes against his back.

  ‘Uh oh.’ He was trapped; he closed his eyes and swung. He missed – when hitting people with iron bars the recommended procedure is to keep your eyes open, that way you can see what you’re trying to hit.

  Slammer laughed and reached out a massive paw and grabbed Denny by the throat. (He evidently had a limited repertoire of moves – but, since the ones he did have were frighteningly effective why mess with a good system?) Denny naturally dropped the bar. DING, DING!!! The Djinn let go, blindsided by a flying kick to the head from Tamar, he hit the deck.

  ‘Climb,’ she croaked, and Denny did not need telling twice. He scrambled awkwardly up the side of the cage. Tamar somersaulted up to the other side, but Slammer had got up and he managed to grab her ankle and drag her back down. He flung her across the ring. Miraculously, she landed on her feet, another leap, and she was close enough to surprise him with an uppercut to his massive chin and a swift boot to the solar plexus – not what she was aiming for but still ... He went down like a giant redwood, and Tamar took her chance. She soared to the top of the cage and clung there like SpiderMan. She looked at Denny, who was almost to the top, and winked out of a blackened eye and thoughtfully spat out a tooth.

  ‘What now?’ he mouthed from the other side of the cage and over the top of the well of sound from the audience. Tamar shrugged; a difficult manoeuvre, given her position.

  ‘Look out,’ she indicated the infuriated Djinn,
climbing up the side of the cage like King Kong, breaking off bars as he went, and grunting incoherently in his fury. If he had stopped to beat his chest, neither Tamar nor Denny would have been surprised.

  Denny climbed sideways desperately to the jeers of the crowd. The maddened Djinn had almost reached him when the bar he was standing on gave way and he slid down, bars breaking beneath his feet one after another like a row of falling dominoes. He landed with a grunt and every single bar landed, with perfect comic predictability on his head. He was down but was he out?

  *

  Ten minutes later, when Slammer was still rattling the cage like a little boy trying to shake conkers out of a tree, they reluctantly had to admit that he was not. Suddenly he backed up, put his head down, and charged like a maddened rhino. The entire cage collapsed like a matchstick house. Technically, they were into round three by the time they climbed out of the wreckage although nobody had paid any attention to the official rounds, and the action had not stopped for the bell. And there was very little chance of scantily clad girls being foolish enough to sashay across the ring holding up placards. Denny was disappointed about this; it had seemed likely enough to be the only thing he had left to look forward to before he died. The only up-side was that Slammer seemed to be in just as sorry shape as they were, having taken the brunt of the falling metal.

  They all stood staring dazedly at each other; there was a strange sound which Denny eventually recognised as silence. The crowd was hushed; obviously nothing like this had ever happened before.

  Tamar made a T with her hands for “Time out”. The Djinn nodded bemusedly; Denny poured water over his head. He went to hand it to Tamar when he stopped suddenly, what had she told him about the Djinn? – In a pinch ...

  Slammer was recovering and heading purposefully towards Tamar. Denny nodded towards him. ‘Can you hold him down? I only need a few seconds.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said, clearly puzzled.

  Denny was surreptitiously ripping a piece off his shirt, increasing her bewilderment. Slammer did not notice him; all his attention was focused on Tamar as the biggest pest currently in his life. Denny did not even rate – big mistake. At least Denny hoped so.

  Tamar picked up the biggest bar she could hold, jumped and brought it down on Slammer‘s head. He staggered and she pounced, driving the bar into his neck and bearing him down, onto the mat.

  ‘Got him,’ she called.

  Denny thrust the empty water bottle at the Djinn’s feet and yelled. ‘GET OUT OF THE WAY.’

  Tamar made light look sluggish.

  ‘Djinn – home,’ said Denny calmly. Slammer roared and struggled, but he was caught, his feet were dissolving, then his legs, torso, head. Within a few seconds, he was gone, Denny made haste to stuff his torn shirt into the neck of the bottle – no lid being to hand. He whooped triumphantly, ‘in a pinch’ – she had said, ‘any bottle will do’.

  Tamar punched the air and offered Denny a high five. ‘Yes!’

  ‘Way to go Djinn – master. You the man,’ she sang.

  Denny laughed. ‘Back at you – hex kitten.’

  The crowd were on their feet chanting. ‘KILL – KILL – KILL.’

  A crack had opened up in the floor; beyond it was a pit of fire. All she had to do was throw the bottle in...

  She lifted the bottle and inspected it, pondering.

  ‘NO,’ she shouted. ‘We won. It’s over. Just give us the clue and let us go.’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ she said aside to Denny. ‘My freedom’s not worth his life. He couldn’t help it – he was only obeying his master. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Denny. ‘I’m proud of you – you’ve grown or something.’

  ‘We’ll take him with us,’ she said. ‘Not that it’ll stop all this but, well ...’

  The little man appeared. ‘The rules clearly state that it is a fight to the death,’ he said, ‘therefore ...’

  Denny cut him off. ‘I thought you said there were no rules,’ he objected. ‘You never mentioned that as a rule. I don’t think you can hold us to it.’

  ‘It was quite clearly stated ...’

  Denny held up a hand. ‘You know we could argue about this all night so let’s just say that you’re right. A fight to the death it is. But you know what? You never stated to whose death.’ He glared meaningfully at the little man who gulped as he got Denny’s meaning.

  ‘After all,’ Denny continued calmly. ‘I have to ask myself, who’s the really guilty party here?’ He glanced at Tamar who was staring at him open-mouthed showing a rather unattractive gap in her teeth.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘You would too, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘This git?’ said Denny. ‘No question, I wouldn’t have a problem with that at all. After all, he tried to kill us – by proxy anyway.’

  ‘Well now,’ said the little man backing away. ‘I’m sure we can be reasonable about this, since you have defeated your opponent most thoroughly. And as you say – the rules ...’

  ‘Cut the σκουπίδια little man,’ snapped Denny,* ‘just give us the cursed clue, and let us out of here.’

  *[Tamar’s occasional relapses into her original language were starting to rub off on Denny]

  ‘And he goes with us,’ added Tamar, jerking a thumb at the bottle.

  ‘Ah well – as to that ...’

  ‘Or else,’ threatened Denny.

  ‘Yes, yes – the clue and – your – er – other demands. Yes, agreed.’

  The little man suddenly seemed to remember where he was. He took both Denny and Tamar by the hand and raised their arms into the air.

  ‘THE WINNERS,’ he cried. The crowd roared.

  ~ Chapter Fourteen ~

  In a dark, mysterious chamber, lit with dribbling candles and behind a door of the ‘Dread portal’ variety, a little man fell on his knees trembling with apparent terror before the imposing figure on the heavily ornamented and stylishly backlit throne.

  ‘Luminous one,’ he quavered. ‘We have at last discovered who seeks the aid of the powerful one. She is one of the Djinn – Tamar Black is her name.’

  The figure on the throne shifted uncomfortably. ‘Indeed, and the other one?’

  ‘He is her master.’

  ‘And they survived the combat? How did you allow that to happen, my friend?’

  The little man shook.

  ‘Disappointing – disappointing; indeed you have been culpable. They should never have got so far. We will have to do better in the future, will we not? You are my good servant, are you not? I know you will not let me down again.’

  The little man let his breath out as he sensed a temporary reprieve. ‘I have my best men following them, gracious liege. We will endeavour to find out what it is that they seek. I could not ...’

  The figure on the throne waved a hand impatiently, and the little man crumbled into a pile of dust.

  ‘I know what they want,’ said Kelon.

  ~ Chapter Fifteen ~

  Tamar and Denny were jubilant. The exhilaration of beating an apparently superior opponent can hardly be overestimated. Slammer had been left in his bottle on a shelf.

  ‘If you release him,’ Tamar had cautioned Denny, ‘you’ll be the master of two Djinn.’ And neither of them wanted to be responsible for foisting him on some unsuspecting person and having him undoubtedly wreaking endless havoc on them.

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ said Tamar. ‘And he’ll probably be glad of the rest.’ And the matter was, to coin a phrase, “shelved”.

  On the matter of their injuries, Tamar had naturally disposed of hers quite easily. As for Denny, she covered up the damage with a glamour, but he had to live with the pain, since she could do little about it without orders, and he refused to waste a wish on something so trivial.

  At least he could go to work, although, had Bo been more observant, he might have wondered why Denny was limp
ing and chugging aspirins every four hours without fail.

  The latest clue was as incomprehensible as the others had been, and was accordingly ignored.

  ‘It’ll come to us,’ said Denny, and Tamar agreed. After their triumph, they felt invincible. They were on a high – the kind of high that makes people jump off tall buildings in the deluded belief that they can fly. The universal result of this belief is pavement splash. Denny and Tamar were headed for a fall.

  The clue, for what it’s worth, was a child’s action figure. Denny took this calmly; he was finally getting used to this sort of thing. He claimed it was an “Action Man” and Tamar did not argue, but continued to refer to it as “ninja doll”, which was more or less what it was. Dressed in black up to its eyes and carrying a tiny sword.

  But Denny, who had had his fair share of Action Men as a child, objected to this denigration of its character ‘It’s not a doll,’ he insisted, ‘it’s an action figure.’

  ‘Who cares?’ Tamar said, and Denny soon dropped it. The argument was too reminiscent of similar childhood bouts.

  But despite all this, there was no discussion of what the “not a doll” might mean, and soon it was almost completely forgotten. There was real danger in their indolence. Tamar did not know it, but she was running out of time.

  * * *

  ‘Keep watching them,’ said Kelon. The little man, now restored to human form, was fawning at the foot of the throne, quivering with anxiety, he nodded nervously.

  ‘I want to know everything she gets up to,’ added Kelon, menacingly.

  ‘If I may, great one, I think that soon, she will cease to trouble you.’

  ‘Indeed? I did not realise that I paid you to think.’

  ‘Er, your greatness, you do not pay me at all.’

  ‘Is that so? Perhaps I should look into that. On the other hand…’ There was an ominous silence in which Kelon made a threatening gesture, ‘let me down again – and it’s the Dustbuster for you.’

  ‘Magnificent one,’ grovelled the little man, ‘I do not require payment, merely to be in the service of your supreme and wondrous person.’

  And if the little man wondered why this powerful creature should be so afraid of being sought by those who only needed help (and one of those a mere mortal) he was wise enough not to ask. He had no desire to spend eternity in a vacuum filter.