Djinnx'd (The Tamar Black Saga #1)

  Less than a clock could mean a watch she supposed, but it still did not tell her what it meant. ‘Hmm, a watch.’ The white rabbit carried a watch, and he took it underground – down a hole in a field, which could, conceivably be full of dandelion clocks. ‘Oh for God’s sake!’ she thought, ‘I’m cracking up, I must be getting tired.’ Tamar completely missed the significance of this observation, well, she was tired. She fell asleep.

  She was awoken by the sound of Denny banging his watch on the table.

  ‘Stopped,’ he said laconically in answer to her interrogative look.

  ‘What? Oh sorry, I was thinking of something else.’ She shook her head to clear it. For one surreal moment, Denny had taken on the appearance of a large white rabbit.

  ‘Maybe it’ll be okay,’ she thought, ‘it might be nice to be insane – peaceful,’

  Denny sat down at the laptop. ‘Might as well get on with it,’ he said, but he did not sound as if he meant it.

  ‘No, leave it. We’ve got enough to be going on with. You’ll drive yourself mad.

  ‘Or me,’ she added silently.

  There was a loud banging. In their disoriented state, it took them a few minutes to realise there was somebody at the door. They looked at each other and shrugged. Denny almost never had visitors.

  He went to the door; as he opened it flew back and smacked him in the face, breaking his nose and sending him flying down the passage. ‘Wha’d the hell?’ he spluttered. Whoever was towering above him was in shadow and, therefore, not instantly recognisable.

  ‘Hello Denny,’ said a familiar deep voice, causing Denny to cover his kneecaps protectively. It was Barry.

  ‘We haven’t seen you for a while,’ Barry observed. ‘Not been avoiding us have you? I’d be very hurt to think that. Very upset, after all, we’re friends, aren’t we? You wouldn’t avoid your friends now would you?’

  ‘Do, do, ob course dot, just beed a bit busy dat’s all.’

  ‘You seem to be bleeding all over your carpet,’ observed Barry, in menacingly courteous tones, proffering a large, dirty handkerchief.

  ‘Thagyoo,’ said Denny obsequiously.

  Tamar appeared in the doorway. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  Barry looked up. ‘Ah,’ he said, as if he suddenly understood something, ‘busy is it? I see.’ He reached down to help Denny up. ‘Sorry about that mate,’ he said, grinning, ‘didn’t realise. No hard feelings eh?’

  ‘Who the hell is this?’ asked Tamar, and the look on her face was not pleasant.

  ‘Old friend,’ Denny explained.

  ‘He hit you,’

  ‘Yes, he did, didn’t he?’ said Denny thoughtfully. ‘Just sort him out will you? Not fatally,’ he added as an afterthought.

  Tamar grinned. ‘Okey dokey,’ she said perkily. This perkiness did not bode well for Barry.

  Denny left the room whistling as well as a broken nose would allow him to. He’d finally solved the Barry problem once and for all. Whatever Tamar did to him (and he didn’t want to know) Barry was certain never to be bothering him again, and would probably end up a reformed character.

  * * *

  Tamar returned in a much better mood. ‘I needed that,’ she said. ‘How’s your nose?’

  ‘Find,’

  Tamar waved a hand over it. ‘Now it’s fine,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to do that,’ said Denny, fingering his restored nose gingerly.

  Tamar waved a dismissive hand. ‘Whatever. Sod the rules, I’ve had enough. What’s the time?’ she added, just for the fun of seeing him look at his broken watch. Wreaking mayhem always put her in a playful mood.

  Denny, however, glanced at the screen of the small laptop. ‘A quarter past eleven,’ he said.

  Then a peculiar look came over his face. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he exclaimed. ‘It can’t be!’

  Tamar was disappointed that her joke had failed and asked a little sulkily, ‘What?’

  ‘The computer,’ yelled Denny, excitedly. ‘I’m sure I’m right. Yes, look.’

  He pointed at the screen of the large computer that they had used to access the files of the so called Aethernet. In the corner of the screen was a small digital clock, just like on the laptop. The difference was this clock read 0.00.

  ‘I knew it,’ crowed Denny triumphantly. ‘Oh, I’m so thick; I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. I knew that this clock read midnight all the time. I noticed it before, when I was working on the file. I just didn’t think anything of it. I mean, zero hundred hours; you know. We were thinking of it in terms of midnight. I just didn’t make the connection. “The clock at midnight”, it meant the clock that is set at midnight, see?’

  ‘And the “under” part?’

  ‘Look.’ He pointed to a small icon underneath the clock. When he put the cursor on it, it flagged up the words “Go To”

  Denny glanced at Tamar, his finger poised on the mouse. He was grinning. ‘Ready?’

  Tamar gulped; she had that queasy feeling again. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Too bad,’ said Denny and clicked it.

  Tamar had that horrible feeling of destiny again as she felt her body dissolve.

  ‘Beam me up Scotty’,’ Denny quipped, as they dematerialised.

  ~ Chapter Twenty One ~

  ‘Where the hell are we?’ Denny did not seriously expect an answer to this.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why are we in black and white?’

  ‘I think it’s just the moonlight.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so; we’re definitely in black and white.’

  ‘You’re imagining it.’

  Denny changed tack. ‘Is this the file?’

  ‘No, this is – something else. I don’t know what it is.’ Tamar was feeling unaccountably relieved. This place was not so bad. Although, she had a feeling that it was only a temporary reprieve.

  Suddenly the air was split by the sound of a loud clock chiming. Denny and Tamar jumped. They were in an empty plaza. The rain sparkled on the cobbles in the hazy glow of a street light. There were shops and cafés, all closed. There was no clock.

  They counted the chimes; there were twelve. They would have been disappointed if there had not been. Then they heard the sound of swift footsteps.

  ‘Behind you,’ said a deep, throaty voice. They spun round. They saw a tall man wearing a trench coat and a trilby pulled low over his face. Unnecessarily in Tamar’s opinion, since the man, whoever he was, was completely in shadow anyway. The shadow, they now saw, of a large clock tower. Denny and Tamar looked at each other and raised their eyebrows.

  ‘It took you long enough to get here,’ the man growled. ‘Ages I’ve been waiting, and it’s pissing down. I have got better things to do you know, well actually I haven’t, but at least I could be not doing them in the comfort of my own home, if you know what I mean.

  ‘Anyway, here goes.’ The man lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Go to the café Maurice,’ he told them. ‘The password is “Swordfish”.’

  Denny groaned. ‘It would be. I could have thought of that.’

  The man clicked his heels and was gone as swiftly as he came.

  ‘Okay,’ said Denny when he had recovered from this affront to all common sense. ‘Café Maurice it is then.’

  It was directly across the plaza from them. They wandered desultorily over toward it, Tamar dragging her heels every step of the way. Denny did not appear to notice.

  ‘So, will this get us into the file then?’ he asked.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ she answered.

  ‘Good.’ There did not seem much else to say.

  Denny knocked on the door and a small hatch opened at eye level. They could not see a face, but a voice said peremptorily, ‘Password?’

  ‘Swordfish,’ said Denny a trifle wearily. The door vanished, in fact, the whole plaza vanis
hed, and they found themselves standing on a grassy heath in, what was apparently the middle of nowhere, it was wreathed in mist and blowing a gale. All that was missing was Heathcliff.

  ‘Oh no!’ Tamar croaked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the place from my dream – from my nightmare.’

  ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘Well it feels like it; and listen – dogs, getting closer.’

  ‘Okay, it may look the same, but it won’t be. I’m here this time and the dogs won’t bother us, we’re not running for the fence. I mean we want to go to the castle, don’t we.’

  ‘Castle? Looks more like a high security prison to me.’

  ‘Really? It looks kind of like “The Enchanted Castle” to me.’

  ‘Enchanted what? Try Alcatraz.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re seeing the same building. Why are you afraid of it?’

  ‘I don’t know, there’s something in there – something scary.’ She was shaking.

  ‘That was just in your dream.’

  ‘Yeah, well it feels the same.’

  ‘It’s okay; I’m here. You’ll be all right. Besides we have to go.’

  ‘Face your fears, you mean, and all that?’

  ‘You already did that. I meant because we have to find Kelon.’

  ‘Oh – yes, of course.’ The dogs howled.

  Suddenly, Tamar metamorphosed into the calm, strong- minded person that Denny knew. She squared her shoulders as if she were shrugging off her fear.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  They trudged off in the direction of the castle/prison. It started to rain, typical.

  * * *

  ‘A moat?’

  ‘Probably shark infested,’ said Tamar gloomily. ‘Or alligators, or sharks and alligators – and piranhas.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s only a few feet deep. Even I’m not scared of that.’

  ‘It’s fathoms, and full of sharp rocks.’

  ‘No it’s not. Look, you’ll just have to trust me; it’s perfectly harmless. It’s just the fear talking, besides, there’s a drawbridge.’

  ‘It’ll probably disappear into the wall just as we get halfway across.’

  ‘It’d have to be quick; it’s only two or three steps at most.’

  ‘It’s at least thirty feet. Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it.’ She closed her eyes and stepped onto the drawbridge. ‘If I fall in, it’ll be your fault.’

  ‘Even if you did, you’d only be up to your knees.’

  ‘No, that’s what would happen to you if you fell in there. If I fall in, I’ll be swept away by raging white water, and eaten by croco-sharks.’

  ‘You seriously believe that, don’t you?’

  ‘Are you willing to risk it? Just don’t let me fall.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You can open your eyes now.’ It had taken about thirty seconds.

  ‘What?’ She opened her eyes and saw ... ‘It’s just a stream.’

  ‘Yes, with trout.’

  They could both see the portcullis, but only Tamar could see the dried blood and the skulls hanging from the gateposts. It looked, however, equally impenetrable to both of them.

  It was Tamar who found the lever. Well, this mode of entry was relatively uncommon in modern England, but Tamar had seen her fair share of castles over the centuries, and the design never varied much. The portcullis creaked ominously as it was slowly and torturously raised.

  Denny laughed. ‘It must have taken years to get that creak just right.’

  Tamar looked at him sourly. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ sourly

  ‘Oh please,’ he said. ‘This place is practically a caricature of a scary castle. It’ll be bats flying out of the battlements next.’

  * * *

  ‘You had to say it didn’t you?’ seethed Tamar, wiping bat shit out of her hair. ‘Just shut up.’

  They had found themselves in a large, echoing, stone courtyard.

  ‘Wow!’ said Denny, ‘I feel like “Indiana Jones”. Bring on the skeletal warriors.’

  ‘That’s Sinbad, and don’t say things like that.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There’s the inner gate,’ she pointed. ‘I suppose we go on.’ She sounded resigned.

  ‘At least we’re alone – see, the bats weren’t my fault.’

  The gate swung open easily, and there was a complete lack of burly guards demanding passwords and waving swords menacingly. Tamar found it eerie, Denny, on the other hand, found it. ‘Disappointing – it’s too easy; you’d expect it to be better guarded.’

  ‘It is guarded,’ she said, shivering, ‘by fear, I don’t know why you can’t feel it. And there’s no such thing as “too easy”. I like easy, easy suits me just fine.’

  They were now in the inner courtyard, which was smaller – naturally, and beautifully kept, with an ornamental fountain, trees and pillars. The fountain was running and was lit up in some way that they could not see. The trees waved gently in the breeze, and the pillars were inlaid with gold and ivory. There were tigers chained to them, asleep and Marrakech lanterns in ivory hung from brackets on the walls, highlighting the hanging baskets beside them. Night blooming jasmine wafted a sweet, heady scent over them.

  ‘Wow!’ said Denny again. ‘Sinbad indeed! It’s like the “Arabian nights” in here.’

  A faint, tinkling music floated over the night air, and Denny thought he had never seen such bright stars.

  ‘Seductive,’ agreed Tamar sourly. All in all, she thought she would rather be hanging over a scorpion pit surrounded by broken glass, with a candle burning through the rope. Imminent and horrible death, after all, is imminent and horrible death. You may not be looking forward to it, but at least there is not any kind of mystery about it.

  Then the Houris appeared, and Tamar felt on familiar ground again. There were three of them. ‘Bad things always come in threes,’ she thought as they descended on Denny, ignoring her entirely.

  Denny stood there, bewildered and stupefied. They had his shirt off in seconds and were fawning over him, giggling. Houris are even worse than mermaids. They stroked his chest and ran their fingers through his hair, offering him cherries and steaming gold goblets of something, almost certainly not wine. Denny just stood there looking dazed. Only Tamar could see that their hair was infested with snakes, the talons on their fingers and their blank, dead eyes. They were dragging him to the ground; he offered no resistance. It was as if he was in a trance. Their talons raked his chest and face drawing blood. Tamar cried out and ran into them, kicking them aside. They hissed and struck out at her. She grabbed Denny and hauled him to the doors; large ebony doors inlaid with gold in a pattern that she found strangely disturbing and familiar. She wrenched the doors open and dragged him through.

  ~ Chapter Twenty Two ~

  On the other side of the door was a large corridor, the stone walls were painted in a black and white chequered pattern, which nevertheless, looked surprisingly dingy. The pattern was carried on, on the floor and the ceiling. This in itself would have been nasty enough, but the perspective looked wrong. It was subtle, but each square was just a little off from the corner of the next, and just slightly the wrong size. Tamar tried not to look at it. It was frustrating, intentionally so, she realized. The corridor ran to a point of infinity, and yet, it did not, not quite, you could drive yourself mad trying to make sense of it.

  Denny had come round. ‘What happened?’ he looked down. ‘I’m bleeding, and where’s my shirt?’

  ‘Houris,’ said Tamar, laconically.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you remember them?’

  ‘No, we were in a courtyard, and then we were here.’ He looked around. ‘Have you been sobering me up again?’

  ‘It’s an optical illusion.’

  ‘It’s giving me a headache.’

  ‘Don’t look at it then, and keep still, you?
??re losing blood.’

  ‘I’m fine. What did you say about Houris?’

  ‘I’m guessing, but I think they appeared because you weren’t afraid. They decided to try – something else on you.’

  ‘Something ...? Oh, sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay; I’m not upset. They hexed you.’

  ‘So, how do we get out of here?’

  ‘There’s probably a door.’

  ‘No kidding.’ He looked around, ‘Where is it?’

  After they had walked up and down the corridor twice, feeling the walls – whilst trying not to look at them, Tamar conceded. ‘Okay, so, maybe not a door.’

  ‘Trapdoor?’ suggested Denny, pointing at the ceiling.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  They tried it anyway, with Tamar jumping up and down like a demented cheerleader.

  ‘You know, ‘said Denny, ‘I’m getting fed up with being stuck in rooms without any doors.’

  But he seemed perfectly calm. Tamar, on the other hand, was getting decidedly panicky.

  ‘It’ll be something obvious,’ said Denny. ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘It’s always obvious when you know the answer,’ she said, sinking down on the floor with her head in her hands.

  ‘Don’t give up,’ said Denny, sitting beside her.

  ‘I’m not, I’m thinking. I just don’t want to be distracted by that awful paint job.’

  She glanced up; Denny’s cuts had dried. She removed her jacket and started to unbutton her shirt.

  ‘Um, not that I don’t appreciate it, but what are you doing?’

  ‘Put it on.’ She handed him the shirt.

  ‘Oh – right.’

  She slipped her jacket back on. It tells us a lot about Denny’s physique, that apart from being a little too short in the arms and very slightly snug across the shoulders, the shirt fitted him pretty well.

  ‘I just thank God it’s not embroidered.’

  ‘As if,’ said Tamar, scornfully; she was a jeans and black leather girl. ‘Actually, it’s the smartest I’ve ever seen you.’

  All Denny’s clothes came from charity shops and market stalls; he dressed with the savoir-faire of the average scarecrow. Tamar was only surprised that he did not own a Parker.

  They sat in gloomy silence for a while, and then Denny said slowly. ‘What was it, I said before?’