Tag Archives: mystery

Inside a bustling Victorian bakery, a tentacled pastry bursts to life on a table, sending customers into a frenzy. A monocled frog in a top hat and a rat detective stand ready, while a shocked mouse baker recoils behind the counter. The glow of gas lamps casts dramatic shadows.

Shadow Street Chapter 5

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“Let’s go,” I said. I patted Mr. Curtis on the shoulder. He croaked, blinked his left eye, and then a second later his right.

“Right.”

We bounded off up the front stairs and pushed our way into the shop. She wasn’t kidding. The place was hopping. It was teaming with visitors, patrons eating a roll, donut, or sticky bun while enjoying a spot of tea or a large cup of coffee during their lunch hour. There were a variety of mice, rats, moles, and a chameleon in the corner, all wearing work clothes, suits, or other daily wear. There was a family of hamsters down at the head of the line, and we could see, behind the counter, Mrs. Smith running back and forth, fulfilling orders and taking care of customers, ordering employees around otherwise surviving the moment.

“There she is,” said Mr. Curtis.

“What do we do about it?”

“This way.”

We fought through the crowd, twisting around them, but couldn’t penetrate the line. A pair of bats who were discussing a meeting they were going to this afternoon turned and stared us down.

I looked at Mr. Curtis.

He apologized, saying “excuse me,” then to me “let’s get in line.” So we did.

Looking around, we could see that all the side tables, and a lounge area next to the fireplace were filled with folks settled neatly into handsome leather chairs.

In the middle of the room was a standing series of tables, where most folks were. They were leaving almost as quickly as they came in, but no one in here seemed to be infected. I was watching everyone closely as I could, but no one seemed in the least bit distressed, except possibly for Mrs. Smith, and she simply looked like someone dealing with a lunch rush worth of people, yet I kept expecting trouble.

Mr. Curtis appeared to be on alert as well. He was behaving strangely, which meant more strangely than he usually did. He kept darting his eyes around, looking under tables, and taking his hat off to look in it, only to put it back on so he could pull it off again to look in it, and then squeeze down onto the floor to look at everyone’s shoes, then hop up and try to spin around, and put his hat back on.

I’m glad it wasn’t just me because a pair of mice ahead of us kept scooting out of his way, giving him dirty looks.

“Curtis!”

“What?”

“What are you…”

“Looking.”

“Stop.”

“James, clues, you know.”

“I think they’ll find us by this point.”

He looked in his hat again.

“What are you looking at in there? I gave to say sometimes I do not know what or how you keep anything in there.”

“I used to be a magician.”

“I know that. Never mind, what are you watching in there?”

“An egg. At least I think it’s an egg.”

I looked in the hat.

“I can see nothing.”

Then he waved his hand over the open hat. I imagine an almost automatic gesture for him, then reached in and pulled one roll out from this morning and showed it to me.

“My goodness Curtis, that’s three times the size it was this morning.”

It was. As they held it up, it dwarfed his gray-green hand. It looked like it was expanding and building up in different directions. Little ballooning pockets. I almost expected one to rupture and explode like a boil, but that’s not the thing you expect from a sticky bun.

He held it aloft and twisted it around for me to see.

“How long has it been doing this?”

“Since we left Arthur’s tower.”

“I say. Put that thing away.”

He dropped it back into his hat and put it back on. I couldn’t see how he could stand knowing that was up there.

“How can you just put it on like that, knowing it’s up in there?”

“Have you ever gotten used to keeping a sparrow in your hat?”

“No, and I’ve known too many to—”

“Well, once you get used to one of them hopping around up there, you can keep anything in your hat without thinking twice.”

“Maybe in your hat.”

“Precisely.”

We stepped up in line.

Mr. Curtis and I were now near a set of chairs by an end table where two fellows and a lady were taking tea. They had a plate of sandwiches between them that had three trays. The top tray was little desserts topped with cream and berries. The middle comprised rolls, and the bottom was cucumber sandwiches.

They were having a wonderful lunch when Mr. Curtis leaned over and said, “Excuse me, I think one of your rolls is hatching.”

“What?” said the lady with wide eyes. She was a mouse in a red dress wearing a tall hat with a purple plume feather coming from it. “Excuse me?”

“Your role there, it seems to be…”

A yellow tentacle popped from the side of the roll she was holding daintily in her right paw.

“Ah!”

She held it away from her and closed her eyes.

“M’lady, please,” said Mr. Curtis. “Please allow me to…” he reached out to take it from her when another squirming, yellow one popped out the other side. She dropped the bun on the floor, snarled, baring her teeth, and stomped on it, skewering the roll with a particularly devastating spiked high heel. She pulled her foot back, and the shoe remained.

Tentacles popped, grabbed the shoe, and twisted around it. She stomped again, then folks scrambled and scattered over tables.

“What is that?” said someone who had just lost their soup all over themselves. Tables fell and folks ran. The doors burst and the place emptied.

Mr. Curtis picked it up by hand in the middle of the chaos. It had closed over the shoe and tightened into a ball. He lifted it, and people around us hit the walls, plastered by fear.

I could hear Mrs. Smith in the background. “Everybody, please stay calm. Everything will be okay… ugh. What? Is? that?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Curtis. “I think it’s from another world.” He held it up, holding the shoe by the toe. “Very interesting.” He pulled a wooden spoon, I have no from where, and poked at it. The octopus creature squelched and tightened and the heel popped off and fell on the floor and rolled away under a turned-over table.

He poked it again.

It grabbed the spoon. “Eh!”

It dropped the shoe and hung off the spoon from underneath. It started climbing up quicker than I thought it could. I wondered how fast these creatures could move underwater.

It jumped on Curtis’s face. He ducked, and then it headed straight for me. I grabbed a glass from a table, and slinging cold brewed coffee everywhere, I smacked the creature to the floor. It ran from us, dragging two tentacles behind it. And either tripping around or rolling like some kind of insect, closed up and flying down a hill.

Rats ran. Some jumped, and others tumbled. Curtis was running after it, or closer hopping after it, and I was just trying to keep my eye on it while it bounded straight for Mrs. Smith, who was screaming.

“Kill it!” said someone.

“What is it?” said someone else.

“Not breakfast,” said someone else.

People were scrambling in every direction.

It crawled up on the counter-top.

Mrs. Smith screamed.

I slapped my arm down on one side of the counter between it and Mrs. smith, and it turned around, rolling like a ball, its tentacles slapping everywhere back towards Mr. Curtis, who had his hat ready. It rolled right into the hat and he trapped it underneath.

For a second, it was bumping around, trying to get out.

“Is it in there?” I said.

“I’m not sure,” said the frog. He peaked under, then quickly smashed it back down on the counter. “Yep, it’s in there.”

“Close up shop,” I said.

“Right,” said Mrs. Smith.

She jumped over the table and started shooing the people who hadn’t gotten out already. They were ready and willing to escape, tumbling out the door. When the last of them had scrambled out and gotten their hats together, she locked the door and she and I dimmed the lights and shuttered the windows.

“Bring it here,” I said.

“Right ho,” said Mr. Curtis. He brought the hat and placed it on a table in the middle just as I righted it. The three of us drew up chairs, each keeping a hand or paw on it as much as we could.

Someone knocked on the door. “Are you open?”

Mrs. Smith got up to answer it, but I held up my hand and shook my head. “Not yet.”

She sat back down.

“Let’s find out what’s in here,” I said. “Turn it over, Mr. Curtis.”

“Yes. Right.” He flipped the hat over, and each of us stepped back a little. It was dim, but we could see fairly well. The hat was dark.

It rocked a little. It bumped to the side.

An eye popped up on a yellow stalk. It blinked and looked at each of us.

A tentacle tentatively came out to writhe around, then another one, as another eye came up to look at me.

“Mr. Curtis,” said Mrs. Smith. “It’s moving.”

Then it was out. It flopped on the table and the hat went skittering.

“It’s out!” I said.

“Yeah, it’s out!” said Mr. Curtis. It rolled, tucking its eyes in, and splatted to the floor.

“Catch it again!” I yelled.

“Yahoo!” said the frog. He put on his hat and we were off, chasing it behind the counter, and back through the kitchens.

It slid under the counter and into the oven. We were after it with brooms. Mr. Curtis was slapping at the floor with a mop when we chased it into the back room.

“Not the drain, Mr. Curtis!”

It was flipping and sliding, avoiding blows and whipping left and right. We were right behind it. Mr. Curtis threw his hat, trying to trap it again, but it fell short, and the creature made it down the drain.

It slipped through the bars and vanished below the building.

We sat on the floor panting and clutching our chests. At least I was. Mr. Curtis just sat there and burped.

“Mr. Curtis!”

“Yes, Dr. James?”

He burped again.

“Oh, never mind. Let’s help Mrs. Smith clean up.”

Burp.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative.”

We got up and blocked the drain by dragging several bags of flour as many as we could find, and covering it as best we could, and then helped her clean the tables up and bring the dining room back into order.

“What’s left?” I asked.

“The donations for the morning.”

“Right.”

There were still many rolls, buns, and muffins in the case of the lunch crowd. Mrs. Smith lined up several boxes. Admitting was more than usual, and we filled ten with extras to put in the back for pickup the next morning.

I looked over at the pile of flour bags, unsure. I’d seen enough strange things today.

“We should stay here tonight,” said the frog. “Yes, that’s what we will do, if you’ll allow us, Mrs. Smith.”

“What?”

“Yes, we’ll watch and see. Perhaps nothing will happen.”

“But maybe it will,” I said.

“Which will help us all unravel this mystery!”

“Of course. I’ll lock up.” She left reluctantly after Mr. Curtis assured her many times. After most of the lights dimmed, the shutters were closed, and she was gone, headed to her home on foot. It turned to my green friend.

“Now what?” I folded my arms.

He croaked. “We wait.”

A fog-drenched Victorian street at dusk. A well-dressed rat detective and a monocled frog with a top hat stand frozen as a possessed rat, its face covered by a writhing, yellow tentacled creature, stumbles through the lamplight. The eerie glow from a bakery window hints at more lurking horrors.

Shadow Street Chapter 4

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

The owl ruffled its feathers and peered down at us with large orange eyes that tore my soul out of my body. I felt weak in the ankles and held onto Mr. Curtis by the hat to keep from falling over. Trouble was, he was jumping up and down, trying to get us killed.

“Freeze, frog,” I said, trying to hold him still, but he got out from under my grasp and jumped up onto a pile of old newspapers the owl must have been keeping.

“Mr. Curtis!”

Nothing. He stood up, took his hat off, and bowed before the great owl.

The owl flew down to a bar closer to us. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

“Greetings,” said the frog.

“Save it,” said the owl. This caused Mr. Curtis to step back a little, even if slightly.

The owl flew closer again, now face to face with Mr. Curtis. I realized I was closer to the owl now than I could imagine. I felt like lunch on a stick, running around in front of him like an idiot.

“Arthur,” said the owl.

“What?” I said, without knowing it.

“Sorry, Sir. Arthur,” said Curtis. He bowed again.

“I assume you’ve got something to show me?” Arthur shook out a wing and pointed to Mr. Curtis’s hat on the floor.

“Yes, here. We encountered these in a bakery nearby, and I was wondering…” he handed one bun up, and the bird snatched it in its beak and ate it so quickly that I fell to the floor.

As he chewed, he looked over at me, where I was cowering, and still expecting to be eaten any second. “What’s his, um, problem, Mr. Curtis?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” said Mr. Curtis.

I struggled to my feet as Arthur chewed, and looked at the ceiling, then quickly back at me. He jumped to the floor and crouched down to look through my eyes and into my brain. He finished the roll. And opened his beak and stretched it. I survived, as I’ve been able to chronicle this adventure, so I stood my ground. He turned his head to look at me a different way and smacked his beak one more time.

“I’ve tasted this evil once before,” said the owl. He flew back up to a more comfortable perch for him and turned around after shaking his tail feathers at us. One of them fell to the ground at our feet.

“Take that. Throw it in a fire if you need to see me, and it’s an emergency.”

I picked up the feather and tucked it in my jacket pocket, unsure exactly what he meant by that.

“Curtis, have you seen anything like this before. It’s not as simple as a curse or common magic. I believe we are looking at something from beyond.”

Arthur twisted its head to something on the floor. It was Mr. Curtis’s hat. One roll fell to the floor and was wriggling away, little tentacles growing through the dough.

It shot one out at Mr. Curtis and wrapped around his legs, knocking him down. He struggled, and I watched, unable to move as it got larger and larger. It was crawling up to the frog’s gaping mouth, where he was trying to breathe and get control. He scraped at the floor, right as Arthur landed, his talons ripping directly into Mr. Curtis’s belly. No, not Mr. Curtis, the tangled tentacle-bun. The owl squished it to shreds, never arming my friend.

I helped him up.

“Have you got another one in there, Mr. Curtis?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Give it to me. I’ve got something to check, please.”

“Here it is,” he said, handing it up, and putting his top hat back in place.

“I’ll be in touch Curtis. Be careful. This isn’t your ordinary mystery.”

Arthur gently took the roll in its talons, hopped toward the crack in the inside of the clock face, and flew away, out across the city.

“Well, I knew that, didn’t I?” said the frog.

“You almost got us killed.”

“Arthur, no. He’d never kill me.”

“I’m not talking about you, you numskull. Do you see all this around us?”

“Bones, I know how owls eat.”

“Bones of rats and mice.”

He blinked and looked around at the tiny piles of bones around, behind the stacks of newspapers.

“Oh,” he said. He could comprehend if you worked with him sometimes.

“How do we get down out of here?”

“Back this way.” He hopped through piles of decimated, broken bones, and newspaper clippings, and I followed him down the path to the elevators we had come up. It seemed more morbid on the way out than on the way in.

We got into the elevator and took it down to the ground floor, and went back out onto the street. Above us in the sky, Arthur circled, spied with his exceptional eyes, and glided away until we could no longer see him.

We stepped out onto the pavement, and Mr. Curtis jumped and leaped his way down the street.

“I say, Mr. Curtis.”

“Come on, no cabs this close to Arthur’s tower.”

“Oh, no.”

I carried on after him. I could run pretty quickly, but only in short bursts. Every once in a while I had to run behind something, more an instinct than anything, and hide, then. I was back on his trail again. We got back out to Main Street, and traffic picked up again. Dogs pulled cabs as they barked about pests in their fur and what kind of treatment they were going to eat when they got home.

I stuck out my hand and waved down a dachshund, pulling a cab.

“Hello, there gents.”

Mr. Curtis hopped up. “Heading down Main Street to Mrs. Smith’s bakery. You know it?”

“Best biscuits in town, with a nice water dish out back.”

“That’s the one,” I said and got in. Mr. Curtis tipped his hat at the dog and gut in, closing the door behind him, and we were off.

The streets were uneven, and I just held on and dealt with it. Beside us several folks passed us, riding reigned rabbits. They were leaping in and out of the other cabs and plenty of people, other rats, frogs, moles, and the occasional possum going here and there.

We pulled up to the bakery. We got out and just as I was trying to pay the dog, his eyes widened and he bolted down the street.

“Hey, I…”

Mr. Curtis tapped me.

“What?”

He tapped me again, and I turned around to see someone walking down the way, a gentleman, certainly a rat, wearing a dark suit, and clutching at his neck, his throat, gagging.

“Dr. James?” Said Curtis.

“Let’s go.”

I was already running across the street when I said it. I ran him down, and got to him, just as tendrils, like the ones we saw coming from the rolls came from his mouth. He clutched at his throat as the tendrils wrapped around his face and neck. It reached around and buried itself into his ears, and covered his eyes with rounded nods that slowly opened, first the left, then he could no longer breathe.

I jumped back, as did Mr. Curtis, got back up, and blinked silently at me, his head now covered by this octopus-like creature.

“Oh, dear. That man.”

“That is freaky!”

“Curtis!”

“What?”

The man, with the creature attached to his face, straightened his jacket and walked away like there wasn’t a yellow creature there at all.

“You ever seen anything like this before?” I said.

“Nope,” said the frog. He caught a stray fly as they watched him amble up the way.

He sort of shambled to the left and ambled to the right, and skidded into the wall. His arms were limp at his side, but one tentacle stretched out from the side of his head and pushed against the wall with a pair of suckers.

“What on earth is that?” I said.

“I don’t know, but it’s interesting.” He hopped on, behind the man, weaving in and out, trailing behind him. I watched from a distance. Two yellow tentacles wrapped around and back down his jacket. They weaved around keeping balance, as one near the front felt around for the ground.

“I say,” said Curtis.

He followed him, three steps behind, watching the tendrils wave as he weaved around.

“This is outstanding James, look!” He reached up, under one tendril to pull on it.

“No!” I said, running to catch up with him before… and he grabbed it, anyway.

The rat turned around, with the octopus plastered to his head. It opened its beak in the center of its face, its maw, which was surrounded by smaller twitching mandibles, and squealed.

I ducked. Curtis’s mouth opened wide in excitement, and a large, thick shaft of a rubbery fist, an arm ending in curved, spiked fingers, flew out of the middle of nowhere between the jaws of his beak. It slid out and punched the frog squarely in the jaw. He flew back into the road, his legs sprawling in all directions. He landed on his rear and his hat rolled into the middle of the street where a dog driving a cab ran over it and missed it entirely. It swirled around and flew back into the frog’s hand. It was a total fluke, but he acted like it was all part of the plan.

“That was amazing!” He stood up and ran after him.

“No, Curtis, no!”

He ran after the guy, who was turning the corner.

I huffed my way around there in time to see him reach out with four tendrils and start climbing up the side of the roof.

“What the,” I said.

“Isn’t he Interesting?”

“Curtis, I…”

“What did you expect, murders and missing kittens?”

“I don’t know, I… never thought…”

“With me, it’s the weird stuff!”

Mr. Curtis bounded after him, jumping up to the roof. He was an exceptional jumper. He looked as shrewd-footed as a brilliant dancer, yet going from chimney to roof peak to another. I just sight of him, but from the ground. I couldn’t see well enough, but Mr. Curtis got him from behind, pulled, pulled, and used his feet to leverage the rest, and yanked the creature free of the man’s face.

He flung it far, and I saw it swing wide and dive into a chimney with a puff of wild smoke.

The rat heaved a breath of life and Mr. Curtis took hold of him by the shoulders. Looking around, he said, “what am I doing up here?”

“It’s okay, this way down.” He guided him down the easiest possible way. “That’s right, one at a time there. Come on. This way. Here you go. You remember what happened?”

I came up by their side.

“I was, um, coming out of the bakery, and headed over to the watch shop when I…”

“Headed off the roof?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” He checked his watch, which was not working, and put it back in his pocket.”

He looked around.

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. Thank you.”

He turned, and with a nod, headed up the street.

“Well then,” I said.

“Well then,” he said back.

“What the heck are we up against?”

“Heck is the wrong address, my friend. I think we’re dealing with something much larger than that, and much scarier.”

He motioned up at the bakery window, where during a very busy lunch hour, roll after bun after cupcakes were being sold left and right to a happy, unsuspecting crowd.

A towering clock tower looms over a foggy Victorian cityscape. At the top, a massive eagle owl perches within the clock’s inner workings, its piercing eyes glowing in the dim light. Below, a rat detective in a waistcoat and a monocled frog stand in awe, bracing for what’s to come.

Shadow Street Chapter 3

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

Mr. Curtis munched on the bun. It was a roll flavored with sugar and cinnamon, and a very scant amount of icing kissed the top. It melted in his mouth, which was useful, as he usually liked his sticky buns filled with flies. That poor frog. He choked on me.

I turned around from where I was examining the drain and Mr. Curtis fell to his knees. “Mrs. Smith, get me a rag or something,” I said.

She ran off, her hands on her head, and I scrambled to my friend’s side. The man was on a roll. He hacked and coughed, but he couldn’t get up.

His monocle fell to the ground, but he held his top hat on.

I lifted him, and grasping him tightly around his bulbous body, I wrenched with my fist. He belched and from his throat popped something. I can’t say it was a roll. I can’t say it was an octopus either, but I could tell it was roughly golden brown, covered in what was icing or slime, take your pick, and it was spinning through the air away from us. I could tell tendrils were coming off of it, but it was moving so fast I couldn’t tell if there were three, six, or forty-seven. They were a blur until they hit the wall, and then they slowly flipped and slipped their way down to the floor.

“All right old chap?” I said, patting my friend on the back.

“Yes, yes,” said the frog, and he straightened up his jacket, shined his monocle, which was attached to his lapel with a thin chain, and placed it back in his eye.

We approached it, and looked at the flesh-colored thing, now slightly tinged with green. It squelched on the stone floor and wriggled at us.

“Oh my,” said Mr. Curtis. “What have we here?”

He leaned in and looked it over.

“What strange magic is this?” I said, taking a step back.

“I don’t know, Mr. James, but whatever it is, we have got to sort this out.”

“Indubitably.”

“Hand me that poker.”

I looked around and against the wall was a disused fireplace, with a poker beside it. It was so dark I hadn’t even seen it. I took it. The handle was covered in a fine layer of soot. I wiped it off absently, then gave it to Mr. Curtis, who reached out with it, hooking the little creature on the end of the rod.

Its tentacles closed quickly around the end and explored the poker. Mr. Curtis lifted it.

“Can you get a light?”

“Oh, yes.”

Mrs. Smith returned at that moment and gave me the wet cloth.

“Is he…”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine madam, thank you,” said Mr. Curtis. “Can I… do you have a light?” he was carefully watching the tentacles get closer and closer to his gray-green hand.

“Oh yes,” she said, quickly returning with a lantern.

We boggled at it. It recoiled from the light and crawled as far away from us as it could. Mr. Curtis kept it held in the air.

“Here, you take it for a moment,” he said.

I reached out and grasped the handle.

“Thank you,” he said, first wiping his face while the thing slithered down to grab at me.

I held the lantern up with my other hand and it recoiled again. “Come now, Mr. Curtis. Any ideas?”

“I’m working on it. Let me check something. Just a moment.”

He removed his top hat and looked inside. “Very Interesting.”

“What is that?” said Mrs. Smith.

“That’s an excellent question.”

He fished around in his hat and brought out a few other rolls he’d been saving for later.

“Just rolls. Okay.”

“Looking for a snack there?”

“No, I was wondering if it was the dark.”

He suddenly leaped on my arm, slid down it, yanked the lantern from me, and shuttered it.

“I say. You could have asked…” then I forgot everything as the tendril worked its way toward me. Mrs. Smith screamed as the light went out, then kicked Mr. Curtis for doing it.

There was light from outside, so we were not in complete darkness, but that hardly mattered. I switched hands and then flipped the poker over, holding the pointed end now as the creature explored the handle.

“Watch this,” said the frog.

“Oh no.”

“Here.’ He lit a match and held it under the creature, and frankly a little too close to my elbow, and the roll-creature fell back to the floor and scurried for the drain.

“Quick!”

I did not know what Mr. Curtis wanted me to do,  but he bounded over me, pulling his hat from his head and leap-frogging toward the drain. One of his otherwise shoe-less spats came off his foot, and he slammed his hat down on the drain, just as the creature, for lack of a better term, disappeared down it.

The other rolls Mr. Curtis had been hiding in his hat lay strewn across the floor.

“Why not these?”

“I guess they can’t all be… Mrs. Smith?”

I turned to see her slumped against the door. She was unconscious. I suppose she’d have fallen to the floor entirely if she had been one step further from the door.

“Dr. James,” see if you can revive her, could you?”

“Now you call me Doctor, eh?”

“Please, sir.” Mr. Curtis was down on the floor. He reattached his loose spat and fixed his hat while I got out my smelling salts.

I held them briefly under her nose, holding her head, and waited. After a sniff or two, she awoke with a start.

“I’ll take you both apart. Don’t cross me, you pirate fiend!” she said.

“Mrs. Smith?”

“Sorry. What did I just…”

“Don’t worry about it. Can you get up?”

“I think so.”

I helped her up and took her by the hand back to her bakery. Mr. Curtis followed us a moment later.

The place was bustling a bit.

“Oh dear, the lunch crowd is coming in, and we aren’t ready!” She fixed her apron.

“Are you…” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“We’ll take it from here.”

“We’re on the case.”

Mr. Curtis and I took a booth near a side window, and he gingerly placed a bun from his hat on the table. He stared at it, leaning deeply in to get a close look. He nudged it with a fork.

“Mr. Curtis.”

“I want to go through her stock.”

“Poking them all.”

“Maybe later. Say au revoir for us. I’ll go get us a cab. “

He stood up and pushed several rolls into his hat.

“Where are we going?”

“To see the owl.”

“The one in the…”

“Yes, now go.”

I went off and explained that we had a lead and would return shortly, then went outside to see Mr. Curtis patting the dog and hopping into the carriage.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Curtis to the dog. “Oh good, here he comes.”

I crossed the busy sidewalk and opened the carriage door. “Hello Charles, are you well?” I said to the dog.

“Very good sir,” He barked at me.

I stepped in and sat across from the bullfrog, looking backward. Almost immediately, the cab sped off, and I had to hold on. I’d forgotten how Charles was, and sometimes I think the old dog just enjoys running through the larger puddles.

We hit a bump, and I went flying from one side to the other and ended up on the floor. I got up, dusted myself off, stooping a bit, and sat back down. I don’t know how Mr. Curtis stayed calmly where he was, but I suspect it had something to do with his little sticky feet.

I brushed my waistcoat and jacket down, in time for Charles to yell from outside the carriage, “Tallyho!” and we took another sharp corner, too fast for my liking. I was upside down, looking at Mr. Curtis, looking into his hat at the rolls. He took one out and licked it inquisitively.

“Please don’t eat another one, not here,” I said.

“No, dear boy. I’m not quite that stupid.”

I waited for it.

“Though many times I am moderately stupid.”

I rested my chin on my fist.

“Sometimes doing something wonderfully dumb can yield such interesting results.”

“Just don’t eat…”

“I know, I know. Choking isn’t my favorite way to find a clue either.”

“Tallyho!”

I grabbed onto my seat, and a strap that hung above the window for this, and nothing happened. I was just about to relax when…

“Sorry, here we go,” came from Charles ahead of us.

We slashed through a magnificent puddle that caused sheets of water on both sides of the car to spray up, and the corresponding bumps in the road left me scrambling for the strap on the other side of my bench seat.

“Good grief.”

I clung to the chair. Mr. Curtis just put his hat back on.

Soon we came to a stop.

“Thank goodness.”

I turned the handle and let myself out.

Mr. Curtis bounded out.

“Dr. James, give Charlie there a coin or two.”

“Very well.” I fished in my pockets and dropped the coins into Charles’s hip pouch.

“Thank you kindly,” said the dog, and he winked at me.

The streets were quiet.

“Curtis, no one comes here.”

“I know.”

“We’re liable to get carried off.”

“He’ll see us.”

“He should eat us.”

“In a normal world, I’d say you were right.”

Before us was the city’s clock tower. It looked over everything, rang the hour faintly in the distance, and everyone knew you don’t go too close to the clock tower because the owl would surely snatch you up.

I looked up and saw it closer than I ever wanted to, through the crack of the clock’s face. It was a large triangular missing piece of stained glass.

“I never noticed that the eight was missing,” I said.

“How do you think he gets in and out then?” said Curtis.

We made our way up the stairs, into what worked as a lobby on the clock tower’s main floor.

“We are not supposed to be…”

“Come on rat. Get with it.”

I was nose-to-nose with Mr. Curtis. He rarely did this to me.

“I… uh…”

“Now come on, this way.”

He hopped ahead of me. The lobby was made of marble and gold, but the doors we came through were broken and there were leaves, dust, debris, and old newspapers everywhere. I followed him through. It certainly didn’t look like anyone used this entrance. I’d still keep my guard up, though. I wished I’d had my gun.

He pressed the elevator button with his green finger. It lit up, and while we were waiting, he took his hat off again, took out a roll, put the hat back on, and played with the roll like it was a ball, rolling it around his fingers.

The door opened, and we stepped in.

“Let’s see, what floor…”

“The top,” said the frog. “Don’t fiddle about.”

The elevator whisked us away after I pressed the button. I could feel the pit of my stomach drop and was grateful I couldn’t see outside. I closed my eyes and listened to the ding after floors went by until the doors opened and I could see everything.

The windows went all the way around this floor, and I could see the whole town, including our little nook down on Shadow Street.

I heard something clamp and rustle above me, and a single feather fell at my feet, clearly as long as I was tall.

I slowly looked up into the inner workings of the clock to see an enormous eagle owl standing above us.

I could not move.

Mr. Curtis was practically beaming.

Inside a cozy Victorian bakery, warm light reflects off golden pastries. A worried mouse baker in a flour-dusted apron gestures toward a large floor drain. A dapper rat in a waistcoat kneels to inspect it, while a monocled frog detective sips coffee, observing the scene with an amused expression.

Shadow Street Chapter 2

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

Mrs. Smith worked the bread. She pounded it out on the counter. Flour went everywhere. Out the window of her little shop, she could see the city, covered in the smoke of coal, yet the sun shined down through her windows and onto her work board. She kneaded the dough, rolling it out, and then braiding it up into perfect plaits and the oven. Donuts were down, pastries doing their magic, and cookies were lined up to go.

Younger mice scurried around and ran from corner to corner, keeping up with her in a flurry of activity. Their job, if it hits the floor, get it up. They ran around behind her, sweeping stray flour, wiping up minor spills, and eating stray globs of jam that had only moments ago gone in a blintz or spread onto a bagel.

There was a definite flurry around her.

She waved to another team, who ground coffee and brew it into large kettles for customers who were already walking by up and down the cobblestone outside.

She dropped a load of donuts while another team of field mice, all in hats and scarves, arranged the morning’s goods in the front window of the shop.

The door opened with the tinkle of a bell and a mole came in with her family on the way to school.

“Mrs. Smith, any of those fine bread sticks, the ones with the chocolate swirl in them?”

“I know you love them.”

 Mrs. Smith pulled a basket of them up from beneath the counter and handed them across as the woman and her three children took them.

“Can you give Mrs. Smith the money?” The lady said to her youngest. The young mole handed her three pieces of silver. They thanked each other, and shortly they were gone. Outside, Mrs. Smith saw a carriage go by, drawn by a Scottish terrier who was clearly in charge of the whole situation.

He poked his nose through the door.

“Hello there Theo,” she said. She threw him a loaf of bread that he ate in one bite.

“Good morning,” he said as she came out.

“You have anything for me?”

“Only the usual.”

“Come on then,” she called into the shop, and several of the younger mice came out to help take several packages off the back of the carriage.

“Flour,” she said as the first ones went by.

“Sugar, okay,” she said as the second big bag went into the shop.

“Should be one more. Here it is.” She picked up a small bag containing a bottle. “Vanilla, very good. See you, Theo.”

“Good day Mrs. Smith.”

He was away, padding down the lane, pulling his carriage. He turned a corner. Other carriages were out. Folks were coming out on the street as the sun continued to rise.

“Morning, Mrs. Smith,” said a passing fox.

“Good morning.”

She went back in.

“The donuts!”

She jumped across the counter and lifted them from the oil. They were perfectly golden brown. She set them aside to drain as she lowered a fresh bunch in.

The door jingled and two rats came in, dressed in sweaters and hats.

“Good morning,” said Mrs. Smith. She crushed a tuft of fur out of her eye.

“Hello there,” said one of them. “Hi,” said the other.

“What are you looking for this morning?”

“Danishes?” They said together.

“Cheese or cherry?”

“Cheese,” said one while the other said “cherry.” Then they switched.

“I’ll get you one of each, then.”

They nodded their heads happily while she looked through the danishes in her display case, picking the best ones.

She handed them over in a paper bag as the two rats gave her a coin each.

As they passed through the door and back out on the street, a frog, slender and young, and a turtle on two legs, came through the door.

“What can I get for you, gentlemen?” She looked up and recognized the frog. “Oh, how are you? You’ve got that party later in the day, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” said the frog. “It’s for the reception at the clock tower.”

“Right. I’ve got a box for you right over here. Hang on a second.”

They nodded to her. The frog tipped his hat with his tongue and put it back on again.

Mrs. smith left the counter. Her help was doing fine behind her. One of the mice was filling a cream-filled donut while another helped someone to coffee.

With her back turned to them, she looked over a table through several boxes already set aside for larger orders she had ready for the day. There were several birthday cakes, several boxes of assorted sweets, one box of soft pretzels, and then the box she was looking for.

“Here it is.” She opened it to confirm it had an assortment of jelly donuts in it, then she lifted it and turned to hand it to them as something green quickly slipped behind the table and out of sight.

“There you go.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

“Oh, thank you for the order, dears.”

She patted one on the shoulder and sent them on their way.

“Now, where was I?”

“We’ve got it, Mrs. Smith,” said one of her helpers. One of them took her by the hand and guided her to a table in the front window and pushed a cheese danish into her hands and then brought her a cup of coffee. She sat down and just enjoyed watching her place of work. The busy morning was always her favorite. Most of the help went home after lunch, and by the time she closed, she’d be on her own, but for now, it was nice.

Outside on the street, she could see carriages trotting down the road, driven and owned by the dogs pulling them. That’s when she remembered we were on the way.

Our carriage stopped in front of the bakery, and she could see us coming. She perked up, slurped down her coffee, and absently brushed at the flour on her apron.

Our carriage stopped and Mr. Curtis popped out of the door. He was more of a large bulbous head with little legs, and his skin was gray-green in the sun. He adjusted his monocle and his top hat.

“Dr. James, I believe we have arrived,” he said as he paid the corgi at the helm a hefty sum.

I stepped out of the carriage, stroking my mustache and squinting into a brief wind from down the street. “I believe you are correct,” I said.

“It smells fabulous,” said the bullfrog, who swept into the bakery and twirled on the spot.

“Thank you both so much for coming to see me,” said Mrs. Smith as I came through the door.

“It’s our pleasure.”

“That’s right!” said Mr. Curtis as he hit the floor. Crouched down, one eye closed, and another eye open to a bulbous extent, he eyed a crack in the cobblestone of the floor like he was looking through a microscope.

“What’s down there?” said Mrs. Smith as I rolled my eyes.

“Interesting,” said Mr. Curtis. He dug his finger into a crack in the floor and then tasted the result. “Interesting and delicious.” He stood back up, this time stretching his legs to appear taller than I am. It was a failure even with his top hat on.

“Please come and sit with me in the window.”

“Of course,” I said.

I sat at the table with her and Mr. Curtis rolled into a chair next to her. He never knew what to do with his feet, and I could see him having difficulty with whether he should be there and let them dangle or just sit on them, they weren’t long enough to reach the floor which is odd because I’ve seen how far the old boy can jump.

He eventually landed on sitting on one while letting the other one hang, but he just couldn’t figure it which one to let hang.

“Can we get you anything before you look around?”

“Oh I’m already looking around Mrs. Smith,” said Mr. Curtis, who was currently bulging his other eye out at the window, watching foxes, moles, mice, and the occasional dog or rabbit go by.

“That turtle is still trying to cross the street,” said Curtis.

“Yes, he is. Could I have tea?” I said.

“Coffee,” said Curtis. He stopped for a second and remembered himself. “Please?”

“Johnny?” she said.

A mouse ran by.

“Coffee and tea for my guests, a coffee for me, and bring the tray.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He scurried off and ran behind the counter to retrieve a wooden tray with a silver lining. He pulled an assortment of pastries from the display case, several donuts, several rolls, a couple of danishes, and a bagel. Then returning, almost fluidly from the coffee and tea stand, brought it all back to the table, along with a short stack of appetizer plates everyone could pull what they wanted onto.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Curtis, sniffing his coffee with a couple of over-sized nostrils. “I never miss a thing. Jamaican?”

“Columbian,” said Mrs. Smith.

“Quite right, yes,” said the bullfrog. While she wasn’t looking, I watched him remove his hat for a moment and store a donut and a roll in there for safekeeping.

I scowled at him, and he stuck his tongue out at me and mocked my outrage.

“Tell us more about when you first noticed something was off around here,” I said.

She coughed and sat on one paw in her chair. Mr. Curtis absently switched feet to match her.

“Well, it was about a month ago when the eclipse happened. Everyone was shielding their eyes, and the bakery was going bananas. It was so busy we didn’t get a chance to go outside to see it. We were too busy selling blintzes and rolls to do much more than see folks outside.”

“When it became dark?”

“You probably know most everyone did their best to return home like it was night or resisted their primal instinct to stay outside so they could watch the shadows on the street.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Curtis. “Shadows.”

He licked his eyeball.

“Yes, and there was this moment of calm, then as the sun came back out, kapow! There was this enormous bang.”

“Kapow…” Mr. Curtis was writing in a little notebook of his. I noticed he was using one of my favorite fountain pens in his hand.

“There was this clatter from the back by a loading dock on the back alley behind the bakery. Every night as I told you, we give away what we can’t sell. I went back there to see several boxes I had lined up sliding for a drain we have back there.”

“Can we see it?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s this way.”

She got up, and of course, I stood as quickly as I could, Mr. Curtis also following suit. I took a quick sip of my tea and put it down, while Mr. Curtis simply took his cup with him, besides nabbing another roll and following us, hiding the roll behind his back.

Mrs. Smith showed us through the bakery, past the ovens, and through to the back entrance. The stone floor was slick and made of cobblestone, closer to what was outside in the alley.

“Is this the drain?” I said, kneeling to look.

“It is.”

Mr. Curtis was looking at the ceiling while we talked, gaging when he could take a bite of the bun head behind his back.

It was a large drain, with bars far enough apart to fit my hand through. It was wet and smelled filthy, even though I could tell someone had sprayed the floor recently, probably pushing something down here.

“Curtis?” I said. “Thoughts?”

“None yet,” he said before pulling the not-so-well-hidden bun out from behind him and taking a bite like it was an apple.

In a dimly lit Victorian-style study, a dapper rat in a waistcoat and a monocled frog in a robe lean over a desk covered in scattered notes. A concerned mouse baker in a red cloak looks on. Outside the window, gas lamps cast eerie shadows over the cobblestone streets.

Shadow Street Chapter 1

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

It was quite an ordinary day on Shadow Street. The streets themselves are of cool cobblestone and dampness. Mr. Curtis and I were settling in for a long evening before the warming stove of number 356. The warmth was there, but there wasn’t much coal left. The room was dark and long and overlooked the street. Mr. Curtis and I have our rooms above, and below is a kitchen and dining room we never use, and a parlor where our assistant Mrs. Constellation kept her desk. She keeps us organized and has free rein to terrorize us whenever we are being too lazy for our own goods.

It didn’t help sometimes being what we are.

Outside, a cart rolled by, driven by a dog in a waistcoat and bowler hat. I watched as he steered it around the corner onto Main Street.

Mr. Curtis sat in the back window, smelling incensed with his spindly yet strong legs curled up under him. The waves of incense circled his bulbous frog’s face. Next to him, on his desk, was his monocle, and several fountain pens with no ink in sight.

He was in deep concentration, and I hated to disturb him, but Mrs. Constellation had no such inhibitions. She called up the stairs, “Mr. James? Mr. Curtis? It’s time for your lunch.”

Mr. Curtis snorted. Almost catatonic, smelling the sweet smoke of his vanilla-burning cone. He licked his eye, smacked his lips closed and shifted from one foot to another.

“Mr. Curtis?” I said. “Mrs. Constellation just…”

A finger pop pumped up, long and green. It was so flexible I always wondered how many knuckles he must have in there. My rat’s fingers weren’t nearly so flexible, and I wasn’t sure that I’d even gotten through to him.

“Peter?”

“Silence Dr. James,” said the frog. His face was bulbous, dark green, and covered in handsome round nodules.

I hesitated, and recoiled, checking my waistcoat for my pocket watch, and returning it to its home a moment later. Still, without the knowledge of what time it was, I laughed a little. “Quite right.”

“Just a moment.”

It was at that moment, after I took a step back, that Mrs. Constellation came bursting through the door. She was dressed in a sleek single-bodied suit with three large loops on which she was wearing a hammer, screwdriver, and a T-Square. She pushed me out of the way, a look of disgust upon her face, and kicked the old bullfrog’s chair out from under him. It was the first moment at which I realized he wasn’t wearing anything in his chair. The way he curls himself up, sometimes I miss this.

The chair went skittering out, but the frog’s head didn’t move at all. His feet just fell to the floor under him as if he’d already been standing there.

“You old bullfrog, get something on. You’re already late. And I don’t care if you are naked as a jerk or not. You will be ready for your next client!”

“My dear, I’m always ready for my next client. I don’t know what you mean,” said the old frog.

“Oh!” She slammed down a tray, that I swear she hadn’t been carrying just a moment before, of little sandwiches. They bounced, but none tumbled to the floor. She stormed from the room, yelling “five minutes!” as she stomped out.

“Peter, you really should…”

“John, it keeps her on her toes. You know I do it to keep her occupied.”

“Certainly. “

The frog whipped out a tongue and took a sandwich from the tray directly into his mouth. “Lies and mint jam. My favorite.”

“Mrs. Constellation knows you well.”

“She is adequate.”

“Come now, Mr. Curtis. Be nice.”

The frog gathered a robe to draw over his shoulders, which he tied at his front, and then slipped his feet into a pair of open-heeled woolly slippers.

“Better?”

I pointed to my eye, where my pair of spectacles lived above my twitchy nose, and closed my right eye.

“Ah yes.”

His tongue whipped out and connected with his monocle on the table. After wiping it off with a handkerchief from the pocket of his dressing gown and quickly returning it, he fitted it in front of his left eye, using the considerable brow he had to hold it in place. We could hear our assistant downstairs calmly inviting someone in the front door down on the street level below.

He turned then to face me as Mrs. Constellation knocked on the door. I hate that smile. It’s false. I’ve never found it to be genuine, but people use it anyway, so I suppose I just put up with it.

Mr. Curtis whiffled the smoke of his incense cone away and said, “Enter!”

Mrs. Constellation opened the door for a young mouse who looked younger than her years. “Your eleven-thirty, sirs.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Constellation. Please show her in,” said Mr. Curtis. He shared a scowl, light-hearted on his end and not on hers, with Mrs. Constellation, who held the door as the young mouse came into the apartment.

“Anything else, sir?” Mrs. Constellation asked of me, but Mr. Curtis answered her too quickly with a “Yes, thank you!” and a silly wave, which she also hated.

“Very well, Mrs. Smith then, gents.” She shut the door and left her in our company, but I knew better than to believe we were alone. It was always her job to keep tabs on us, keep us honest, I suppose. It wouldn’t surprise me to awaken with her sneaking through my room with her samurai sword, trying to catch me off guard.

The young mouse padded into our room, and even though I was easily twice her height, I felt inferior to her minute, yet effortless beauty.

“May I take your coat, Mrs. Smith?”

“Yes, of course, she turned her back to me and allowed her red cloak to slide from her shoulders. I placed it on the third hook by the door.

She turned in her white dress and licked her paw and cleaned the fur that had been matted beneath the cloak absently as we talked further.

On the first hook was Mr. Curtis’s green and yellow scarf and black top hat, and on the second hook was my modest coat and brown hat I kept around for excursions.

“Mrs. Smith, would you care to sit down?”

“Oh, thank you.”

I took her by the hand. I could hardly tell she was a baker as dainty as they felt to me. “You’re a baker?”

“Oh yes, the shop just down the main street is mine. It’s in the…”

“Back of the stables, I know,” said Mr. Curtis. He was behind his wing chair, more hanging off the back of it than sitting in it.

“Mr. Curtis?” I said.

He crawled over the back of the chair and slipped down into it after rolling over the top.

“Well there,” said Mrs. Smith. “That’s the way.”

“The only way,” said the frog, who also was concealing our plate of sandwiches behind him, and placed them on the little coffee table between the chairs.

I brought tea Mrs. Constellation had already sent up and waited. There was always a heedless cat-and-mouse game at this point where the client won’t clearly say what they want, and the old bullfrog already knows what she wants, anyway.

“What brings you, Mrs. Smith? I am so sorry about your husband,” said Mr. Curtis. “To what can I offer the best bread mistress this side of second street?”

“I wasn’t sure if I was in the rights coming to see you and all.”

“Too juicy a casserole, did you guess?” said the frog. “Please have a sandwich. The ones on the tray towards the top are likely more to your liking. The ones on the top were…”

“Special ordered for you,” I said. “Please tell us what you’ve seen.”

“I’ve been running the bakery now for three years, and in all that time I’ve been honing my craft.”

“Getting better, yes,” said Mr. Curtis, as he ate another fly and mint jelly with the crusts cut off.

“I worked my way through the bread, sweet doughs, raisin filled, mostly buns. I want to be the place for stopping in the afternoon for a coffee and a plum roll in the afternoon.”

I coughed and pulled my notepad out, and the pen I never gave to Mr. Curtis, because he always squirts himself in the face and then closes the note anyway when Mr. Curtis said “Yes, I frequently send Mrs. Constellation down there to get a box of rolls toward the end of the day. I like your assortments.”

He put his slippered foot up on the table for a moment, the other one under him in his wing hair. “Excuse me.” He pulled his foot from the table and back onto the floor.

“It’s the assortments I was talking about,” she said.

One of Mr. Curtis’s eyes bulged, and his left cheek bulged with air.

“I was cleaning up after closing three weeks ago about the time the carriage comes to take away the rest of the day’s buns.”

“What you don’t sell by the end of the day.” It wasn’t a question. I watched as Mr. Curtis swapped his monocle from one eye to the other. One eye bulged while the other shrank as he listened to her.

“Yes, I always have extra, and I always start with a fresh, empty kitchen at the start of each new day. I give away what I can’t sell to a boy’s school.”

“Franklin Academy, yes.”

“You know it?”

“My alma mater.”

“It is?”

“I know your bakery well, at least what comes from it.”

“So the carriage was there, and I was loading them in. I usually have five to fifteen boxes, and it hadn’t been a very busy day that day I had twelve.”

“This alone wasn’t enough to alarm you, though.”

“True.”

“The next day?”

“Seven.”

“The following week?”

“Nine.”

“Still insignificant.”

“Then it became drastic.”

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Three?”

“Two.”

“None?”

“It was three nights ago. I had, I know, twelve boxes when the carriage arrived, and when I turned to pick the first one up…”

“You saw the drain?”

“How did you know I was going to say…”

“I didn’t. Please go on,” he croaked.

“I turned and not only did I have nothing to give the carriage driver again, but I was also watching the last box go down the drain.”

“Which isn’t possible, correct?”

“It isn’t. The drain is in the floor of my back warehouse, more of a loading dock, and we never use it except to stage deliveries.”

“Yes.”

“And the drain, though a large storm drain, has a mesh closing on it that any of us could stand on and not fall through.”

“Interesting.”

“It was there, the last box, moving for the drain it couldn’t fit through, and…”

“It was gone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” said Mr. Curtis as he stood up. “I’m happy to take your case.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am,” said the frog. “All the standard fees apply. I’m looking forward to every moment, and you my dear, have plenty to do as well.”

“I do?”

“Of course you do. John?”

I stood up out of habit, not used to the old bullfrog using my Christian name, and she followed suit, without realizing it.

He bounded to the door in two hops, one foot stuck to the doorknob, and he pulled it to call down the stairs. “Mrs. Constellation, we’ll take the case!”

“We will?” she said, crawling up the stairs.

“Of course, we will.” He popped on his hat and flipped his scarf behind his head.

“But what are your rates?”

“Oh, the usual, the usual. Not to worry. Mrs. Constellation?”

“Come with me dear,” said Mrs. Constellation.

“Tomorrow, have an additional couple of boxes handy at the end of the shift. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Okay, Mrs. Smith?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me,” said Mrs. Constellation, who led her toward the stairs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Smith. Goodbye!”

Mrs. Constellation shut the door. Curtis and I could hear them mumbling down the stairs.

“The case of the sneaky donuts! Tally-ho!”

I just put away my pen, rolled my eyes, and went along with it.

Standard-Issue Partner, Chapter 10

Standard-Issue Partner
Neon lights flicker,
Machines replace flesh and bone,
Trust must still be earned.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Standard-Issue Partner.

Flint turned to the controls of his pod and settled in. He could see the Earth ahead of him, it’s blue oceans filling his field of view. He could see part of Europe and part of North America. He wondered what it might have been like to live before the meteor impact that had taken out so much of the world. He could see, across the face of what used to be the United States, a huge crater that was all lit up like it was a grand experiment of some kind. He watched as the night side came up and the entire central city was illuminated like a great disc, made of a thousand lights. He watched it for a while. He knew the stories of the great asteroid that had almost destroyed humanity and culture on this tiny little planet, but several asteroids had hit at once. It was only for the digital age that humanity had survived. They still had all the records of mankind’s achievements, so there was no real knowledge lost.

It was a grand catastrophe. Once everything had settled they began to rebuild the cities, but the richest, most fertile land was always in the middle of the craters that had scattered across the continents, and the outlying regions were wastelands where nothing would grow.

It seemed oddly peaceful from up here, all alone in the vacuum of space.

Flint nudged one of the controls on his tiny space vessel. It increased the speed by ten percent, but you couldn’t tell the difference by just eyeballing anything.

He settled back and adjusted his chair. It would be a long way home, especially without anything to read or do. He adjusted his chair, and pulled a pillow from an extra compartment to his left, and closed his eyes.

The silent stream of air from the tanks, and a quick check to determine that there was enough satisfied him, and he allowed his eyes to close again, and drift off, listening to the intake valves and the air conditioning. Otherwise, all was totally quiet.

When he awoke the ship was rocking this way and that and he seemed to be upside down. He looked ahead of him, and his field of vision was filled with blue ocean water. A fish flitted past the window, and then suddenly he could see the sky. He had flipped over again. In his view, he could see a magnetic crane that seemed to be pulling his entire escape pod from the water, and powerlifting him up onto the deck of a large boat.

It dropped him on the deck with a clunk, and the pod began to roll over and over as it headed for the edge. It slowed to a stop, and Flint could hear a large number of people all around him. They popped off the explosive bolts on the hatchway, and let Flint out.

“Sir, are you all right?”

Flint nodded to them and made his way over to the bridge of the vessel. A guard let him through, and waiting for him, inside the warmth of the small command center was the Chief.

Flint raised his eyebrows and greeted the Chief.

“Glad to have you back Flint.”

“Glad to be back. Is there a flight off of this ship?”

“We’ll be on our way in just a moment. Flint?”

“I got them.”

“And Roman?”

“Dead. I tried to save him.”

“We’re beginning to take another plan of attack on the robots Flint, you may have been right. I don’t think we can use them as partners anymore.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Simon’s been a great help. I think there’s room enough for all, let’s just not restrict all partners to human/robot status. There’s got to be a mix.”

“You may be right.”

“Let’s get off this can, and back to the city. I want to see that Simon is properly restored, and get on with my life here.”

“There’s one more thing before we can go back.”

“What?”

The chief turned to the door and called for her.

Dianne came bounding in, she looked a mess. She took Flint by the arms and hugged him, and kissed him.

“How can I tell you are real?”

“How can I tell you are either?” She smacked him on the head and kissed him again. Eyes were closed and satisfaction granted.

They returned to the city center, and Flint to the police tower. Simon was sitting up and seemed to be in a good mood.

“When are they going to let you out of here?”

Simon sat up. “I can go as soon as I’m ready.”

There were monitors stationed around the room that were noting the progress of Simon’s refurbishment. They all said one hundred percent complete.

“What happened to Roman?”

“Died.”

“Pity, I was hoping to give him one more chomp for the last time.”

“I know.”

They poured over reconnaissance photos of the moon base where Roman was planning the outward expansion of the human race through robotics.

“So it was all about getting off the planet,” said Simon.

“Do you think there’s any life out there?”

“No.”

“I don’t know. There should be. Do you think we’ll ever find it?”

“No.”

They reported to the Chief, fresh for the next day, but everything had taken on a glazed look as if someone had put a fuzzy cloud over their world.

Simon got the drinks this time. He brought Simon what was basically a drink cup full of gasoline, oil, and other chemicals he needed to keep his body strong, though it looked like perfectly normal lemonade. They laughed over their lunch, Simon slurping down the strange concoction, and Flint choking down a sandwich.

Something beeped.

Flint checked his pocket.

“It’s the chief.”

Simon nodded, and they made their way from the little courtyard up to the Chief’s office. The chief flicked on a video display.

“We noticed here last night after you were rescued, that there was a serious amount of activity in this part of the city. I thought you’d like the first crack at it.”

“We’ll take it, sir,” said Simon.”

“Good to hear.”

“Sir?” asked Flint.

“Yes?”

“About Dianne.”

“For another time.”

Flint and Simon stepped into their car and buzzed over to that side of the city, and notice right off that several of the buildings had been knocked down.

He parked it on the side of the building and set it so that he and Simon could watch. He turned on the sensors and turned on the video displays so that they could get the best possible angle.

Below them, robots were steadily working. There were new robots, and old models, working together. They seemed to be building something, but it was unclear what.

Much of whatever it was was under wraps, and it looked as if much of the day’s activity was already over. Storm clouds hung in the sky, and it began to rain. Positioned as he was, the rain was falling in sheets all the way around them. It was next to impossible to see anything, save for what was coming in on the monitors. They shout out several tiny robotic spy cameras and sent them to get a better look at the object.

The little camera bots whizzed around through the rain, which really just returned a rain-soaked sky for an image, and then they were under it, poking holes in the covered mass’s cover, and slipping inside.

“Damn! There he is!”

The monitors had picked up Roman again.

“Thermal imaging says it’s the real Roman,” said Simon.

“Not possible. He was destroyed on the moon.”

“There he is though.”

“Check a bio-scan on him. I want to check for any kind of abnormality.”

“Like a mechanical hand?”

“Like anything.”

Simon performed the check and looked up.

“What?”

Simon shook his head.

“Come on, what?”

“It’s the age.”

“How is that a problem?”

“He’s only six.”

“But he’s full-grown already!”

“That means…”

Flint shook his head. “Cloners.”

“Yep. Cloners.”

“Christ.”

“We can’t blow them apart.”

“I wonder what they want.”

“Look there’s three or four more of them.”

“And one of me.”

“What?”

“Look.”

One the screen, next to three of the Romans was a clear Flint clone looking around, and calmly taking orders.

“In no way, shape or form is this okay.”

“They’ll get us from the inside out.”

“Never a worse way to go.”

“We have to take them out, to stop them in their tracks.”

“I know.”

“How are we going to get down there?”

“We’re going to walk right in.”

“Walk in, are you crazy?”

“Nope. it’s the easiest way.”

They lowered the air car and piloted it out into the rain. Water splashed all around them and forced them to fly by their instruments. They sailed down in the nasty weather and landed the a few alleys away.

“I hope this works,” said Simon.

“It’s better than going in stolen uniforms.”

They made their way into the tent and worked their way into the crowd.

Roman stood at the head of the group, a group of about a thousand combined robots, humans, and clones. He tapped on the microphone.

“Gentlemen, ladies, I welcome you all. We’ve had a minor setback and in the interests of time, I am assured that we will all make a hasty journey to the moon this go around. Seeking only friendship and peace with the rest of our kind, I am sure that this will be something we can all share and enjoy.”

He rifled through papers on his podium.

“We have had a minor setback, in that the first expedition has failed to make it to the landing site, but I can assure you that the next one will not fail. I am here to uncover and dedicate the second chance. It’s a rocket ship designed to make it to the moon. From there we will be able to get on with the business of getting on into the galaxy and out into the stars.”

He checked his notes again.

“It is for this momentous occasion that I will pull the ceremonial veil away to show you the craft of the future.”

He raised his arms, and Flint could see the sheer size of the thing. Behind Roman, it must be taking up an entire office block. A grand gray curtain fell across it, and there was a single tassel, which seemed to be connected to a series of pulleys and other knots. Roman pulled at the tassel, and the curtain fell away. A gigantic craft appeared in the moonlight, covered in the falling rain. It stood a hundred feet tall, and gleaming white. It was covered in guns.

“The thing is,” said Roman, we could never make the thing fly, so it’s time to take this city down!”

Every porthole on the ship opened, and every missile bay slid aside, and Flint and Simon pointed their grapple guns to the middle of the ship, to a port that looked highly accessible and shot into the sky. They slung forward through the rain, and landed on the ship, quickly ducking inside. The rain was pouring outside, and the people, robot or not were starting to riot. They flung themselves forward into the throngs as what was left of the ship above them began to swivel and teeter as it raised and lowered its guns and missiles around, targeting all the buildings around them.

The ship was massive, the size of a skyscraper, and yet the people below didn’t seem to know what to do.

Roman stormed into the craft and started climbing up.

Flint and Simon were already planting charges. Flint would toss them to Simon, and Simon to Flint and they clinked them onto the walls as they made their way down into the ship toward the street.

Dianne burst through the door.

Simon scanned her.

“Flint!” she said.

“Simon?” said Flint.

“Robot,” said Simon.

Flint and Simon took turns and shot her with an electrical device that stunned her and dropped her to the ground.

Another gang came in, and started trying to pull the charges off the wall. One of them peeled a charge from the wall and it just went off. The explosion blew a hole through the side of the building and the remains of that squad shot out in a spurt of flame.

Flint and Simon continued, making their way down into the ship, which was beginning to swivel and turn, and fire at the buildings around it. One of the buildings took a hit and toppled to the ground.

Flint slid down a passageway set of stairs that had been built for sliding. They were steep. He held the handrails in his hands and slid down. Simon took a jump and landed next to him.

They pulled their pistols and found themselves in a room devoted to the bashing of the other buildings. Several major cannons were set up in here and manned by robots. They were currently pounding on the buildings around them.

Flint and Simon started with the pistols, cutting the heads off of the robots who were doing the shooting.

They fell to the floor, but the cannons didn’t do anything to stop. They kept firing on automatic. Flint and Simon began spreading the charges around in here, sticking them to everything that they could think of. A few well-placed laser shots, and the machines began to fire on themselves.

Flint and Simon took the ladder down. It was only a moment of time before the whole place went up, as many charges as they have dropped. Above them, they could hear the explosions as the first started to go off on their own.

They landed, and before them it was cold. Their breath stood out before them, even though Simon was now simulated. They looked around. The explosions and fire were about to take the whole place down around them.

“There!” said Simon.

“What?”

“The door.”

Before them was a great steel door that looked like it went back into the buildings beyond. Flint took his remote and detonated all the remaining charges. The ship went up and exploded in a fireball. It crumpled to the ground and sent everyone who could still move screaming.

They pushed open the steel door and behind it lay the cold room. Everything in it was ice blue and totally frozen. There were honeycombs in the walls where it looked like clones were in the process of being developed. They all had Roman’s face.

In the center of the mass was a table, the only thing in the room which seemed to be warmed in any way, and sitting on it, was the crumpled form of Roman. Except he wasn’t the Roman they all knew. He was old. The oldest person that Flint had ever seen.

Was he three hundred, possibly four hundred?

It was little more than a shriveled mass of flesh. The face was right, the smile, certainly the teeth, but the rest was nothing more than the goo of oozing flesh.

It coughed.

Flint and Simon splayed flashlights out upon it and looked him up and down.

The figure coughed again and spat, but it didn’t make it very far. The puss just oozed off and dribbled down the corner of his mouth. It held a cigarette to its mouth and pulled on it. It looked like it could barely move its legs. The feet looked tiny and shrunken. The eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. They were very white in comparison to the rest of the body, the skin, which was all a gray powder color that seemed to fill the very air with the soot of tobacco all by itself.

“Well?” it said.

“Roman?”

“You guessed it.”

“But I, I mean we…”

“I know, You’ve been chasing my clones all over this continent and out into space, and never realized you were dealing with clones, and not just androids.”

They sat at the creeping thing’s side.

“True. We couldn’t let anyone abuse the android system like that.”

“I totally agree, which is why we almost slipped the cloning bit passed you.”

The ancient Roman coughed, again, and held the cigarette to its mouth.

“We’re going to have to take you in, I hope you know that.”

“Yes, yes, your civic duty. I know. I used to be a cop myself, of course, that was in a different time, before the asteroids.”

“You were alive before the asteroids?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

The old Roman reached out and smacked Flint. It was not the best feeling in the world. It was much like being slapped with an old banana peel.

Flint pulled back and looked around.

“You’re not going to take me though.”

Simon perked up at that. “We’re not, are we?”

“No, you see. I think my clones will have something to say about that.”

The clone chambers began to open, and the contents started to ooze out and hit the floor. They all looked like lean and mean adult versions of Roman. They popped their knuckles, and their necks, and leaned in to do some real pounding while the table on which the older Roman was sitting began to slowly lower itself into the floor.

“You take these clones, I’m going after laughing boy there,” said Flint.

Simon nodded and began to shoot the clones. His laser cut through them almost too easily.

Flint leaped over the clones that remained, using his grapple and landed right on the platform lowering into the floor.

“Hey!” cried the older Roman.

“Hey, nothing!” Flint put his fist through the old man’s face, and pulled the unconscious form up and hoisted it into the room. He carried it over to Simon, who had just finished off the last of the clones.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Together they took the elder Roman up and out of the remains of the ship, which was currently on fire and in the process of being dowsed by the local firemen, who hovered in their fire trucks near the scene.

They took the air car and delivered the limp body of Roman to the police.

An hour later they convened near the same cell they had the other Roman in earlier. The elder Roman sat in the cell, smoking, and coughing. On the other side of the glass stood the chief, and Flint and Simon.

“I was a cop once,” said Roman.

They sat down and listened to him.

“I was once a cop when this was the land of plenty before the asteroids came. It was a long time ago.”

“How old are you?” asked Flint.

“I am over five hundred years old. Of course, the records are not that clear during the aftermath of the asteroids. We were not very careful at that time. It was all about survival at that point, wasn’t it?”

Simon stepped forward. “What was it like before the asteroids?”

“It’s actually pretty hard to remember these days. None of it really comes to very much. I think it was hardest to see the differences because everything is so vertical now. Back then everything was about stretching out and getting to the next frontier. Now we’ve built skyscrapers that almost touch space, but we can’t spread out, there are just these few pockets of land here and there that are useful. Ironic that it’s just the areas where the asteroids hit that are habitable, of course, it’s really not that bad around outside these big cities nowadays. It’s evening out nice. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to expand again and get everything you need from this planet, but it doesn’t change the fact that we should be exploring, and exploring right. There shouldn’t be a planet or a moon in this solar system that hasn’t been explored. There is life out there you know.”

The chief responded, “He’s right, we just never looked.”

“Yes, life, and it’s a strange lot to find.”

“Have you seen it?” asked Flint.

“No, but I’ve felt it. Felt it coming. And it’s not far off.”

He coughed again.

“Not long now. Not long before they come.”

He breathed. It was a raspy sort of a thing.

“Not long.”

He died.

They were out in the air car. It was a normal day, by all standards that were normal. The sun was shining, the city was starting to escape its borders a little bit, and the buildings were as clean and streak-free as they could be. Simon and Flint surveyed in the landscape.

“What do you think?” asked Flint.

“About the old guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s pretty slim Pickens out there. I think that there’s got to be life, but what is life anyway, I mean look at me, I’m a robot aren’t I?”

“I know, but I mean what about other planets, other solar systems, other worlds, do you think all of that exists?”

“Sure, but I think that if there is life out there in the galaxy, it’s likely not to be half as weird as we are.”

“I suppose that could be true.”

“It’s getting cold.”

“But it’s still sunny.”

“I know, that’s the strangest part about it.”

Somewhere in the sky Alib looked to Bilbnib as they were enjoying a nice spot of fresh parsip , and looked over their controls. It had been a dirty night, and they had been trudging through the stars for years at this point. They were beginning to wonder what the point of it all was when a blip came across their tracker.

“What’s this?” asked Alib. He stroked his many fingered hands and put down his cup of parsip with his second off-hand.

“I’m not sure.”

“Could it be life?”

“Intelligent life?”

“We’ve seen life before.”

“It’s probably just another world of polar bears again.”

“True, that seems to be the norm in this part of space.”

“Is it worth checking?”

“Anything is worth checking.”

They flitted by, and zoomed by the Earth, sliding through the atmosphere, and down over the cities. They glided over and through the central city.

Not a creature on the Earth could see them. Their ship, perfectly cloaked, swung low and managed to scrape the surface of the earth, gathering data as it went, It took a profile of the creatures of the Earth. It cataloged everything it could find. Every flora and fauna the world had available was scanned, tested, theorized about and dropped back into place.

Bilbnib sighed and checked the earth off of his list. He was disappointed to be sure, but that was no real reason to fret. He was sure that given a few thousand more years the humans might have a chance.

“Then again, there’s still hope for the polar bears down there,” said Alib.

Bilbnib broke his pencil and tossed it across the room.

Simon and Flint lowered the air car down to the frozen tundra, near a group of polar bears. Simon wasn’t concerned, but Flint was wearing a massive blue parka and looking out onto the tundra with his binoculars.

“Simon, you have that scan done?”

“Yeah, there’s about fifteen of them in this group.”

“And you think there’s something out there?”

“It was on the scanners. I think we’re looking for something really special.”

Flint looked around. The snow stretched as far as he could see.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s out there.”

They watched the field as the polar bears moved around in the sun. One of them turned over on its back and rolled over. It basked in the sun, and searched the skies, rubbing its back on the snow and ice beneath it.

The ice cracked.

The polar bear turned up and scurried off, as much as one of those critters can get away with, and below it, in the ice, Flint could see it.

“There it is.”

Under the ice, a shape began to appear. At first, it was just a shadow, and then as the ice around it began to melt and crack. A moment or two later, and the shadow grew to a towering pillar of ice and mangled metal. It blew the ground away, sending shards of ice and snow in all directions.

With a subtle shift in the surface of the Earth, the tower began to glow a soft blue, and at its base was a door.

Flint and Simon hiked down to the base of the tower. At the tower’s base, there stood a great door adorned with faces of every kind, style, and predisposition. Some of the faces were filled with teeth, others were adorned with several eyes. Others were covered in fur or scales.

Simon reached out to touch one of the faces.

Flint grabbed his hand and pulled it back.

Simon looked over the faces and examined them.

Flint took a step forward, and the doors slid open.

They both took a step back.

Inside it was dark.

Flint held a communicator to his ear. “We’re going in.”

They stepped through the door and the tower closed behind them.