Tempus Fugitive (22 page)

‘Very odd,’ agreed Tamar. She was thinking, at the same time, that she had just found out, in ten seconds, more about Denny than he had told her in two years.  ‘Does that mean he’s dead?’

‘Thinking.’  And this time Tamar could have sworn she heard a slight whirring sound.  ‘No record of death – Denis Sanger has fallen out of the matrix – he could be in one of the archives – checking …  Ah here it is. Not an archive exactly.  Denis Sanger is in Hell.’

‘Oh, well, that’s okay then.’  This news was surprising, but not too worrying.  If anybody could get out of Hell, it was Denny; at least he had the Athame.  He was probably slicing demons into mince at this very moment, probably having a whale of a time. 

A nasty thought occurred.  ‘And you’re
sure
he’s not dead?’ 

‘Positive.’

‘Thank God.’

‘You’re welcome.  Can I help you with anything else?’

‘Actually
…’    

* * *

The boatman was stunned.  ‘Take him
back
?  You’ve got to be kidding.  Nobody goes back.  Unless you count Hercules – young Trevor as his Dad called him –  of course, back and forth like a bloody fiddlers elbow that one, but …’ He stopped. 

The imp was nodding.  ‘Charon, just take him, okay?’ 

Charon shook his head.  ‘
Him
,  really?  Well Heroes aren’t what they used to be, an’ that’s the truth. They used to be taller.  Well, get aboard young feller, got any money?’

‘Um.’

‘Huh, you are a typical hero after all,’ he said. ‘They never pay their way.  Oh well, let’s go, I haven’t got an eternity you know.’  He chuckled hoarsely.

‘By the way,’ he added,  ‘you might want to lose the horns if you’re going topside, might make you stand out a bit, if you see what I mean.’

* * *

The cloud vanished; then two things happened.  First, Tamar expected to find herself hurtling through the air, and second, this did not happen, she was once again standing on nothing.  ‘God?’ she tried, experimentally. Silence.  Not even the whirring sound of “thinking”. 

She tried ‘Oh shit.’  But no reprimand was forthcoming.

‘Help,’ this was a formulaic response, she did not really expect any help, naturally.  I mean, since when did a computer help anyone, even under normal circumstances?

She sat down on empty air and began to worry.  There were two possible explanations for this turn of events, and neither of them was encouraging, and both meant that she was in serious trouble.  It could be A, a computer meltdown, which meant that, sooner or later, someone would fix it, and she would get out just in time to answer a lot of awkward questions about what she was doing in here in the first place.  Still, there was probably plenty of time to think up something.  She expected it would take between a millennium and an eternity before the engineers were called, a bit like being trapped in a lift in a multi-storey car-park.

Explanation B, was, of course, that she had been caught, and was being held for questioning.  This was slightly less worrying, at least someone would be along shortly, and she had been in worse jams.  Still it was kind of eerie in here; she wondered uneasily if she would begin to run out of air, but that was silly, she was mere data in a file. She did not need air.  This argument, however, was not persuasive, and she began to feel panicky.

 ‘Mind over matter, mind over matter,’  she told herself,  ‘it’s actually quite nice in here, the peace and quiet, the sunshine …’  Then, in the grand tradition of broken lifts everywhere, the lights went out.                

* * *

‘Gone?’ Hecaté was understandably perplexed.

‘Yes gone,’ said Stiles. There were only so many ways of saying it.

‘And, and please do not take this the wrong way, I have every faith in your abilities, but you are certain that …’

‘No, I’m not bloody certain,’ he snapped, ‘maybe they were watching a mime who submitted to spontaneous combustion, but I doubt it.’

Hecaté nodded gravely. ‘As do I,’ she said. Although intelligent in many ways –  preternaturally so, in fact, Hecaté was unable to grasp sarcasm, possibly because under normal circumstances sarcasm is not used on gods.  Grovelling, in fact, is the accepted manner of addressing a deity if you want to keep all your extremities intact and where they are supposed to be.

Stiles let it go.  He should not have let his temper get the better of him, if he was not so tired and worried … but it was not her fault.  And even if his normal way of dealing with worry and stress, learned from his days on the force, was to spread it around, it was different with her, she was … special.  And she never lost her temper even when he was being irritable or just downright obnoxious; she never complained – well hardly ever – she just put up with him, and apparently loved him.  It worried him sometimes – what did he ever do to deserve it?  He glanced at her there was a slight frown on her face, she looked worried too.  A pang of remorse went through him.

She caught him looking at her and gave a wan smile.  ‘Do not worry,’ she told him, ‘we will solve this.’
she
was trying to comfort
him
. It was unbearable.

‘We will.’ It was a statement, made with an absolute confidence and certainty that he did not really feel.  But it convinced her; her brow cleared.  This time the smile was genuine.

‘I really must try harder,’ he thought, ‘not to be such a grouchy bastard.’

‘We should go back to the – how would you put it?  – “The scene of the crime”,’ she said.

He grinned.

‘Maybe I can pick something up,’ she continued.  ‘Although …’ she glanced at the screen, uncertainly.  ‘Maybe I should not leave my post.’

‘It won’t take us long,’ said Stiles.  ‘I really think we should go.  I have a feeling this is important, we need to find this guy.’

‘Or at least look for him,’ said Hecaté with a gentle smile.

* * *

Tamar was getting worried. She did not know how long she had been sat in the dark but at least, in a way, it was less unnerving than the light. This way you could not see that you were sitting on absolutely nothing. 

A nasty thought occurred to her. ‘I’ve been in this situation before; I’m being deleted! Maybe I’m just going to be left here forever.’

 Suddenly the light came on, and she found that she was sitting on the cloud again.  ‘Here we go,’ she muttered.  A shaft of sunlight hit her square in the eye.  ‘We have ways of making you talk,’ she thought.  There was utter silence.  ‘Psyching me out?’ she wondered. 

Then she heard the voice.  ‘File update complete – what’s so funny about that?’  For Tamar was laughing hysterically in her relief. 

Eventually she recovered herself. ‘God?’ she asked.

‘Yes?’ there was a definite hint of petulance in the voice this time.

‘Where is Denis Sanger? I mean, current location of …’

‘He is on the River Styx’

‘Coming or going?’

‘Going. Anything else?’

‘Oh good – I mean yes. Can you help me to find a person called Askphrit?  Well not so much a person …’

Before she had finished the sentence, she found herself in a dark street with the rain lashing down on her.  Just ahead of her was a shuffling figure, head down, shoulders drawn in against the rain and cold. The figure seemed vaguely familiar.  ‘It
can’t
be!’

She followed him anyway.

As she looked around she tried to estimate the year and location.  There were street lights and neon signs, so obviously the 20th century or later.  There were cars on the road, but they were going by too fast for her to be able to see them, and anyway identifying cars was not her strong suit.  Denny would have come in handy right now.  She pushed the thought aside and continued to follow the tramp-like figure that, unlikely as it seemed,
had
to be Askphrit.  They rounded a corner, and she realised where she was.  So, what the hell was he doing in Denver?  What was the old villain up to?

He turned into an alley and sat down, pulled a few sacks over him and pulled out a bottle from which he took a long draught.  Then light dawned.

* * *

‘Okay, let’s get some answers, let’s go find this guy.’  Stiles looked grim. 

‘Or at least look for him,’

‘There’s really no need,’ the voice came from behind them. 

‘Looking for me?’ the man said, as they turned to face him.  ‘How nice, but as you can see, I’ve found my own way here.  Do you think you could help me out?’

Stiles and Hecaté looked at each other in shock.  Stiles was the first to recover.

‘What the hell are
you
doing here?’

* * *

Denny emerged into sunlight, in what appeared to be New York. One of the seven entrances to hell, Charon informed him. He was not surprised. 

‘This is the one closest to home for you,’ said Charon, (Denny did not believe it for a second) ‘We aim to please.  Come back soon.’ 

Denny did not bother to answer. He sat down on a handy step and breathed in deeply.  ‘Well, change my shorts,’ he said.

After a while, he stood up; the world was frozen around him, no chance of teleporting home, unless … maybe there was someone who could help.  He started to walk.

~ Chapter Fifteen ~

D
enny had to break in, of course.  They would obviously be in no condition to answer the door, being frozen in time, like the rest of the world.  It was only when he thought of this that he realised that he had no idea how to unfreeze them. 

Cindy was in front of a mirror evidently applying lipstick (so- no surprises there) and Eugene was watching TV.  Well at least they were both home (and not doing anything revolting).  Thank God they had relocated to New York, it had taken him two hours (except it had not – it had just
felt
like it had) to get here on foot, imagine if they had still been in London.  On the other hand, what frigging use were they as statues?  As he pondered this he fingered the Athame, strange to tell, he had forgotten all about it.  Of course!  ‘I wish I knew how to unfreeze them.’  And he did.

It was so simple really, all he had to do was move them, and this was not as easy as it sounds.  Moving someone who is frozen in time is comparable to pulling someone out of a black hole, except gravity is a puling infant compared to time when it comes to holding something down.  If he had not had demonic strength – literally – courtesy of the Athame, he would never have managed it.

‘Bloody hell,’ he gasped, collapsing on the floor with Cindy gazing down at him perplexedly. He had started with her on the assumption that as, the lighter of the two, she would be the easier to move.  He had not bargained on being so exhausted afterwards that, even with her help, he did not think he would have the strength to move Eugene.  Then again, he had time to recover while he explained the situation to her, he had nothing but time when you came to think about it.

* * *

 Cindy, being a witch, grasped the situation easily, but said she could not think of a way to help him really.  ‘We could fly of course,’ she said. ‘But without the use of the astral plane it would be pretty hard going.  On the other hand, we can take our time I suppose.’

‘We?’

‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘
We
. Now help me move this big lump, we can’t leave him behind.’

Flying, thought Denny sourly, I could have come up with that on my own if I’d had half a brain, I needn’t have bothered these two.  Denny did not particularly like Cindy, and wondered how he was going to put up with at least three days – or the equivalent at least – of her company.

* * *

‘Second star to the right and straight on till morning.’  Denny had now heard this particular “joke” at least six hundred times since they had set off two days ago.  ‘It wasn’t even funny the first time, how
does
he put up with her?’

He floated on his back above the clouds, leaving Eugene – in the form of an eagle – to navigate.  This way he did not actually have to spend much time with Cindy – Eugene he could just about tolerate, under normal circumstances.  But at the moment, any company was unwelcome; he wanted to be alone to fret.  

Cindy appeared beside him; he forced himself to smile.

‘Don’t grimace at me like that,’ she told him.  ‘I know you don’t like me, you don’t have to pretend.’ 

Denny scowled. ‘It’s not that,’ he lied.  ‘It’s just that I’ve got a lot on my mind at the moment, it makes me moody; don’t take any notice of me.’

Cindy nodded.  ‘Fair enough,’ she said.  ‘Except I
am
a witch you know – perhaps I’m not a very good one, but I did pick up on your desire to rip out my tongue.’

‘Oh – well, look it doesn’t mean …’

‘Listen, I
could
care less,’ she interrupted him.  ‘But only if I were dead.’

Denny grinned.  ‘That was quite funny,’ he told her.

‘Yes well, I do have my moments you know, but you have to keep it simple around Eugene – he’s a lovely bloke, but he has the sense of humour of Homer Simpson’

Denny actually laughed.  Then he looked thoughtful.  ‘I think I may have under-estimated you.’ he pinched his fingers together, ‘just a little bit – maybe.’

‘Like I said, I don’t care.  Well –,’ she mimicked his previous action, ‘maybe a little bit.’  They both laughed. 

‘The thing is,’ she continued.  ‘We have a problem here. I just want to help out if I can.  So we have to at least try to get along, do you agree?’

‘What do you think you can do?’ he asked.  ‘I mean, really?’

‘I don’t know yet, but you never know.  Anyway,
you
came to
me
, didn’t you?  You must have thought I’d be
some
use.’

Denny nodded.  ‘Okay, I’ll try,’ he said.  ‘I’m just so worried about her.’

‘Me too.’

‘Well, I’ll try not to take it out on you.  Good enough?’

‘She’ll be okay you know.  If anyone can take care of herself …’

‘I know, I know.’

Eugene appeared on the horizon.  ‘Need a course correction,’ he said, turning right. ‘This way, wheee!  Second star to …’