The Day Before Tomorrow (20 page)

It turned out that the dwarfs did not really think that Tamar was actually Snow White, except in a sort of generic, beautiful but bossy human female, way.  It emerged during the conversation that followed that all dwarfs are brought up hearing the story of Snow White as a cautionary tale, much as humans tell the story of Hansel and Gretel to their children.  Thus the dwarf who had yelled ‘Snow White sw’elp us,’ had done so, in much the same spirit as a human might cry out ‘Dragon!’

But once they had ascertained to their satisfaction that she had no desire to set them up in a nice little cottage somewhere and force them to clean behind their ears and comb the rats nests out of their beards, they were quite amiable. 

‘This is Droopy,’ said the dwarf who had yelled “stop!”, and who had obviously been appointed spokesdwarf. ‘And this is Mufti, Tufty and Lofty, ’cause he’s the smallest.  Rusty, Dusty and Crusty.  And over there, that’s Dinky, Stinky, Minky and Manky.  They’re brothers.  And Giblet and Dribbler ’

Tamar nodded in a bemused fashion. 

‘And over here, we have Stroppy, Loopy, Itchy, Sleazy, Toerag, Dozy and Sid.

‘Sid?’ said Stiles. 

Sid hung his head. 

‘We don’t talk about it said the spokesdwarf confidentially.  ‘Poor chap; it’s not his fault.  His mother was a bit strange.  ’Tis true tis not a proper name for a dwarf, but he’s a good lad all the same.’  He leaned forward, ‘that’s not the worst of it,’ he whispered.  ‘His brother is called Graham.’ 

Tamar tried to look suitably shocked and commiserate. 

‘And what’s your name?’ said Tamar, keeping an admirably straight face, Stiles thought.  He himself was dying to stuff his fists into his mouth, to keep from laughing. 

The spokesdwarf drew himself up to his full height.  (4’3”) and puffed his chest out with considerable pride.  ‘I am Florid Underdrawers,’ he declared.  He looked expectantly at them.  ‘Oh well,’ he said to their uncomprehending faces, as he deflated a little. ‘Such is fame, I suppose.’  

‘So what are you all doing here?’ asked Stiles. 

‘Well, we were digging up from Heaven …’ began Florid. 

‘
Up
from Heaven?’ interrupted Stiles. 

Tamar dug him in the ribs: ‘To dwarfs, Heaven is below,’ she told him. 

‘Yeah,’ said Florid.  ‘Where are we anyway?’ 

‘Hell,’ Stiles told him. 

‘There,’ said Florid crossly.  ‘Didn’t I tell you, we’d come the wrong way.’

‘Well, you couldn’t have done any better,’ snapped the dwarf that Stiles recognized as Stroppy. 

‘I could indeed,’ argued Florid.  ‘Anybody could, I don’t know! I thought dwarfs were supposed to have a good sense of direction, especially underground.’ 

‘Are you impugning me?’ demanded Stroppy.

Florid hesitated, he was not sure, Stiles thought, what this meant.  But he said “Yes” eventually, apparently on the basis that it was some kind of insult, and an insult, during a row, is seldom out of place. 

‘Do you even know what impugning means?’ said Stroppy.  Who had not failed to notice Florid’s hesitation. 

‘Of course I do,’ screamed Florid.  ‘It means – to impugn, ha.

‘Our great leader, gentlemen,’ said Stroppy sarcastically. 

The two dwarfs were bristling and weighing their axes ominously.  There was every sign that the fight was about to get underway again, when Stiles interposed smoothly to save Florid’s face. 

‘What
does
it mean?’ he asked Stroppy.  He was taking a gamble here, but not much of one really.  Some words are difficult to define, even though you may know what they mean.  He was rewarded by a baffled look coming over Stroppy’s countenance as he struggled with this unexpected development.  ‘It means er …well obviously it means…’

‘Okay, said Stiles, forestalling Florid from expressing an untimely display of tactless glee.  ‘You never did get around to telling us where you were trying to get to.’

‘Earth, obviously,’ said Florid.  ‘Where else?’ 

Tamar and Stiles looked at each other.  ‘We want to get there too,’ said Tamar. 

The dwarfs now exchanged glances, which clearly said.  ‘Well of course you do, doesn’t everybody?’  

‘We have a map,’ said the dwarf previously introduced as Mufti, helpfully. 

‘Just don’t let Stroppy have it,’ muttered Florid under his breath, ‘and we should be okay.’

‘I heard that,’ said Stroppy, threatening to take right off again.

 ‘Why don’t you give me the map?’ said Tamar, sparking off a series of mutterings in which the words ‘Bloomin’ Snow White’ were clearly heard once or twice.  Evidently, the dwarfs were not entirely convinced after all, about her lack of proclivities in this area. 

‘It was only a suggestion,’ said Tamar hurriedly.  She was not nearly as accomplished as Stiles at pouring oil on troubled waters, her usual method being to bang the heads together of the opposing parties until they saw sense – or passed out.  Her attempt, therefore, at diverting the dwarfs from their ongoing argument only worked in that it diverted their animosity towards herself, which, while effective in its way, was not quite what she had had in mind. 

‘What about it lads?’ said Stiles.  ‘Shall we put our heads together?’

The dwarfs huddled together and began muttering. 

‘Will we have to take a bath?’ said Grotty, looking particularly hard at Tamar. 

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ she said. 

‘Wash behind our ears? Clean out our fingernails.’  He gulped.  ‘Brush our teeth?’ 

‘No, you can be as mucky as you like,’ said Tamar.  ‘I honestly don’t care.’ 

The dwarfs convened again.  ‘Can you cook?’ said Toerag.  ‘Gooseberry pie, that kind of thing?’

‘No.’

There was a sigh of relief.  ‘Okay then, you can come with us,’ said Florid.  ‘Let’s go.’ 

‘Just a minute,’ said Tamar. She turned to Stiles.  ‘We did promise him,’ she said.

Stiles sighed.  ‘We did, didn’t we?’   

* * *

They had only been in the dwarfs’ tunnel for a few moments when they heard, from behind them, an eager voice.  ‘Oh there you are,’ it said.  It was not the gruff voice of a dwarf.  ‘I thought I’d lost you.’ 

Everybody turned. Even Porky, who had so far made the journey in dazed silence, as if he thought the whole thing a dream.  They had found him not far away from the jail where he was just hanging around to see what he could pick up in information. 

  Making its way up the passage on silent feet was a very strange looking creature.  Smaller, even than the dwarfs, and without the beard you could hide a chicken in, it had very large ears, longish curly hair on its head and also on its oversized feet.  ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ it whined. 

‘Blast,’ said Florid.  ‘It’s that damn Grabbit again.  They’re terrible thieves,’ he said in an aside to Tamar.  ‘Push off Hobo,’ he said to the Grabbit 

‘But I want to come with you on your adventure,’ whined the Grabbit.  ‘I want to see the dragon.  Dragons have a lot of treasure,’ he added, his eyes gleaming.’ 

‘How many times do I have to tell you, there is no dragon,’ said Florid. ‘Now piss off you little bastard or else you’ll be sorry.’ 

‘But I’m your good luck,’ protested the Grabbit.  ‘Lucky sevens.  And you’ll need me when you find the dragon, who else can steal the treasure for you?’ 

‘All right, that’s it,’ said Florid.  ‘Get him lads.’ The dwarfs roared fearsomely and charged.

Stiles was horrified, but Tamar seemed unperturbed, she smiled at Stiles and winked.  Stiles took this to mean that she knew something that he did not and he relaxed. 

‘Nobody knows where they come from,’ Florid told them, as they watched the scuffle. ‘They mostly work in the cracker factories, making up riddles, you know, for the inside of the crackers.  But you can’t trust ’em an inch, and they’re all crazy.  This one’s been following us around for months.  Got it into its head that we’re looking for a dragon, well you heard it.’

‘What did he mean, lucky sevens?’ asked Tamar, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

‘Oh, they believe that luck goes in sevens, so he thinks he’s our lucky number twenty one, crazy I tell you.’ 

There was an outraged cry from the dwarfs.  ‘It’s gone again, vanished into thin air,’ said Dozy.          

‘Not again?’ said Florid.  ‘We don’t know how he does it,’ he told Tamar.  ‘It’s not as if they have any magic.’ 

Tamar stifled a grin. 

‘All right lads,’ he said.  ‘As long as it’s gone, let’s get going.’

‘Well, that was …’ said Stiles.

‘I know,’ agreed Tamar. 

* * *

‘What do you make of it?’  Denny asked Hecaté. 

They had teleported to Jamie’s location, after Hecaté had looked in the scrying washing up bowl and declared that she would need a closer look at him.  They were now watching him from round a corner.  Jamie was crouched like a frightened animal behind some bins at the back entrance to a restaurant.

‘Oh, I hardly like to say,’ said Hecaté evasively.  ‘It is so – so much a cliché, no not a cliché more of a – how would you say it? A storybook fantasy.  Besides, it is so unlikely.  And yet …’

‘Just tell us,’ said Denny impatiently. 

‘I think that he still has his soul,’ admitted Hecaté reluctantly and waited for the scorn. 

‘I think so too,’ said Denny unexpectedly.  ‘Isn’t it ludicrous?’

‘A likely story,’ agreed Cindy. ‘I don’t believe it.  Surely no writer would attempt to make a plot turn on such a contingency.’

‘The only question is,’ said Denny, ignoring this contribution, of which he could make neither head nor tail anyway, ‘is it possible?’

Hecaté was emphatic.  ‘No,’ she said.  ‘But then again, what has that got to do with it?  We are constantly being faced with the frankly impossible.  It has patently happened anyway and what are we going to do about it?’ 

‘Find out why it happened,’ suggested Denny. 

‘Oh, it’ll turn out to be destiny or some such nonsense,’ said Cindy dismissively. She shared with Tamar an immovable contempt for the concept of destiny.

‘Probably,’ said Denny gloomily.  He believed in destiny in much the same way that he believed in death.  It happened all the time. The trick was to see that it did not happen to you.   

‘We should take him home with us,’ said Hecaté. 

‘What?’ said Cindy.  ‘Put him out of his misery, I should say.’ 

‘No,’ said Denny, reverting to his authoritative stance.  ‘Hecaté’s right. He needs our help. I mean just look at him. He has no idea what’s happened to him poor guy.  Besides, there’s no point fighting destiny.’  Denny did not know how he managed to say this with a straight face, except that he knew he had to; it was the only way to convince Cindy.  He had to be firm with her.  

Cindy capitulated immediately, as he had known she would. 

Hecaté tutted at him amiably.  ‘You should be ashamed,’ she told him.

Denny pretended not to hear this.  ‘You go,’ he said to Hecaté.  ‘I think he might listen to you.  Besides, you’re immortal.  Just in case he gets twitchy, you know what I mean?’  

‘I know.  You are, as usual, right.’ 

Hecaté emerged from the shadows and made for the cowering figure of Jamie. Beside him, Cindy felt Denny tense, ready to spring, as he had said, just in case.

But there was no need.  After a few minutes, Hecaté returned leading Jamie docilely behind her. 

* * *

Jamie was sleeping while the others discussed him.  ‘I still think that he poses no danger,’ said Hecaté.  ‘He is still the same person inside, as he was before this happened to him.’ 

‘Okay,’ said Denny.  ‘Did he say anything that might help us figure out
why
he’s still the same person inside? I mean he really shouldn’t be.’ 

‘He is more confused than any of us,’ said Hecaté

‘Well, it can probably wait,’ said Denny.  ‘These things usually become clear in their own given time.  Can we leave him alone, do you think, while we get on?’

‘I don’t see why not, as long as he’s sleeping.’ 

‘Good.  Have you had any luck finding any exits from Hell?’

‘Not as yet.’ 

‘Keep trying.  Cindy – help her.  I’m going to keep looking for the box.’ 

Hecaté glanced at Jamie tenderly.  There was something she had not told the others yet, because she was not sure.  As yet, it was just a feeling.  A very strong feeling. And it would also explain, perhaps, how he had been able to hold on to his soul even after death.  Or rather, the form of death that precedes the transformation from human to vampire.

She evaded Cindy easily (Denny had already left the room) and sat beside Jamie. 

She stroked his damp hair away from his forehead.  It was a distinctly maternal gesture, Denny thought, watching her from behind the door.

* * *

‘Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s out of Hell we go,’

The dwarfs all turned to stare at Stiles.  ‘You taking the piss?’ said Stroppy. 

‘Sorry,’ said Stiles, ‘Don’t know what came over me.’ 

‘Right lads,’ said Florid, ‘according to the map, this ought to be it.’ He pointed upwards.  ‘Get digging.’  He looked at Stroppy, as if he was expecting comment, but Stroppy said nothing.  He just looked. Not in any particular way, he just looked as hard as he could. 

‘That means you as well Porky,’ said Stiles sternly, giving him a dig in the rear with his boot. 

I’ve got a cousin called Porky,’ said Toerag absently. 

‘I bet you have,’ muttered Stiles under his breath.  Porky just stared stupidly at the dwarfs. 

‘Is he all right?’ asked Dozy in some concern. 

‘He’s fine,’ Stiles told him.  ‘He’s just allergic to hard work.’

Oh, leave him alone,’ said Tamar.  ‘No wonder he’s made you his idea of Hell.’ 

‘Lazy is he?’ asked Dozy, just as if Tamar had never spoken.  All the dwarfs were doing this.  It helped them to pretend that she did not exist; there was no doubt that they were still irremediably nervous in her presence. 

‘Not lazy exactly,’ said Stiles. ‘He just thinks that it’s easier to pray for things, than to work for them.’ 

Dozy laughed, and even Tamar smiled in a disapproving way. 

‘Why are you lads trying to get out of Heaven anyway?’ asked Stiles, he had, quite naturally been wondering about this.