Wish You Were Here (24 page)

‘Hello,' he called out. ‘Excuse me.'

Nobody seemed to hear; not surprising, given the volume of the singing. He tried to wave to get someone's attention, but the ropes prevented him.

‘You haven't got it yet, have you?' whispered a voice in his ear.

‘What?'

‘I said, you haven't got it yet.What's going on, I mean.'

‘Sorry, you'll have to speak up. The music . . .'

‘YOU HAVEN'T GOT IT YET, HAVE YOU?'

‘That's better. Got what?'

‘Oh, for crying out loud. Stay there.'

A second or so later, a bat flittered out of the darkness into his face, making him flinch. It dropped out of flight and hung from the lapel of his coat, like a huge black inverted carnation. ‘Can you hear me better now?' it asked.

‘You? Oh,
you
. Yes, that's much better. Hey, you got any idea what's going on?'

‘You bet,' replied the bat.

‘Well?'

‘You're going to enjoy this,' the bat chuckled. ‘Right up your street, this is.'

Calvin raised both eyebrows. ‘You reckon so? Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought.'

‘Get outa here, will you?'

‘Love to.'

‘I mean, on the contrary. I
know
you'll enjoy this, because it's what you do best.'

‘Being tied to things? Sorry, lady, wrong guy. It's my associate Mr Piranha who's into chains and whips and things.'

‘Litigation,' said the bat, patiently. ‘That
is
what you do best, isn't it?'

Dieb nodded, insofar as he could with a thick coil of rawhide rope tightened under his chin. ‘But this doesn't look much like a lawsuit to me,' he added. ‘The big fire, for a start. And the dancing.'

‘Ah.' The bat shook its wings, reminding Dieb of someone shaking out an umbrella after coming in off the street. ‘But this is a different kind of litigation.'

‘Well?'

‘This is litigation,' the bat went on, ‘Cherokee style. Though I think they used to have something similar in Europe a long time ago. Actually, it was only abolished in England in the early nineteenth century, by George the Third. The guy must have been nuts, if you ask me.'

‘Excuse me?' Calvin enquired. ‘Are we talking about canon law or the Star Chamber or something? We didn't do legal history where I went, or at least you could do it but it meant missing Advanced Fee Augmentation, so I didn't bother.'

‘Something like that,' replied the bat. ‘Like I said, it's an old-fashioned form of litigation, but generally speaking it's quicker, cheaper, fairer and a hell of a lot less traumatic than what you guys do nowadays. So I thought you might find it interesting.'

‘Cheaper?'

‘Oh, much.'

‘Ah. Well, thanks all the same, but . . .'

The bat opened its claws, spread its wings and dropped-cum-flew away, leaving Calvin puzzled and not entirely happy. An obsolete form of legal procedure common to both Europe and Native America. Actions on the case? Ejectment? Oyer and terminer? Tricky.

Two authentic-looking Native Americans with feathers on their heads and rather forbidding expressions left the dance and stalked over to him. They were holding what he assumed were authentic tomahawks and had presumably authentic whacking great knives stuck through their belts. Without a word they cut the ropes, hauled him to his feet and dragged him towards the fire. Amazing, how some of these re-enactment society guys really live the role.

As they came inside the circle of firelight, Calvin was just about to start protesting when, to his great surprise, he saw someone he recognised.

‘Leonard?' he said.

‘Calvin,' replied the tall, ambassador-like man in the three-piece dark blue suit. ‘It's been a long time.'

‘Sure thing,' Calvin replied, as the two authentic people let him go. ‘I thought you were . . . I mean yes, it really has been a long time. How're you doing? How's retirement suiting you? Hey, you look years younger than when you were at Schadling & Blutsauger.'

‘Thanks.' Leonard nodded politely, and the firelight glinted on his almost Presidential grey hair. ‘I've been a new man since I quit the profession, Cal. All sorts of new interests, things I'd never have gotten into if I'd stayed behind that desk. So,' he added with a smile, ‘as it turns out, you did me a favour when you turned the rest of the partnership against me and squeezed me out.'

Calvin grinned uncomfortably. True, he'd spent five years of round-the-clock intriguing and politicking to dispose of dear old Len, the last remaining barrier between him and the purple; but it was a bit tactless to bring the subject up almost immediately, after so long. ‘These new interests,' he said, trying to lighten things up. ‘Historical re-enactments, huh? Never thought that was your scene, Leonard.'

The older man stopped smiling. ‘It isn't,' he said. ‘Though, as a matter of fact, I truly am half Cherokee. You didn't know that, did you?'

‘No, Len, I didn't. Gee, it only goes to show, you think you know a guy, and . . .'

‘Yes.' Leonard made a small, economical gesture to someone standing just outside the firelight. ‘It only does. Well now, Cal, you ready?'

‘Huh?'

‘For the trial. Actually it's a purely Western tradition that the defendant gets first choice of weapons, but since you're a guest here among my people I guess it's only polite to extend you the courtesy.'

Before Calvin could put into words the question marks and exclamation marks that were clogging the passages of his brain, a totally authentic Native American with a bear's skull on his head stepped forward holding two identical spears. Ah, thought Calvin.

‘Among my people,' Leonard went on, ‘this is how we do litigation. Apart from it doesn't make any money for anybody, I reckon it's got the other way licked on all counts.'

‘Trial by
combat
?'

Leonard nodded. ‘Dontcha just love it? Now by rights, being over sixty years old I could name a champion to fight for me.' He peeled off his coat, tie and shirt, to reveal rippling pectorals and bulging biceps. ‘But I thought, what the hell, this is something I want to see to
personally
. And if it means I give you the advantage, then so what?'

‘Hey,' Calvin muttered. He tried to step backwards, but there was something large and authentic right behind him, prodding him in the back with a knife. ‘Just a minute . . .'

Leonard held up his hand. ‘You're right,' he said. ‘I was forgetting. You have the option of wearing the spirit armour. You wanna go for that, or shall we forget about it? Up to you.'

Calvin heard the word ‘armour' and nodded. Immediately a man like a substantial rock formation loomed forward, slapped a thick hairy paintbrush three times across his chest and once across his face, and stepped back. Slowly, feeling very much like Oliver Hardy, Calvin wiped paint out of his eyes.

‘Suits you,' Leonard remarked. ‘Me, I guess I'll make do without and risk the consequences. You try getting that stuff off again, you'll see why. Pumice-stone'll do it sometimes, but usually you gotta use caustic. Now then, you ready to choose?'

Calvin looked at the spears. They were very long and heavy, and the blades looked revoltingly sharp. ‘Say, Leonard,' he whimpered, ‘I never imagined you'd be sore about leaving the firm, honest. If only you'd said something . . .'

Leonard gave him a look that made the spearhead seem like a pat of butter. ‘You got an injunction, remember? If I so much as showed my face at the office, you were going to get me carted off to jail. And that was three days before I even got the letter suggesting I should retire.'

‘Really?' Calvin felt his heart shrivel. ‘Guess it must have gotten held up in the Christmas mail, Len. I didn't mean it to be that way. I always had the utmost respect for you. Always.'

‘And I always thought you were an evil little shit, Cal. Now, are you gonna choose, or shall I just stick you where you stand?'

There was a lump in Calvin's throat. He tried to swallow it. ‘Hey, Len,' he said. ‘Let's just toss a coin or something, huh?'

‘No way. I want this done
legal
. I mean, if you haven't got law and order, what've you got?'

Calvin stared at the spears. They were both big and horrible and he wanted no part of either of them. The only difference between them was -

- The one on the left had a set of car keys dangling from its shaft, about an inch below the blade socket. The one on the right had a bat hanging from it. It lifted its head a little, and winked at him. He pointed to the one on the left, and said, ‘That one, please.'

‘Sucker,' said the bat.

 

 

‘H
ooliganism,' said Wesley, thoughtfully. ‘I don't suppose you'd care to amplify, would you? Only it's not a very precise description.'

The girl sighed. ‘You want it all handed to you on a plate, don't you?'

‘Talking of things on plates . . .'

‘Whereas,' the girl continued, binding up her hair in a pretty red silk scarf, ‘really, you should be working it all out for yourself. If you want to pass Phase Three and get out of here, I mean. Think about it.
Proper
heroes don't have it handed to them on plates.You don't catch Indiana Jones swinging into action with his bullwhip in one hand and an envelope with detailed instructions jotted down on the back in the other. He's got to make it up as he goes along. And so must you.'

‘Nuts,' Wesley replied. ‘Indiana Jones's got the full support of the studio behind him. Hundreds of script-writers. Thousands of technicians. Mr Spielberg, with a microphone and an eyeshade. And what have I got? You.'

‘If you'd rather I left you to it . . .'

‘You think I think that's a really terrifying threat, don't you?'

‘Yes.'

Wesley shrugged. ‘I could seriously fancy a hamburger, ' he said.

‘What?'

‘A hamburger,' Wesley replied. ‘With large fries and a thick shake, vanilla, if you've got any.' He sat down on an ivy-covered tree stump and took his left shoe off.

‘Tough,' the girl replied impatiently. ‘And we haven't got time for you to adjust your footwear, either. I'm not waiting for you.'

‘ 'Bye, then.'

The girl turned, strode on four paces, turned back and scowled at him. ‘I'm serious,' she said. ‘Lag behind and I'll leave you for the wolves.'

‘I expect I'll cope.'

‘You reckon?'

Wesley shrugged. ‘Why not? There won't be any wolves. At least, not unless there's supposed to be wolves. All these Phases and so forth, it stands to reason. You've got your program to run, or whatever you call it, you can't afford to have me randomly eaten by wolves. Bet my life on it.'

‘Don't joke about it,' the girl hissed menacingly. But Wesley didn't look up. Instead, he fished a small lump of rock out of his sock and discarded it.

‘You need me,' he went on. ‘Probably rather more than I need you. I know a bit about large organisations, working for a building society. Things have to be accounted for.Targets have to be met. My guess is, unless you deliver me to a certain place at a certain time, all neatly processed and enlightened or whatever, that's your quarterly quota figures up the spout and you'll have some explaining to do to whoever it is you're answerable to. Am I warm?'

‘Drivel,' replied the girl.

(But, in another part of the forest, she could see herself trying to explain a shortfall to the Inspector, who was peering at her over the rims of his spectacles and pursing his lips.
Lost a customer? Mislaid him, you mean? This is very serious. I'm afraid I'm going to have to mention this in my report, and
. . .)

‘Fair enough,' Wesley said. ‘So I called your bluff and I was wrong. Well, on my own head be it. I'm still not moving from this spot till I get something to eat.'

‘But . . .'

‘All I've had since breakfast,' he went on, ‘is two peppermints and a gnat I swallowed by mistake just before I fell in the lake. I'm hungry. And don't tell me I can't be hungry because this isn't real time, because I know when I'm hungry, and I'm hungry. OK?'

‘You're making a big mistake.'

‘Am I? Oh well.'

‘You'll be sorry for this.'

‘Not half as sorry as you'll be when they hand you your cards and tell you to clear your desk by lunchtime. I imagine career opportunities for sacked fairies are few and far between. Perching on top of a Christmas tree, perhaps, but that's purely seasonal work.'