Fergus knelt down for a better look. The cobblestones were distorted as if heated to the consistency of marshmallow and squashed together.
‘Is it all like this?’ asked Fergus.
‘Oh aye,’ said Dave, ‘All eight hundred miles of it.’
‘Eight hundred miles? You’d run out of country.’
‘It’s a long story. One day I might tell you all about it. Until then a word of caution, under no circumstances go past the Huddersfield junction. Seriously, that is the road not travelled by.’
Dave paused and looked into the distance, where the road met the horizon.
‘Are you alright Dave?’
‘Ah it’s nothing, just history, times gone by. Let get going.’
After ten minutes of breakneck cycling, they rounded a gentle curve and saw a green hill ahead. The road just stopped and the hill started.
‘Just keep peddling,’ shouted Dave over the rushing wind.
Fergus slowed a bit as the hill loomed.
‘Ok, that’s enough,’ said Dave and Fergus let the tandem freewheel to a halt.
They sat on a tandem, half way up the slope of a gentle hill. Fergus looked back; there was no road, just more hill and a single bike track in the grass that started 20 yards behind them.
‘Where’s the road gone?’ asked Fergus.
‘Don’t worry, it’s just hidden. We can’t see it, but your mutt there can. One of the three reasons I let it come along. Don’t bother trying to find the entrance; you need to be going at least 10 miles an hour to get through. Mind you with those new legs of yours you could make it. Any road, leave the bike there.’
Fergus dropped the bike on its side and followed Dave up the hill. From the top Fergus could see a city stretching into the distance.
‘That’s London isn’t it?’ asked Fergus.
‘Aye lad, London. One of the greatest cities on the planet and over-rated like the rest of em.’
‘So how did we get here so quickly?’
‘The M7, told you it was useful.’
‘Ok, but how? We only cycled about 7 miles.’
Dave sighed. ‘Ok, time and space are constant, thus if you distort time, space is similarly distorted. Hence the reduced timeframe of the M7, reduces the distance to London. In exactly the same way that time contracts in a pub and your walk home is very short.’
‘That’s bollocks,’ said Fergus.
‘Aye, utter bollocks, but any science so far advanced of our meagre grasp, must be considered magic. So any old load of cobblers will suffice. Let’s just say, that the Cycling Gods looked down on us and blew a celestial breeze to speed us on our way.’
Before them sprawled the western suburbs of London, they could just see Kew Gardens in the distance.
‘How are we going to get there? Walk?’ asked Fergus.
‘No lad, we’ll go the same way I did the first time I came. You’ll see, just over that way, beyond those trees. Come on.’
‘Of course, bureaucrats can’t do owt without sticking a number on it and they started digging it right after the M6, so M7 it was. Course, you can’t get on it now, all security cameras and roadblocks with armed guards. So the road we travelled isn’t the M7, I just call it that,’ said Dave.
Fergus pulled on the oars of the rowing boat, half-listening to Dave, who sat on a padded seat, resting his elbow on the ornamental, wrought iron armrest. The sun glittered on the gentle waters of the Thames and Fergus enjoyed the peace and calm.
The dog gave a short, happy bark.
‘Not yet,’ said Dave and the dog grumbled something.
‘You an all,’ said Dave and then sighed, ‘Oh alright then.’ The dog barked again, bounced up and set its paws on the gunwale; the boat rocked.
‘So lad, you ready for a spot of lunch?’ asked Dave and nodded towards the wicker picnic hamper in the bottom of the boat.
‘I thought we were in a hurry? I can’t row and eat you know,’ said Fergus.
‘Don’t worry about that; the library doesn’t open till eleven. I’ve been marking time and making that ungrateful mutt wait an all. Ship those oars and make yourself comfortable.’
Dave opened the hamper and pulled out a dog harness and a long length of stout rope; both looked brand new.
‘Tie that end to the cleat near the prow, while I get Muttley here, into the harness,’ said Dave.
A short while later, the dog leapt into the water. There was a large splash and with water churning behind it, the dog started towing the boat. Soon they were creating a large bow wave. The dog churned the water into froth and the boat started tilting.
‘Oi slow down,’ yelled Dave, ‘there is an eight knot speed limit you know.’
The boat settled on an even keel and Dave set the hamper on the bench next to him.
‘Let’s see what we have. I ordered pate, fresh bread, cheese and a suitable red wine. I also asked them to throw in a small salad, just in case you were of that persuasion.’
Dave and settled back into the padded bench, with a glass of passable Shiraz and a plateful of food. They cruised down the Thames with a gentle breeze taking the heat out of the early summer sunshine.
‘Ah, isn’t this just lovely.’
‘Gorgeous,’ said Fergus, ‘I can hardly believe that an hour ago we were in Huddersfield and now we are gliding down the Thames in a dog-powered rowing boat. This is all rather organised Dave, how did you manage it?’
‘Harrods and Visa – a powerful combination.’
‘Didn’t think you were the credit card type Dave?’
‘Needs must lad. The trappings of modern living and technology have their uses. Take for instance the satellite phone. Instant untraceable communication from anywhere on the planet; add in some strong encryption and you can talk to anyone without that meddling, interfering bunch of idiots listening in or tracking your movements.’
‘So you’re not one for governments then Dave?’
‘They have their place lad; specifically not in your pocket and not in your business. What about you? Vote for this shower did you?’
‘Yes, I thought they were better than the last bunch and I didn’t expect them to turn out just the same.’
‘You’re learning. You know it’s strange; all of our visitors have politics in spades, but not one of them has religion.’
‘So you’re against that too are you Dave?’
‘No. Oh no lad. I think anyone can believe in what they want; As long as they don’t expect it to change the way I live my life.’
‘Personally I think religion should be banned,’ said Fergus, ‘that and substantial wealth.’
‘Well, they tried that didn’t they and look how it turned out. Anyways, religion and politics are poor subjects for a morning such as this. Don’t you want to know where we’re going?’
‘Of course, but you weren’t going to tell me till it suited you and I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of making me wait.’
‘Brentford,’ said Dave and smiled
‘Really? Brentford is the secret location of the Dark Library?’
‘Aye lad and a cracking town it was, before it got swallowed by the sprawl. Would you like to know what the Dark Library is?’
‘Of course Dave, but again I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction by asking.’
‘It’s a bit like the British Library, but whereas the British Library has a copy of the Guttenberg Bible, the Dark Library has all the bits they missed out and the notes they made when deciding what to put in. It’s a repository of information that the powers that be feel should be quietly forgotten.’
‘So who runs it? The government?’
‘No, I suspect an off-world influence; to be honest lad I don’t know. They don’t run it for our benefit either. It’s a bit like someone, somewhere wants to keep tabs on what really goes on down here. Anyway it’s a marvellous resource when you want to find the truth; all the dark secrets of histo
ry are there.’
‘Who killed JFK?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Are there really aliens?’
‘Hmm, I think that one is already answered.’
‘Yeah, sorry, I meant UFOs, but it’s a pointless question.’
‘No lad, it is a good question. There are UFOs, but consider this; as all the visitors come via Huddersfield, who is running around in those little shiny ships?’
Fergus looked at Dave and raised his eyebrows.
‘No lad, I won’t tell you. Look it up in the library. It’s a bit of a laugh and I won’t spoil the joke.’
‘You know, I think I am going to enjoy this visit to the library,’ said Fergus.
‘Not as much as the mutt.’
Fergus raised his eyebrows again.
‘You wait and see,’ said Dave.
Dave and Fergus stood on a stone wharf, the rowing boat moored behind. The dog yowled at Dave.
‘I promised didn’t I? Come on lad, we have to find a pet shop. Casanova here needs a bit of fettle.’
Some while later, Fergus knelt on the pavement brushing ‘Coat finisher’ on to the dog, while Dave struggled with the nail clippers.
‘Just bloody stand still will you,’ said Dave and yowled something.
The dog stiffened, but stayed still, as Dave finished clipping.
‘Right, there you go,’ said Dave and stood up.
Fergus had to admit the dog looked fantastic. Its coat gleamed; it stood head up and proud, daring the world to judge it.
‘You look lovely, but smell a bit of a ponce,’ said Dave.
The dog’s hackles rose and it barked and yowled at Dave.
‘Alright, keep your hair on. I’m not the one who’s supposed to appreciate it.’
The dog stomped off down the road.
‘Oh bugger,’ said Dave, ‘it’s in a right huff now. Never mind, just follow the mutt, it’s not far.’
The dog led them through a car park at the back of a block of council flats, right past a large gang of rough looking men.
‘Oi granddad, you got that money you owe me?’ one of them shouted; it was hard to tell them apart, as the hoods and scarves were up.
The gang flowed around Fergus and Dave like magic and the dog sat down ten yards away and watched.
‘Are you deaf old man? Give us the money – now.’
‘If I don’t give you money are you going to give me a slap?’ asked Dave.
‘Too fuckin’ right old man, cough up.’
‘I am accompanied by a large dog you know,’ said Dave.
Dave looked over at the dog. It stared at him and then looked away.
‘Ah. I see, like that is it.’ Dave coughed twice and hummed a note.
‘Can you give me a C?’ asked Dave, ‘I don’t have perfect pitch.’
‘Are you takin’ the piss?’ said the man and thrust his head forward.
‘Fergus?’ asked Dave.
‘Errm, Dave, perhaps we ought to give these gentlemen some cash and get back to civilisation, like right now.’
The dog whined, it was a perfect middle C.
‘Ah thank you, hmmm, hmmm. Got it,’ said Dave, ‘Now listen carefully. I do have money in abundance; I came by it through hard work and careful saving. I am not going to cough up like a broken cash dispenser just because some lary bloke growls in my face. You have exactly one bar to bugger off, before I administer a brief, yet painful lesson in the art of negotiation.’
‘You stupid old fuck. You had yer chance, now cop for – ‘
Dave jack-knifed forward. His forehead struck the man’s face with brutal force.
‘Trailers for sale or rent,’ sang Dave in a clear, pleasant tenor and pivoted with blinding speed on his heel. His left leg rose with precision and his heavy boot smacked into the side of a gang member’s head.
‘Rooms to let fifty cents,’ sang Dave as his fists flashed, in short jabs, striking stomach and chin.
Dave dropped and pivoted, sweeping the legs from another gang member. Dave’s gnarled fist, cracked upwards into the man’s jaw as he fell.
‘No phone, no pool, no pets.’
Dave bounced up, grabbed another by the lapel, and smashed his forehead into the surprised face.
‘I ain’t got no cigarettes.’
Dave cocked his left elbow, striking one throat on the back swing and shot his fist forward, flattening a nose.
‘Ah, but.’
Dave launched a right hook and knocked another straight off his feet.
‘Two hours of pushing broom. Gets a eight by twelve, four bit room.’
The remaining three stepped back and Dave threw his arms wide and belted out the last line.
‘I am a man of means, by no means… king of the road.’
The last three legged it, Dave looked over to the dog and nodded.
The dog charged. A blue-black blur leapt and landed on the back of the first fleeing man, who staggered under the weight. Then the dog kicked off with its back paws, sending the villain flying into a wall. It flew through the air like a furry torpedo and crashed into the side of the next man, flooring him as deftly as Dave’s boot. With a scamper of claws, it ran straight through the last fleeing man, upending him like a skittle. His head hit the concrete with a hollow thud, and then there were none.
‘That was incredible,’ said Fergus.
‘Well, I am a Shedi Warrior,’ said Dave.
‘A what?’
‘The Way of the Whippet, lad; Yorkshire’s secret martial art.’
‘And the singing?’
‘Oh, just a conceit, my personal style, I fight in time to shower songs.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Song sung by men in the shower. You know, like ‘Please Release Me’ and ‘Delilah’’
The battered men started recovering and a few made it to their feet. Dave started singing loudly.
‘I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window
I saw the flickering shadows of love on her blind
She was my woman
As she deceived me I watched and went out of my mind’
He flexed his shoulders and performed a few practise punches. The car park emptied, though some had to be carried, and calm returned.
‘Come on,’ said Dave ‘The library is almost open.’
‘That’s it?’ said Fergus, ‘That little bookshop is the mysterious Dark Library?’
‘As in so many things lad, looks are deceptive,’ said Dave and marched into the shop.
Fergus took a second look at the faded ‘Atrum Library’ sign and grubby paintwork before following Dave.
The interior was more like a gentleman’s club than a bookshop with leather armchairs and sofas. The walls were oak panelled and there was not a bookshelf in sight. At the end of the room was an archway that led to a staircase. To the right of the arch was a large mahogany counter. Behind it stood a tall, black-haired man in a dark Victorian suit that reminded Fergus of an undertaker or possibly President Lincoln.
‘Delighted to see you again Mr Trellis,’ said the man at the counter and gave a slow bow.
‘And you Librarian,’ said Dave, ‘the mutt is paying, being as he has information to trade.’
The Librarian leaned forward and looked down over the edge of the counter. He gave a couple of short barks and a long yowl.
The dog barked and nodded.
‘Indeed, I will call our Visitor Liaison Officer down to the front desk.’
He waved his hand in the air and a small blue square appeared. He pressed it once and it vanished.
‘This here is Mr Fergus Loaf, an associate.’ said Dave, ‘He needs a library card, and I have references.’
Dave handed over an envelope. The librarian took it and looked Fergus up and down, his face solemn. He opened the envelope and scanned the contents.
‘As you know Mr Trellis our membership is very exclusive and extremely restricted. There is a l
ong waiting list of candidates of the first water.
However due to your honoured position and long association with this establishment I will consider Mr Loaf’s application with care. I am sure we can find a gap towards the middle of the waiting list,’ said the librarian and smiled.
Dave took Fergus aside, guiding him by the shoulder.
‘Look lad, I was hoping to get you a library card, what with the mutt paying from an unlimited account. They cost a 100 grand. However, it appears I over-estimated the weight I carry in the scheme of things. Looks like you’ll have to hang around here and wait for me.’
Behind them, the dog stood up, paws on the counter, muttering and growling to the librarian.
‘You should have told them I was from MI6 or something,’ said Fergus.
‘They would have flung you out on your ear, lad. They don’t allow any of those government types in here. If the President of the United States of America asked for a library card, they would inform him politely that he needs to apply through the proper channels.’
Fergus looked disappointed.
‘Never mind lad, here have some walking around money,’ said Dave, reached into his jacket and handed Fergus a simple black wallet.
Fergus opened it to find a thick wad of twenty pound notes.
‘And remember what I said about keeping a low profile.’
‘Excuse me Mr Trellis, Mr Loaf?’ said the librarian.
Dave and Fergus returned to the counter. The librarian beamed at them, he looked happy and excited.
‘Mr Loaf, I am so pleased to meet you,’ said the librarian and held out his hand. Fergus shook it and looked bemused.
‘This is quite an occasion and I must say a great honour for us all.’
‘What are you blathering on about librarian?’ said Dave.
‘The dog has given a verbal reference for Mr Loaf. A bona fido you might say,’ said the librarian and tittered.
‘I fail to see the point,’ said Dave, ‘but if this means the lad gets a library card, then that’s grand.’
‘Mr Trellis, the dogs never offer references, never. And to give one for a human, well it’s unprecedented, a signal honour indeed. A great day Mr Trellis, a great day.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Dave, ‘You mean to say they refused to give me a reference?’
‘Mr Trellis, you know our policy. I can neither confirm nor deny any details about your references,’ said the librarian, serious all of a sudden.
Dave looked down at the dog.