The Memory Garden Chapter 3b
Chapter 3B by William S Four cups of luke-warm coffee and a stale bagel brought Lemon to a feeling of almost human. Well as human as he could be what with all the imbedded sorcery and rogue DNA running though his system. It was cold in the burnt out warehouse he was using as a communications point. Even the rats were wearing sweaters and toques. His breath came in quick wisps of frost. Shivers ran the length of his spin, more from anticipation then the cold."I should dress." Years spent alone in his prison cell had given him the habit of talking allowed to ease the pain of loneliness. "It's been awhile I don't know the local styles, the modern styles, I'm going to look silly… fuck'm if I do. I'll make it a new style." With a quick smile he tapped his twin pinky rings together and reached into a shadow to withdraw a beaver fur felt top hat. He thought a second about whether to wear it or not then changed his mind. A quick shake of his hand and the felt rearranged itself to the form and colour of a short brimmed brown fedora. "This will do, a tad cliqued even back then, but handsome nonetheless" Reaching shoulder deep into the depths of the hat he pulled forth a beige suit and red necktie to go with the hat. No mirror was around to help him see if everything was in place. Never trust the mirrors. The eyes looking back are never yours. Running a silver comb though his iron gray hair he hoped it was settling into a respectable coif. From the pants pocket he withdrew a military style watch done in etched chrome. There were no hands on its analog face, a quick glance was enough to prompt his mind into giving him the time. White had said the war was going badly, he didn't have moments to spare.Once dressed and feeling better for it, well at least warmer, Matthew Lemon set about his work."This time out I shall do things right. Back up is what's in order." He moved to find his phone. His right foot impacted something on the floor sending it rolling about in circles. It was a bottle of black Indian ink for calligraphers. "Whoops, mustn't forget that. With a flourish he scooped it up and dropped it into the safe place within his fedora.The receiver of an old black Bakelite rotary dial phone with frayed cord dangling unattached to anything and useless in most peoples eyes sat pride of place on the heap of blankets that served as his bed these last few days as he prepared the workings and rights of the communications circle to speak with his boss, his master. His shoes squeaked as he went to retrieve it. Cradled in his hands it felt warm and loving, like a good well-maintained weapon should."I would like to speak with Walsingham." The cord of the receiver sparked an ozone fart and twitched like a cat's tail in heat."Good morning" The voice on the line was dead and decayed, a fossil long buried but still kicking."No it's not.""If you insist Mr. Lemon. How may we be of service to you?""I need some information.""Doesn't everyone? That's why were here.""I need to know where to find Zero.""The place, number, time, concept or person?""The person.""Male, female, or somewhere in between?""Male… I think?""You think?""I've never met Zero personally, just hired him to do some killing.""Ah that one. Wait." The line that was never live went dead. The cord stopped it's twitching."We will contact you when we know where you can find Zero.""This phone isn't going to be soon…""That's okay. We will find you that's what we do.""Fine." He threw the receiver for all he was worth to smash, crack and shatter against the cement floor."I should clean this place up before I go." Jerry cans of gasoline and turpentine for flavoring stood about the warehouse, he began tipping them over with a sad tap dance of destruction. His shoes still squeaked. Taking care to thoroughly drench down the communications circle, it's ancillary workings, his bedding, and a few security glyphs He lit a match with his teeth, tossed the flaming stick and pirouetted out the loading bay doors. A loud cough of flame and smoke applauded him into the creeping dawn of his brand new life. Libraries are funny places if you really look at them, but most people don't and a joke never works if you have to explain it to them. Matthew practically skipped up the gray stone steps leading to the glass front doors. A beggar in grimy overcoat and crushed beliefs shambled his way trough them."I only wanted to take a piss in dignity…" his breath smelt of Lysol and refuse. Matthew palmed a twenty into one of the man's pocket with a smile. The two never spoke, that wasn't needed. Bad Karma must be bought off without fanfare. The library smelt of mildewing knowledge and thoughts past their prime. Lemon hummed nothings softly to himself as he wandered about the shelves and stacks tapping the spines of forgettable books as he searched past them. People in the form of massed individuality paid him no attention, he was just one more bibliophile lost in his own selfish lust. Lemon came upon what seemed a little used corner of the reference section. He inhaled deeply. Of all the things he missed in his incarceration it was the printed word's absence that hurt the most. Like razor blades to the flesh between his toes. With hands now trembling in greed to take down each and every book to devour in glee he quickened his search. Finally in it's proper place as dictated by numerology and the dewy decimal system he found the slim red volume he'd been looking for. He withdrew it tenderly, lovingly. He sniffed the creaked, dry leather of its cover, he caressed as lover, opened it to the correct page. Counted to ten twice with a pregnant breath between, sang quietly so as not to disturb the other patrons the secret lyrics of a string quartet that had no words and licked the page. He was wrenched sideways to . Time had passed well for the Street, and the Pinnacle. It was bigger then he remembered it. The cobble stone streets having been paved with modern ash fault, cracked ash fault, but modern. The air smelt slightly of sandalwood and Brill cream. He admired the various juxtapositions of old world mortar and stone with glass and steel. The Titanic Mysteries Exterior Decorators had improved at their craft in the intervening years. The weeping willows bordering the street were a nice touch to. People bubbled out of the shops, restaurants, coffee houses and offices. If you were looking for a pub you needed to head for the Rat's tail Lane, drinking alcohol was strictly forbidden on the Harbour. Tipping his hat to a passing Pinnacle guard in blue, he went on his way.Lemon soon found he was again humming softly to himself. It was comfortable to be back on the street. Better yet he was working for the man himself, White. Lemon's lot in life was improving. Bookshops and Scriptoriums tugged softly on his heartstrings. He longed to enter and lose himself in the wears they offered, but he had a task at hand and time had a way of not being friendly to him. He would return later, he knew this for a fact, and spend pockets full of money on paper and leather lovers to wine and dine late into the evening after he had completed his mission. But first he needed to find the Ministry building. With a skip and a hop he set of in a random direction."Well, well, well what have we here boys?" the voice was Irish and coming from behind him at waist height. Suppressing the urge to shout fuck Lemon turned slightly as he walked to spy a Leprechaun gang quickly closing on his heels."Hello Shamus, how's business?" that probably wasn't a bright opening line for Lemon."Funny you should mention business Terry." Shamus O'hara was barely three feet tall with a face so beautiful angels cursed him in jealousy. He was decked out in homburg and dovetail coat over a tasteful set of trousers with French cuffs and button collar shirt. All done in shades of green of course. The six others with him wore a style of dress similar although one was a Cubs fan with cap to prove it."Funny you say? I suppose. Could we talk latter I'm on business myself as it is." Lemon lengthen his stride a wee bit."No, think not Terry, my son there's the matter of our gold you'll be returning to us." The Leprechauns swarmed his legs to bring him to a halt. It was that or trip over one. "Now old son where's me gold?""I don't have it on me Shamus. I could get mugged walking around with that you know.""What I knows is that you borrowed a sum of gold from us at a reasonable interest rate and never kept up your payments. Whys that Terry?" Shamus played at cleaning his fingers with a pocket knife. The wet shine on the blade brought to Lemon's mind that it was most likely poisoned."I was in jail these past years, Shamus. Makes it hard to get out and about to meet your obligations." A glance at his watch face prompted the time, time that was fast flying away. Matthew knew on a field of his choosing he could clear Shamus and his loan shark Leprechauns from his way with no difficulty, but this field was theirs and he was unprepared. Her Mysteries SS through the Ministry had forgotten to return his weapons to him. Forgotten or purposely decided not to."You don't expect me to believe the Ministry would lock up one of their own do you?" The Leprechauns laughed as one."Sure you believe me it's the truth." Lemon smiled his matchstick man's smile and hoped the old tattoo hadn't faded too much. Shamus sniffed the air. Tossed his head about and gave Lemon the hairy eyeball."Sure I believe the truth." Good the tattoo was working. He hoped Mr. White wasn't listening in on him. "So you were locked up, so what? You've got your ways terry old son, you could have arranged for something.""When the Ministry puts you away, the Ministry puts you very much away, and that's the truth." He gazed over all the gang to make sure they were all being affected. No need for a lose mind and mouth fucking things up."That's the truth." They all whispered in reverence to the power of the establishment that structured, protected and ruled the Pinnacle and sundry expanses."I will get your gold to you as quickly as I can, but I'll need two weeks minimum to tell the truth." He breathed compliancy on them again. One of the Leprechauns, a fat, dumber with a green tinted beard and similar coloured mole on the tip of his nose shock his head violently. His eyes started to refocus on what was happening to him."Huh, what? Truth?" he lisped. Lemon dropped his right hand on him with index and ring finger crossed over middle. The tiny sweat glands of these three fingers, thanks to his altered DNA secreted a drop or two of toxin doping the problematic leprechaun into a daze. The rest chanted: "To tell the truth.""Well then Terry, my son, think nothing of it. Two weeks you say? Well that's fine, we'll see you then." The gang nodded collective affirmative along with Shamus."Then I must be going. See you in two weeks boys." Lemon sidestepped out of the encircling leprechaun underworld and set a brisk pace down the street. Distance lowered the effect of the tattoo. Not five flaps of a second wing did he hear Shamus and his gang erupt into a frenzy of curses and swears. It was too late for them to catch Lemon. He pressed his Ministry sigil to a manhole cover and poofed in a wisp of steam, and scent of shit.The manhole brought him to the front of the entrance to the Ministry of Belongings, a crumbling eyesore of a governmental monstrosity of stone. In reality, it was the Department of Belongings and Lost Items but few remembered that fact. Sometimes advertising is a good thing. The Department was one of the hydra heads of the all-encompassing Ministry itself. Better advertising had removed from the Pinnacle consciousness exactly what the Ministry was of. It was know that there were six ministers in charge of it, but who exactly they were was a state secret, quiet possibly among themselves as well. Rumour had it that a seventh minister served on the council of minister but no one could substantiate. What was known was that this was the bureaucracy that made the Pinnacle work. Without it there would be no Pinnacle, no safety, no refuge from the storm, or maybe that was just advertising as well. Lemon took the steps two at a time. Inside he found the correct room. A laughing minotur told him so. After straightening his tie he passed through the door to a very dull place and introduced himself."Hello. My name is Mathew Lemon."Looking slightly confused the man behind the desk said "Hello." He was an odd looking fellow to Lemon, what with the reddish brown skin, horns, and missing tail. He chose not to comment."I've come to retrieve a package." Lemon reached into his jackets inner breast pocket and produced his authority badge from the ministry. The half-breeds slit eyes went wide at the sight."Your a field agent?" His voice sounded tinny and sharp to Lemon, but he could be mistaken."Well yes, I suppose I am.""You don't know.""I don't care.""Oh. Well I guess that's as good an answer as any." The clerk began rifling through a logbook looking for an entry or something Lemon wasn’t interested seeing exactly what. He just wanted to get out of the dull place before it saddened him any more. The clerk found what he was looking for and glanced at Lemon. "Sir the package you require needs you to do a level three clearance test.""Are you sure of that?""Very much so.""Fine very well." Mathew waited as the clerk retrieved a porcelain basin and aluminium thermos from under the counter. The contents of the thermos, a grey-green sludge were oozed into the basin. Using a Bic ballpoint pen the clerk stirred the sludge about till its surface was even."Well there you go sir. If you will just set your….""I have done this before you know." And with those words Lemon face planted himself into the basin, and as a match in the wind the lights went out.
Harbor Street
