As promised, chapters from The Spy with Ezcema. This one's the very start, prologue to give it it's fancy name.
In other news, I'm working on a new book, new website and a horsemeat related blog post. More details as and when.
Prologue
On the scale of
going wrong, this had hit eleven.
Barry had been
expecting trouble. Nothing ever went smoothly. But this? It should have been so
easy. Break in, explore, and then get out.
How
was he to know February the fourth was a sacred day in the Free-Cutter’s calendar?
Their annual meeting no less. The Memorial Hall was empty over three hundred
days a year, but it was now rammed wall to wall with Free-Cutters.
After entering, Barry and his
accomplice, special agent ZX82, had paused in silence, mouths ajar, taking in
the oak beams supporting the high roof, the mysterious floor pattern carved
into granite blocks and the symbols adorning the walls. Decades, even centuries
of historic and sinister meetings oozed from its foundations.
Now hidden in a
dark cupboard off the main hall, Barry nervously scratched his arm. He’d been
exploring with ZX82 when they heard the front door open. The panic had been
instant from both of them. Barry had chosen the nearest cupboard and ZX82 was
last seen heading across the hall to the larger cupboard.
One by one,
Free-Cutters had entered. A small hole in the woodwork had given Barry a view
of the room. There were now at least twenty people mingling about. If asked for
a quick estimate, he thought none would be impressed by their illegal entry.
The
conversations died down. A single hand clap was heard. Barry’s heart beat
faster than he thought possible.
A
voice spoke, “Brethren, welcome, by the grace of Ali-Catarri, third overlordum
of the Free-Cutters.”
The
assembled
throng replied en masse, “Verily, we is welcomed.”
Though
disgusted by their poor grammar, Barry was spellbound by the power of the
voices. He was witnessing something very private. The pieces were finally falling
in place.
A
different, more powerful voice spoke. “On thus special day, we is bound by the
workings of Cumtata.”
The
masses shouted, “Cumtata.”
The
man continued, “Cumtata, Overlordum of Sepitata. Me offers you the ball of
thanks.”
Barry
froze, remembering the old, much-used leather football he’d seen earlier in the
other cupboard. ZX82’s cupboard. Not usually a betting man, he’d have taken any
odds on it being this ‘Ball of Thanks.’ Barry shifted himself around the eye-hole,
a Free-Cutter approach the cupboard.
The
masses cried, “Ball of thanks,” repeatedly.
The
cupboard door squeaked as it opened. The Free-Cutter, naked from the waist up,
except for a trilby hat adorned with yellow feathers, looked into the cupboard,
saw agent ZX82 and said, “What the fuck?”
