Red Herring - Chapter 4. "The Seed"
Disclaimer: If you see something that belongs to you, then it's probably yours. Lawyers are allergic to me!
Aviary stood and scratched his head. There was a piece of the puzzle that he was missing, and he couldn't figure out what it was. He needed more stationary if he was to finish his letter. Searching for change in his trenchcoat, the heavy pocket-watch knocked against his hand. Aviary had completely forgotten about it, editing out Ronald's death from his tale.
"I wouldn't trust 'er, my friend," the man behind the counter tittered. Aviary held the memento tightly. Ronald had the device for a reason. "She says she lives 'ere. But I know every man an' woman that lives in this 'ere town and she i'nt one of em. We've only got one Elena."
"No, I was talking to a Helena," Aviary replied loudly.
"Helena Josef. Yes. And she sure wusn't a blonde. And she didn't sound like a German, neither," the wizened postman's attention drifted back to his newspaper.
German. The reporter dragged a hand down his face, "Oh God." His other hand was still gripping the pocket-watch. He pulled it out and took a dive, looking intently at the flipping symbols. Three central panels had Latin symbols on them. He had made a mistake.
"Elena came by not two weeks ago. Aven't seen 'er since. Awful fright'nd of somethin' though…" he licked his thumb and turned over a page.
Aviary stared, "Really? Did—did she tell you why?"
The man shrugged openly, "Said some people were after 'er. Tryin' ta kill 'er. Said they wouldn't be the type of men ta ask a postman fer directions," he looked up through thick glasses, "That's why she told me. Old Ernie, she said, an' maybe a bit more politely than that, I mightn't be here fer very long. If any nice people were ta ask after me, send them on down to the pub. The pub, she said. An' 'er family were the Temperance sort. All sorts a' scandals now-a-days."
"The pub?" Aviary repeated.
A nod. "Aye, the pub."
"Next door?"
"Two doors down. You postin' that letter, lad?"
"Oh, yes. I'd also like to buy some more stamps."
Ernie looked grey faced, "God save 'er soul."
Aviary took long strides over the pavement. The pocket-watch had spoken first. Pub. In Latin symbols, the archaic calligraphy that marked the Saint's name's in his grandfather's Bible now instructing him towards the pub. The reporter could visualize his own grandfather divining the same with his own instruments.
Aviary opened the doors to the pub and slid in. It was quite empty, even considering it was only close to noon. Clearing his throat, he went straight to the barkeeper, "Hello. I'm looking for…" And what to say next? "Helena?"
"Helena!" the barkeeper yelled. The two or three patrons looked dimly at each other and ignored it. The barkeeper shook his head, "Not here."
"Actually, I'm looking for a Helena."
"She's not here."
"I was told to come here by a Helena."
"So you're telling me that you came here because Helena told you to come here to look for Helena. Are you sure?"
"…Kind of. Can you help me?"
"Helena!" the barkeeper called out again, even louder. The patrons scowled at the intrusion but didn't respond further. "Want any more help?"
Aviary leaned his elbows on the counter, "Hypothetically, if…"
"Who wants Helena?" a disembodied voice asked from behind the bar. Two pale arms reached up over the counter and Emily pulled herself up, "Hi Aviary. I thought I heard you."
"You left me at the post office," Aviary replied vexingly. The young man leaned over the counter, "What's down there?" The barkeeper simply scowled at the reporter, not taking any notice of the redheaded lady appearing out of the ground.
"I was just hiding, that's all. There's a bunker behind the pub. They took Maria in there but not me and I can't understand why, I'm not a danger to them. I'm—I'm searching for the way in."
The barkeeper drummed his nails on the counter, "Not… appreciated," he muttered without looking at her.
"Then tell me where you took her!" Emily hissed.
"Well I'd start with a bookcase… strange plumbing… or—or a revolving wall, like 'The Mystery at Lilac Inn'. Feel around for some loose panels while you're down there."
"You're a loose panel."
"Mind your manners!"
"…Not helping…" The barkeeper added tersely.
Emily straightened, though still on her knees, "Where did you take my girl?"
Through the hidden doorway behind the bar was an old concrete bunker. Inside Maria was seated in the middle of a grand dining table, helping herself to lunch. There were men and women seated all around her, wining and dining alongside the silent child. Maria tried to make eye contact with some of them, but they all ignored her.
There was a sound like a thunderclap and a deep voice spoke out from the crowd, "Now then! I feel we have a presentation to make…"
Maria jumped to her feet in surprise. A tall, bearded man moved towards her. Maria gripped the table, looking wide-eyed at the strange figure. He bowed his head to her, "My name is George. These people do not know who you are, but they are here for the same reasons that you are here, Maria Farbauti."
Maria had to bite her panic and force her mind to think, to chance, "T-they know about Helena?" He knew her name. Her father had warned her of that. What had he said?
George nodded, "Oh, they know about that. And here, we have for you… a box," he laid out a trapezium-styled metal case upon the table. "I think you know what's in this box, young one. Helena willed it to be yours especially." Some of the men and women at the table were craning their necks closer, trying to see what was inside the shut lid.
Maria grabbed the man's arm, "Excuse me, but who are these people?"
George grinned, "They are good people, Maria. People who knew our Helena. Open the box."
She stared at the bearded man for a while, but her eyes gravitated towards the metal container. She saw her own small, pale hands in the reflection of the steel lid as she opened it. It was half filled with the same yellowish jelly she had seen back at Helena's house and stunk horribly. Suspended in the middle of the thick goo was a small, white bead. "What's that?"
"Go on, take it."
"But what does it do? Is it on fire?"
"It was Helena's will. Take the seed."
"I don't know!"
George sighed and hung his head, "Ah well, then. Come, sit down." Maria seated herself at the table, following his lead. She had suddenly lost her appetite. George sunk his fingers into the gelatine. Maria watched in wonder as he picked up the bead with gluey fingers. The man looked to the other people seated at the table, all watching in fixation, "Watch closely my friends." He grabbed Maria's hands by the wrists. The girl cupped her hands as if by instinct and he rolled the little bead onto her palms. The tiny sphere rolled across her skin and flared alight.
"Oh…" Maria murmured in awe.
"Argh!" Emily struck her thigh in frustration.
Aviary flinched on the barkeeper's behalf as the redhead grew more and more enraged. It was like watching a kettle pace and boil with growing violence. She would start shooting steam from her mouth at any minute.
The barkeeper wasn't talking. It was if the entire town was under some sort of spell. But the blonde had been exempt from this phenomenon. There were probably more secrets under these few thatched roofs than Aviary had ever uncovered for the press; he sighed, "It's the town."
Emily looked up from her crouch behind the bar, "What's the town, Aviary?"
"It's the entire town. All of them, strange people," he was watching the patrons sitting idly at the tables.
The redhead blinked, "Do not be weird Aviary. Just look for the hidden door."
"Fantastic. Do you really believe that our readers want to hear tales about you feeling along the floor of a tavern for cracks?"
"Well why don't you put your one skill to good use and interrogate this Buttoned-up Barman or you can get down on your knees and start helping."
"…!" Aviary stormed into the gents'. He felt like letting off steam himself. He was hungry and tired and Ronald had died. The reporter leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. The turquoise bathroom tiles of the floor were littered with tiny specks of wood. He tried focusing his anger on them.
But what would broken bits of wood be doing in a bathroom? The reporter treated this as a suspicious clue and looked about. They were scattered about quite evenly. Aviary pounded on the door of the sole cubicle. His hammering stopped but he heard no reply. Aviary dropped to his knees and looked under the door. It was empty, "Aha!"
He slammed his heel into the lock of the door, splintering the eggshell wood and banging the flimsy entrance open. The toilet had been ripped from the wall, revealing open water pipes and a metal bunker door, "Just like my Grandfather. Gentleman clubs," Aviary scoffed, "And the one place a lady would never look. Not like she's much of a lady, though, Grand."
"You're not letting Maria drink wine, are you?" one of the anonymous women whispered across the table.
George shook his head, "Not a full glass."
Maria was not even aware the glass was before her; she held the burning bead reverently in her hands as her mind flittered from awe to puzzlement. And all around her was silent. "It's pitiful," she finally remarked.
George almost dropped his fork, "It's fire."
"I can see that. I just thought fire would be more… you know. I thought fire would be grand. Maybe Pa…"
"It's still fire in your hand. How many people have fire in a hand? Yourself. That's who. And nobody else."
"…It won't even scorch the table!"
"Stop trying to scorch my table!" the woman whispered scornfully.
"But I'm not!"
"She had the intent…" George smirked behind steeped fingers.
Emily studied the barren door to the mysterious bunker, stroking her chin.
"How could they take Maria in here without you knowing?"
"The barkeeper was talking to me. He's quite engaging when they want him to talk. Bastard."
Aviary boldly knocked on the door, watching for Emily to stop him. She didn't. But the door did not open. The redhead's brooding composure snapped like a wire; Emily attacked the door with her fists, yelling shrilly, "MARIA! We're outside! Make them open the door!"
"Emily!" Aviary hissed. His ears rang.
The door opened faster than Aviary could account for. Suddenly before them stood a striking man with a beard, Even the Red Herring's infamous hair stood motionless in sight of the man, himself a whole head taller than Aviary.
"roter Hering," the tall man laughed.
"George," she that was she replied tartly.
Aviary sat down in the empty space beside Maria. Emily and George seated themselves at opposite heads of the table, keeping their eye contact locked. The reporter watched the magic trick in Maria's cradled palms burn and flicker.
"It keeps going," Maria whispered, not looking away from the fire in her hands.
The reporter slid out his notebook, "What happened while I was gone?"
George was muttering in undertones to a lady sitting next to him. The redhead's dark eyes flickered over them. If she were a dog, Emily imagined that her ears would be flat against her neck. Her muscles were tensed with urgency.
"We found Helena," Emily announced to the table.
Aviary helped himself to a second sandwich, "This may not come as a shock to you, but I found Helena as well."
"What?"
"She had… short blonde hair and a German accent. What did yours look like?"
"Oh, dead with her throat cut out. Aviary, did you draw her?" she looked worried.
"No. Why?"
Emily motioned with a flourish to a man seated near Aviary. The man pulled a photo out of his blazer and slid it across the table. "Is the blonde you saw outside in that photo?"
"Yessir, this was my Helena," the reporter traced the name inscribed at the base; "…Ilsa von Haupstein? Is that a German name? She had an accent to match, although seeing as that death note we found was in German…"
"On the far left is the one responsible for the death note and actually killing the real Helena. The real Helena was Irish, just so you know. And I'm half German and half Martian, by the way, but none of that is important right now. What is important is what Ilsa said to you, Aviary."
"She… can we just—you said Martian."
Emily's eyes widened, "You're changing the subject! What did you tell her?"
"I was writing my article to actually keep myself employed, you see, as you suggested. She read it. Yes, she knows everything about our fantastic journey up to the incident of the time-travel-train. And then she took left to meet the pair of you at her house. Luckily, you are here and not out there at the moment," Aviary kept talking faster as the look on Emily's face became more and more dangerous.
"Aviary, if Ilsa knows that we are here…" she closed her eyes, "She's probably at the house now. Looking around, finding us not there. She will go back to where she last found you. Why did you go to the pub? Whim?"
"The pocket-watch."
She sighed, "Well, there's some relief there."
"And the postman told me to."
"Gods," Emily had her face buried in her hands, "Nononono, no, no, no."
George was on his feet, "What have you brought?"
"There's still time!" Emily yelled, "Maria, Aviary, we're running. Right now." She bolted for the door, hauling the heavy slab of metallic concrete ajar. The young assassin slid half her face into view, peering out into the male bathroom. She froze, one eye locked with one eye of another. He was poised in a military stance, hands clasped behind his back. Dressed in solid black leather like a Grim, the bathroom lights glinted of his lidless eyes from behind the mask he wore. The only colour on him was the blood red on his armband. A Nazi. The Nazi.
Emily stepped to the side and slammed the door shut. A blade slid through the gap before she could close it. Emily screamed. Aviary felt something cold run down his spine. There was a moment of hesitation before the people of the table ran to help keep the bunker door closed. Emily was struggling to hold him out, feeling the superior strength winning out against her own. Men and women, perhaps half a dozen, were all fighting the might of the intruder, and he was still proving superior.
Maria backed into the opposite corner of the room, cowering with her single strand of fire.
"Fire," Emily swallowed, "It needs the strongest care."
Aviary looked between her and Maria, "I would have thought fire would be the most powerful."
"So did I, but the first fire died," she shut her eyes. Her face all but spoke the words, and look what I've done.
The reporter looked about for something to help them. Barren walls were of no help to any of them. "Emily, remember that thing you did with the books?"
"Read?"
"You broke open the spider's cage. You made a book fly through the air. You can make the damn wall fly!" Aviary shouted.
"That sounds fantastic, Aviary, but I cannot move anything I can't lift!"
Aviary fiddled with the pencil in his hat, "That's alright," he murmured, "Maria! Get against that wall. I need half of everyone on this table!" his voice quavered. Aviary pointed at the far wall, "It'll be our battering ram."
Emily struggled harder against the door as more of her support left, now using cerebral kinesis to slow Kroenen's progress. She could hear the ticking in her ear, but did not know if it was coming from a watch or from him.
Aviary and four others held the table off the ground and were ready to run with it. "Emily! Push the wall where the table hits it!"
Emily's eyes had gone black. The sounds seemed muffled. Something alien wriggled inside of her chest, but the telekinesis got sharper. She could feel the door better. In her mind's eye she saw where the ticking came from. She stared rapt the spot on the concrete brick wall where she knew the table would strike. It was all falling together. But to the entity, Kroenen was the familiar. It would open the door for him gladly and the assassin would slice her face.
They ran at the wall. Emily's mind let go of the door and slammed into the wall. The bricks exploded outwards. Her feet slid across the ground as the door was forced open and the blade moved through the air. The rest of the wall started falling. Bricks, and the ceiling, cascading down like a waterfall.
A/N: I've re-evaluated the plot to include more non-original characters. I bet that will make you happy :)