Suit, Potbelly, Earlobes and the Rest

Chapter 1

In the time of darkness there was not even enough sunlight to activate the roof crystals. The gloom was deep; some of it was in the souls of the occupants.

“Who will protect us if you go?” Potbelly’s voice trembled with fear.

A murmur of assent ran through the cave.

“What if Anrith comes while you are gone?” Big Nose said from the cell in the corner.

“I will not be gone for very long. It is important to know the facts behind Slim’s silence,” Suit explained.

Suit could almost feel the terror around him. He could hear No-legs tremulous breathing.

“Shall I be in charge while you are gone?” Knees asked.

He knew that Knees had seniority but, equally, he knew that the responsibility was not wanted.

“Earlobes will be in charge. Make sure everyone is locked in their cell in the dark times; only come out to eat in pairs during the time of light. This should give you enough time for all to bathe, eat and do as you must. I shall be back very quickly.”

“Anrith will come,” somebody whispered.

“Unlikely that he will locate you, know that I am not here and attack in the short space of time that will be my absence.”

“But not impossible,” the quiet voice said again, the strain of keeping the tone even was showing.

Even the faint shadowy figures of the others was now gone, a complete absence of light in the cave.

“Potbelly and Earlobes will look after you, Earlobes will have the knife. I go now.”

*

There were no observable wear marks from other vehicles on the track leading up the hill to the village. There were only random and irregular gullies where rivulets had eroded the path, splitting it into sections.

The Land Rover picked its way up the slope as sure footed as a four-wheel mountain goat and looked about as disreputable. It was ancient and patched but, he had been assured, was the best vehicle for where he wanted to go. He had corrected the man in the workshop, ‘needed to go,’ he had told him.

He found himself in agreement. For all its appearance to the contrary, it had proved reliable and rugged.

Just before he reached the first house, he parked the Land Rover on the side of the road where it looked as if he would be less likely to soak his shoes when he got out. He toyed with the idea of driving through the village but thought that walking would give him a better opportunity to observe the surroundings.

Stepping out of the car, taking care to avoid puddles on the wet road, he adjusted his blue silk tie, checked the lapels on his beautifully cut and tailored black suit and glanced down to make sure he had not muddied his hand made, and glistening, shoes.

After a few moments studying the path and choosing a route up it, he strolled slowly towards the top of the hill; he noted that several people were discreetly observing him from their doorways and windows.

‘Clearly,’ he thought, ‘I am injecting some excitement into their lives.’

His expression remained blank in spite of the effort required to climb the slope, which was much steeper than it had appeared from the cab of the Land Rover. Also, in spite of his best efforts, he noted that his shoes were beginning to show the odd splatter of mud, he wondered, briefly, if the splashing extended to his suit. He felt that appearances were vital; a gentleman should always look his best.

At length he arrived at the top of the village. The houses—shacks really, petered out rather than coming to a sudden halt. Another short walk on more level, but muddier, ground, brought him to a wooden fence in need of considerable repair.

The fence surrounded a graveyard. The grave markers were, for the most part, rotten, dilapidated, completely illegible and, like the rest of the graveyard, appeared to be disregarded by the inhabitants.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind that they could practice sati, widow burning, here. That would make his journey rather pointless. Still, he must get on with it and progress as far as possible.

Inside the graveyard the ground was less soggy, the fence had, for all its other inadequacies, kept out the larger animals so that the earth was less trampled and the grass cover was complete.

One by one he examined the markers.  None of them were made of anything permanent—stone, for example. They were all wooden, very plain with just a name and a date. He rather supposed that the date was the date of death of the individual. On none of them was made mention of family, date of birth or how the deceased had come by his, or her, fate.

He heard a noise behind him. Turning, he saw a young man dressed in the local attire. He was carrying what appeared to be a homemade shotgun.

Suit decided to ignore the weapon, “Arthur Sutton?”

“He is dead,” the young man told him in reasonable English.

“How?”

“I am not understanding,” the young man waggled his head as he spoke.

Suit found this mannerism slightly disconcerting. He repeated his question, “How did Arthur Sutton die?”

“He was very shot, Sir,” The young man replied accompanied by much waggling.

“Very shot? Not just a little bit shot?”

“Oh, no, Sir. He is very dead. Very shot, Sir.”

“Who?”

“Arthur Sutton—Mister Arthur, Sir.”

Suit blinked and tried again, “Who shot Mister Sutton?”

“We are not knowing, Sir.”

“Who else, besides yourself, has a gun in this village?” Suit asked.

“Very many, Sir.”

“Are they all like yours?”

Oh, yes, Sir. Very much being. But Premchand small gun also got.”

“Was Mister Sutton shot with a small gun or a big gun?”

“Oh, Sir. Small gun. In the back shooting. Two times.” The waggling resolved itself into a more up and down motion for a moment.

“So Premchand killed him.”

“It is very possibility, Sir.”

“He has been arrested?” Suit asked, expecting a negative.

“Mister Sutton? He is very dead, Sir. We cannot arrest a man dead being.”

“Premchand? Has Premchand been arrested?”

“Oh, no, Sir. Who will look after the widow and daughter? It is Premchand’s responsibility now.”

“Because he killed Mister Sutton.”

“Oh, yes, Sir.”

This bemused Suit. The term ‘justice’ seemed very far away and very indistinct up here in these remote hills.

“May I speak with Premchand?”

“Yes, Sir but he is not English speaking.”

“But you can translate?” Suit suggested. He chose not to tell them that he understood their dialect very well through constant conversations with Slim, known to these people as Arthur Sutton—Mister Arthur, oddly enough.

Suit was becoming uncomfortable with the time taken to achieve this mission. He had thought that reaching Slim’s village would be a matter of hours rather than a couple of days.

They had walked back down into the village. One of the houses was a little more modern looking and presentable than the others. Set back off the track in its own grounds, it seemed to be the home of a village elder or chief.

The young man led the way up to the front door and knocked.

The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman holding a sari across her face. ‘At least,’ Suit thought, ‘she is still alive. But the daughter?’

There was a brief conversation in the local dialect before the woman was roughly pulled aside by a large man with a rough beard.

Another conversation followed during which the young man appeared apologetic and the other man, Premchand, evidently, became angrier.

Eventually, Premchand thrust his face at Suit and snarled something that Suit knew to mean, “What do you want here? We do not like strangers nosing around!”

Before the young man could interpret, Suit said, in English, “Tell him that I am an investigator from the insurance company. I have a large cheque for the wife of Mister Sutton and another for the daughter of Mister Sutton who is now above the age of consent.”

Another dialogue. Premchand told the young man that Mister Arthur had no money; that the whole thing was a disaster; that he now had to look after the wife and daughter with no funds; that this cheque had better be very big or the whole village would have to contribute.

Suit knew now that it had been a plot to kill the stranger to get his money, not knowing that the money was held in a foreign bank. Anrith was not involved.

Suit drew a sigh of relief.

Premchand snarled something at Suit. The young man translated, “Go and get cash. We have no banks for cheques. You will give me the cash in US Dollars. It must be a great deal,” he thought for a moment, “Then get us the inheritance. There is nothing in the house.”

Suit told them that the inheritance could be transferred to a bank in the nearest town but that the wife and daughter would have to come and sign for it. To this end they must bring all their paperwork including the passport of Mister Sutton and their marriage Certificates.

Premchand swore at the woman. She ran into the house calling out for the daughter. He continued to mutter about ‘damn foreigners think they own the country’ including several oaths and invectives.

Suit knew that the daughter was around twenty-four years old but did not know that she was stunningly beautiful. She was attempting to cover her face with a veil but was less than successful. Suit tried to ignore the washboard stomach with the small jewel set in the neat navel but, like her, was less than successful.

The four of them walked down to the Land Rover and climbed in. Premchand at the front and the two women seated at the rear.

Shortly after they set off, Suit having to execute a thirty-point turn in the track, Premchand pulled a small gun. He held it awkwardly in his right hand trying to get the angle to point it at Suit.

Suit accelerated down the track, The Land Rover bounced wildly, Premchand’s hand with the gun in it bounced equally wildly. Suit hit the brakes and grabbed Premchand’s hand. Premchand had not worn a belt, he was now kneeling on the floor with the side of his head against a very hard dashboard. The gun, meanwhile, was now in Suit’s hand until he transferred it to his inside pocket.

Premchand climbed back up to the seat and sat glowering at Suit. Suit smiled gently until, at the place on the track that he had wanted, he stopped the Land Rover.

On the left hand side was a sheer drop for several hundred feet. On the right hand side was a steep cliff. The Land Rover was a right hand drive vehicle, Suit had stopped with the passenger side up against the sheer drop.

“You can get out now,” he smiled.

Premchand did hot understand.

Mrs. Sutton translated as Suit had hoped that one of them would.

Premchand went very pale. He said something to the effect that he could not, there was nowhere to stand.

Suit spoke in their dialect, “You murdered my cousin. Now it is your turn to die. Get out.”

Premchand shook his head wildly.

Arthur’s daughter said coldly, “You murdered my Dad thinking you would inherit his money by marrying my Mum. Get out.”

She produced a vicious looking knife from the folds of her robe and prodded him in the back of the head with it.

Premchand screamed.

Suit took the small gun out of his pocket, “Does this still work? Can you hear if it’s loaded?” he said putting it to Premchand’s ear.

Premchand opened the door, looked out and saw that he had about nine inches of track to stand on. Thinking he would be safer on that than staying in the Land Rover, he stepped out.

“Shut the door,” Suit instructed.

Premchand took the edge of the door and stepped carefully to one side so that there would room for the door to close.

Suit shot him in the hip.

Premchand flinched backwards, screamed, lost his balance and fell.

His screams faded into distance.

Suit drove off knowing that there was a place farther down where he could safely get out and shut the door.

*

The gloom was intense. Near the end of the dark time it became really deep, almost like velvet.

They all heard the scraping noise and a whimper.

Earlobes gripped the knife harder but had no idea what to do with it even if she could see anything.

Just for a moment there was a brief, faint, glow and then the darkness came back even more than it had before.

A brief scuffle and a soft, “Noooo!” then silence. A silence as profound as the darkness.

They all pulled their blankets over themselves and tried to shrink inconspicuously into their cots.

Anrith had been. They knew.

*

The solicitor’s office in the nearby town was dank and stuffy. Suit looked around at all the books and, piled on tables and desks, files and folders with sheets of paper sticking out.

It had said on the door that he had trained in the United Kingdom and practised in London. He was a member of the Law Society. Suit thought that he was the appropriate person to do the paperwork.

There was a good chance, the solicitor said, that the daughter could be accepted as a British citizen but that, in the meantime, there would be no trouble in accessing funds for the two of them from the mother’s account.

They, the wife and daughter, had not been aware that Slim—Arthur Sutton, had opened such an account but it now proved extremely useful.

Suit was anxious to get back. He left the women in what seemed to be capable hands. He was afraid that too long a contact with them would attract the attention of Anrith. The daughter, in particular, was extraordinarily beautiful and now rich—a typical Anrith target. Of course, he also wanted to get back to the cave. Five days away was far too long, many days more than he had intended or, indeed, wanted.

*

Suit arrived back in the middle of the time of light. He found them all huddled in their cells, frightened to emerge.

He called them by name and received muted response from all except Tonsure.

“Where is Tonsure,” he demanded.

Nobody spoke. They were all terrified.

“Earlobes? I left you in charge. Tell me about Tonsure,” he knew he was getting a little too strident but he, too, was worried.

Potbelly emerged, looking left and right. Knees followed, equally cautiously.

Earlobes muttered from the cell, “Anrith came and took Tonsure from her cell.”

“When?”

“Seven dark times ago,” Earlobes whispered at him.

“Recently, then. How did Anrith get to Tonsure? Was the cell open?” Suit asked of them all.

“We don’t know. It was open in the morning,” Potbelly told him, eyes wide with fear even now, “Anrith will come back.”

“Not yet. Tonsure will keep Anrith satisfied for another few times of dark. Then there will be another snatch.”

They wailed. Suit called for silence.

“I have a plan to keep you all safe but it will mean splitting you up. You will have to live on your own until I can kill Anrith.”

“Nooo!” they all panicked.

Knees rushed out of the cell and grabbed Suit, “You cannot leave us. Anrith will pick us off one by one if you leave us on our own.”

“We know, we know,” No-legs screamed at him, “Look what happened to Tonsure while you were away so long.”

“Silence!” he shouted above the general hubbub.

They gradually subsided into a sort of quietude broken by fearful mutterings. Big Nose was making arcane signs and mouthing incantations according to the tribal traditions. Knees continued to hold on to his sleeve, Potbelly, No-legs and Earlobes hunkered down on the floor trying to be invisible but Potbelly was also gibbering strange chants.

“I have a plan to spread you out on Earth where Anrith will not look for you. Slim was ignored as was his wife and daughter. No-legs should go to California, Knees to Brisbane, Potbelly can live in Paris, Earlobes will fit in well in Nairobi and Big Nose goes to Jakarta.

“Anrith will never find you amongst such a throng of other life forms. In the meantime, I will wait here and catch him,” Suit told them.

Panic. They absolutely did not want to be split up to live all over some unknown world without Suit’s protection. The noise was indescribable.

None of them saw Anrith arrive.

Knees was grabbed and shrieked loudly. Suit whirled and slashed with the silver blade, cutting Anrith on the arm. Knees kicked out and dropped to the floor, scrabbling away on all fours gibbering in fear.

Anrith blurred, became fog, mist, thin vapour and was gone.

“Anrith must have thought I was still away,” he bent down to help Knees up.

All of them were now petrified. Anrith had dared to attack them and take one of them even with Suit here. His argument that Anrith had not realised he had returned carried no weight with any of them.

“Now it becomes even more imperative that you are split up and scattered over that planet. I will prepare your documents now.”

They screamed, they begged, they implored but Suit was adamant that this was the only way, “Anrith has taken four of you already. Tonsure will be the last. If you are on the planet I can chase down Anrith and, maybe, get Tonsure back to us,” he paused, “You have to move again anyway. Anrith knows this location so we need a new one. The discussion is over.”

They were convinced that Tonsure would, by now, be soup or sundry parts cut off for sale to transplant clinics but Suit promised them that Tonsure was alive yet. It would take longer than that to arrange buyers on the black market.

Suit told them that they were not being eaten but they believed, earnestly, that the time between snatchings was enough to consume one of them. The idea that they were being cut up and eaten was evidence of ignorance. They did not know the truth so they had made up a story to suit. Tonsure has been snatched, gone; the conversation should stop right there. Everything after that was guessing and not fact.

They argued that he had told them that Anrith would not return while he was away. It was, they argued, Tonsure who had said Anrith might well return. Tonsure, they assured him, had an instinct for such things. Now Knees added that they knew whose turn it was next.

No-legs hugged Knees fiercely wailing that Knees was not to die.

*

The plan went ahead. The documents were ready. They all left the cave together. No-legs was left in Long Beach, then they all went to Brisbane to leave Knees. Then they headed North-West to drop off Big Nose in Jakarta, Earlobes in Nairobi and Potbelly in Paris.

They were all absolutely convinced that they would never see each other again. Death, in the shape of Anrith would creep in and snatch them, one by one, in the time of dark.

Suit went back to the cave and shook out all the blankets and pillows to make sure the scent of the others was heavy in the air. Then he sat back and waited.

Only four times of dark passed before Anrith appeared as the time of light was just beginning. A time when people were still asleep or whose minds were dull from sleep. Cautious, stealthy, he crept into the cave. He observed the cells, all locked except one. Partially ajar he eased the door open and heard a brief hiss followed by overwhelming pain in his chest.

Anrith staggered backwards, peering down at the handle of the silver knife and marvelling at all the blood flowing from his chest where the knife protruded. He tried to give the signal to take him out but the transmitter was in his left hand, which was numb.

He looked at Suit, “What have you done?” he gasped, not believing what was happening to him.

“I have done what I should have done so many years ago and killed you. If it weren’t me it would have been others. I am merely keeping it in the family. Now die quietly,” he sneered, reached across and jerked the blade from Anrith’s chest.

Anrith gasped loudly in pain, “It hurts,” he said, crying, “I don’t want to die.”

“Then you should not have irritated me. I shall go and report to father that you are dead. He will be, I have no doubt, relieved.”

“No, no,” Anrith moaned, “Please help me, I beg you.”

He sank to his knees, looking up at Suit with eyes wet with grief and despair. He fell to the side, sobbing.

Suit watched the last of Anrith’s life ebb out in a series of spasms and a pool of blood.

*

“He’s dead, father,” Suit said simply.

“Anrith?”

“Aye.”

“It was only a matter of time, one supposes,” his father stated simply, “Do we know what he was doing?”

“He was abducting females then selling them off for slavery,” Suit explained.

“Why did he need to do that? His gambling debts?”

“Indeed,” Suit said, “They were mounting at an alarming rate. Presumably that will now defer to me to pay off.”

“Can you?” father asked.

“Yes. I don’t see why I should but these people are not the sort that can be taken to court to argue it out. They have faster, better-armed ships than the police or the navy. Probably as a result of the drug money.”

“What about the wives you have left to you?”

Suit grimaced, “Only five now. I shall, of course, go and hunt for Tonsure while the trail is still, relatively, warm.”

“You are fortunate to have five extraordinarily beautiful women as wives. Most men are lucky to have one beauty and the rest plain. You must marry some more to make up the numbers, it will be expected of you; there are still few men left in our population and, until we can find out why this is happening you have to shoulder your share of the burden.”

“I miss those that Anrith stole. They will be on other planets now. Possibly mining planets where the only company men get is from whores bought by the mining corporations. I think I shall get no more wives.”

“Your duty says otherwise, my boy. But, tell me, why the odd names. I understand Big Nose because of the irony—she hardly has a nose at all, but Potbelly? She is stunning with a magnificent figure.”

“Ah, well, Dad. The first time I saw her she was standing by a potbelly stove cooking the evening meal for the family. When her Dad asked me which one I wanted...”

“...you said ‘I’ll take Potbelly’!” he laughed.

“Would you tell your brother that Slim’s widow and daughter are in need of help? He will be pleased to have a grandchild even if it is another girl.”

“Very well. Now go and scoop up all your wives before they all die of terror; I have to go and see to mine.

*

They were back in their home again. It had been almost eight months of living in fear.

Potbelly brought in the evening meal helped by Earlobes.

Knees was tall and hefty, she carried the huge roast that they had purchased to celebrate the return to normality.

Suit had explained that Anrith’s debt had been paid so their life was free of all impediments. They could return to peace and quiet.

No-legs sidled up to Suit, sat on his lap and purred in his ear, “Whose turn is it next?”

Suit just smiled enigmatically, “Eat. Tomorrow I begin the search for Tonsure.”

He reached over and sliced off the piece of roast that had a faint brand marking on it. It was his mark.