Author: Hobsnob
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Vincent was right outside Marmeduke’s gate when he collapsed. He felt the bonds between his body and the spirits inside him weaken as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
Opening his eye as he woke, Vincent took in the plush surroundings he was now in. He had been moved, but Vincent didn’t feel endangered. During the recent events Vincent seemed to have picked up a sort of sixth sense alerting him to danger. On the way to Marmeduke’s he had sensed a threat and stopped his run abruptly only to see a herd of stampeding elephants emerge from the dense nearby jungle and pass within feet of him. Perhaps Zaneba’s woman’s intuition was rubbing off on him.
But even so his hosts could mean him no harm if they were accommodating him so comfortably. Vincent had never seen such luxury. The room was bigger than two of the village’s tents put together and housed a plethora of extravagances: the four poster bed Vincent was laying was made of fine mahogany, along with a massive wardrobe, an exquisite dresser and a host of cabinets all made of the dark wood. In the cabinets were elaborate ornaments of which Vincent didn’t even try and guess the age, material or value.
The door burst open, taking Vincent aback. The portly figure of the Colonel strode into the room. The delicate contents of the cabinets rattled and shook as the door struck the wall.
“What-Oh Vincent old chap!” Marmeduke bellowed.
The recipient of this raucous greeting winced. He had a headache bad enough without such noise aggravating it
“Hello Colonel”
“Please, Vincent, we’re all friends here” Vincent shot a glance at the manservant that had slinked in behind Marmeduke, of whom Vincent knew nothing. “Call me Marmeduke. Now! You’re as thin as a rake old boy! Is there anything Alfred here could get you to eat?”
“With all respect Colonel...”
“Marmeduke, Vincent, Marmeduke!” The Colonel interjected.
“Marmeduke, of course.” Vincent continued: “With all respect, I have more pressing matters at hand. Did you not wonder as to why you might have found me unconscious outside your estate?”
“That was Alfred actually, but (by gum!) you’re right. That is a tad odd.” Marmeduke pondered on this peculiarity for a second, then changed his mind. “Well, perhaps you can tell me and Alfred all about it after a spot of breakfast.”
“But Marmeduke! This really is of the utmost importance!”
“Nonsense old boy! Nothing is too urgent to have to interrupt a nice, civilised meal. Besides, I bet you’ve never tasted the delicacy that is a cup of Earl Grey!” With that Marmeduke left the room with Alfred in tow.
Bemused by the encounter, Vincent got up left the room himself. His host was nowhere to be seen so he concluded he would have to find wherever they would be taking breakfast alone. After ten minutes of wandering Vincent found the room, ate the small fish that Marmeduke told him were kippers and told his story.
“By Jove Vincent! This is Awful!” The news didn’t seem to dampen Marmeduke’s excitement in the slightest, much to Vincent’s dismay. “And you say these were white men…? But there aren’t enough white men to attack a village as big as yours in the whole country. You have no idea who they were at all?”
“There was a name on the side of one of their automobiles: Crey.”
“Crey! Of course! I should have known it was the Yankees!”
“Americans… But what would they be doing here? And why would they want to destroy my village?”
“I can quite equivocally say I don’t know Vincent old bean. My ties with the States are loose at best.”
Vincent felt downhearted. He would never get his closure. Nor his revenge if they were from America. The Colonel bolted from his seat, sending earl grey everywhere.
“By Jove Vincent! I do believe General Thompson’s son is doing rather well for himself in the States these days. I have ties after all!”
He went over to a nearby cabinet and got out a rolodex.
“Here we go. R… S… T… Ah! Thompson. It looks like Thompson’s boy is residing in Paragon City. What luck! If memory serves that’s where Crey’s Headquarters are,” Marmeduke’s face dropped. “But last I heard Paragon was a warzone. We couldn’t possibly send you there…” What little hope Vincent had gained in the last few minutes withered. “…There might be rationing on tea!” Both Vincent and Alfred rolled their eyes.
“Sir,” Alfred piped up. “The invasion of Paragon was months ago, I’m sure it would be quite safe for Vincent to pay a visit. Besides, from what I’ve heard General Thompson’s son is doing rather well for himself as one of those smashing hero fellows. He goes under the name The Brigadier.”
“What about the t…”
“I’m sure he’ll have plenty of tea, sir.”
“Well then! If you are ever going to find out what these Crey folk are up to we’d best send you across the pond, Vincent. Thompson’s boy’ll happily look after you if you mention my name; I’m friends with his dad.”
Vincent looked worried at this prospect. “But Marmeduke, I’m really not sure I want to leave Africa.”
“Nonsense! You need to catch up with Crey. You said you wanted to get revenge. You aren’t going to do that here or without help. The heroes in Paragon are already suspicious of Crey and I’m sure you’d get a ton of support over there. Especially if you can get in touch with this Brigadier fellow.” Vincent realised he wasn’t going to win this. “Now! If Alfred would be kind enough to start up the car, we’ll take you down to the plane.”
Vincent was still blanched when the three of them arrived at Marmeduke’s makeshift airstrip. He was not looking forward to leaving his homeland, especially by air. The airstrip was nothing more than a badly cleared stretch of grassland. A rusty petrol lawnmower stood to one side of the strip and judging by the length of grass, Vincent thought it wouldn’t be long until it was next in use. The grass was long, potentially dangerously so.
But the plane at the end of the strip looked like it had braved the morass in front of it and worse many a time. It was battered, dented and scratched all over. What paint hadn’t been scratched off was peeling to reveal rust and even the odd patch of grass growing in crooks and crannies. Despite this the twin rotors started without a fuss and the motor gave a gentle purr.
“A noble vessel isn’t she Vincent?” Marmaduke asked, grinning.
“Noble wasn’t quite the word I was looking for.”
Alfred leant out of the plane waving his arm, beckoning Vincent.
“This is it then Vincent. I wish you the best of luck old chap.” With that, Marmaduke got back in the Land Rover and drove back to his manor. Vincent approached the plane gingerly. The metal blades spinning either side of him unnerved him completely. The plane was old and rusty. A rotor could easily fly off and decapitate him. He ran up the steps quickly.
Vincent didn’t feel any better inside. The purr of the engine was a roar in the cabin and as the plane shook and vibrated he remembered how fragile the machine was. If the plane was to malfunction mid-flight there was no way he would survive, even with his control of the spirits. He looked around the metal coffin and sat down in one of the seats, firmly strapping himself in.
Craning his neck, he could see Alfred in the pilot’s cabin [Is it a cabin?]. Alfred? Was he a pilot as well as a manservant and a chauffer?
“Alfred! You fly too?” Vincent called, shouting above the clamour of the engine.
“Vincent, there isn’t much you don’t come across at least once in the service of the Colonel.”
Alfred gunned the engines and sent the plane hurtling along the strip. Vincent felt the plane hit every clump of grass along the way. The plane swayed perilously as it hit a bump on one side and then the other. The nose hesitantly left the ground and thudded back again. Vincent heard Alfred curse from the cabin. The engine snarled as Alfred pushed it harder. The plane tilted back again, now menacing close to the edge of the strip. Vincent looked out of the side window to see the plane wasn’t just tilted. It was in the air!
Instead of feeling a thrill, Vincent hadn’t flown yet, he just felt ill. In this cocoon of the unnatural: metal, electronics, even the fabric of his seat was synthetic, he felt his links with the spirit world wilt. When he realised just how high they were, he felt the tenuous links all but break. He head swooned with the thought of it. Yubaba and Zeneba had resurrected him. They were spirits. If he lost his connection with the spirits all together what would happen to him? Would he die in the sky; his spirit forced to wander the lonely skies for eternity amongst the vultures?
“Stop this nonsense Vincent!” A woman’s voice cried.
“Zeneba! But how? Up here?”
“You fool Vincent. You think the spirits are earthbound in this world? There are no limits in the next life. We are everything and nothing. Us spirits are only a fraction away from this world, which is why you can talk to me now. It takes tremendous energy to effect this world, but at the same time we are in everything. You sensed it a few days ago. In the ground, the grass, even the morning sun you felt on your skin. Why should it be any different up here? True, the invasive actions of man like this aeroplane weaken our presence in this world, but that doesn’t warrant all this panic.”
“But what about in America? This is African magic Zeneba. How could it work over a huge ocean?”
“Oh don’t get yourself in such a state. There is a lovely woman who’s been watching in that Paragon City named Azoria. She’ll make all of this clear. She had great things planned for you Vincent. But now you need some rest.”
Vincent felt weary. His eyelids drooped and he nodded off into a peaceful sleep.
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