Junkyard Speedball - Chapter five

Junkyard Speedball - Chapter five

This is the fifth part of an updated version of the novella, Junkyard Speedball — a symbiot story, which was first written a couple of years ago and introduces a couple of characters that subsequently play major roles in Van Hallam’s Hellsborough Chronicles, as well as providing some insight into the region of The Dark Peak known as the netherlands.

Commissioner

Woods' of Firthwood, I bring you a man I believe can help us. Said the commissioner in Ing as he walked through the door of the shack with Mold and Kibble. There were no applause, only silence. Two dozen pairs of gawping eyes.

Elder statesmen of Firthwood, as you know, several of our community have been lost these last six months, to what, we are unsure.

A murmur of discontent passed through the men and woman gathered in the shack.

All we do know is, and I cover this ground only to bring Mold up-to-date, is that in the evening our friends were here as usual and in the morning, gone without a trace. Nothing biological has ever been recovered, not an eye or a finger, only the occasional piece of fabric or scrap of a garment that could be associated with a missing individual. We have ruled out wild animals, for they are few and far between, even in this sanctuary and as for the mythical beasts said to inhabit the murk, we have always doubted their existence, although, as you know, we cannot rule them out. No, what we believe we are dealing with is something of a greater intelligence than that, that is able to lure our people out, this Lord of the Forest as he -- I say he, I may be wrong -- is so called. Other than that, we know nothing, nothing at all, except that his -- its -- mind is wild and full of the creatures around us.

The commissioner paused, fighting with emotion but remaining stoic and keeping his composure.

I think I can speak for everyone, Mold, he said, addressing him directly, when I say that no one in our settlement has not felt the effect of this, this creature, we have all, for the time being at least, lost at least one family member. Last week, my wife, the lady commissioner, a strong woman of head and hand, a skilled artisan and fighter, was taken whilst I slept and I heard nothing.

My wife! He raised his voice and then softened, the mother of Willow, my dear daughter. The commissioner trailed off again, allowing Willow to continue.

For those of you that don't know, Mold is a pee-eye.

A low shushing spread through the group.

And I know we don't normally deal with the city folk of Hellsborough, whether it be the exacids or the taxers or any of them. They don't understand us and we don't want to understand them, but this pee-eye is a tracker. He's been searching for a rogue troubadour and pest man, and has tracked him down here, to the junkyard. He's good. I know he can help us find those loved ones that are missing. Mold, will you?

Willow put Mold central stage with the question and Mold considered his position.

If I do, he started.

There are ¢hits, said the commissioner, more ¢hits than you could expect in a year in your line of work.

Mold, for all his self perceived virtue was as much a bounty hunter as the next man, in fact, in tracking Lomas, whilst that was his salaried job, there was always a bonus for picking up nuisance makers (and Lomas certainly had been, at times, in Hellsborough and elsewhere), which was always a part of the appeal. Life was dangerous. Period. You had to accept danger to survive. This would keep him on his toes and when the job was done, he'd be able to afford a little holiday, or maybe he'd even accumulate enough money to buy himself out of the service altogether, get himself a little business of some sort.

Mold nodded.

Thank you Mold, said the commissioner and Willow in unison.

And there is one other condition, added the commissioner.

Which is?

Willow will accompany you.

I work alone, just me and Kibble.

Then how will you recognise our people?

You are genetically distinct from any people I've ever seen; the red hair, the sallow skin, your eyes, you all have these traits.

True, but this is the condition, said the commissioner with finality.

And if I can't help, added Willow, then at least I can watch your back, I know the Wisewood and the netherlands better than anyone.

Mold conceded. Her knowledge of this dump was better than his, and better than Kibble's too, no doubt. And she could fight, with tooth and nail he supposed, if need be.

Then you begin tomorrow, suggested the commissioner, but now we eat and sleep, you can leave early in the morning. We have culled a tard in your honour, is that satisfactory to you?

Mold nodded his assent. Later, satiated with fatty wooltard and filled with the Wood clan's potcheen sleeping draught, he retired with Willow to her shack and separated by Kibble, they slept.

If you know anyone else that you think might find this interesting, then please forward this email to them :)

I have launched a new series of diary entries that I call “Pip Rippon — Stranger in a Strange Land”, in which I describe my struggle to survive as an immigrant in Hellsborough and The Dark Peak, and how I make ¢hits, and how you can use my knowledge to make money in the off-world. I think you’ll enjoy it, check it out here: Stranger in a Strange Land.

In other news, Hellsborough Chronicles book one “Dark Peak” is now available on Kindle and paperback.

If you can leave a review of Dark Peak on Amazon, I'd be more than grateful.

Hellsborough Chronicles book two “Darker Peak” is now being worked on — look out for early releases.

Cheers, until next time,

Pip :)