The Ghastly Exchange – Episode 12

Take it from me, it isn’t easy to talk when you’ve got an ogre’s hand around your throat and he’s lifted you so your toes are barely brushing the floor. Not that I was in the mood for conversation, you understand, but I did have a rather pressing concern to rid him of the notion I was to blame for him magically appearing in my jail cell.

The best I could manage was a strangled noise that sounded like waaaaargle, while beating at his muscled forearm with my fists.

I might as well have been punching a block of stone.

“Answer me!” he bellowed.

By means of gestures and eye rolls, I tried to convey to him that my vocal ability was somewhat hampered by his fingers which were clamped around my windpipe.

The only result of my efforts was a tightening of his grip.

My heart pounded against my ribs as though attempting to batter its way out of my chest. I spluttered and wheezed, my face burning as I struggled to draw air into my aching lungs.

A red haze was creeping across my vision and I became even more frantic, kicking and flapping my arms like a demonically possessed wyvern.

Penetrating the fug in my head came the sound of shouting.

The pressure around my neck abruptly eased.

Like a card falling from inside a gambler’s sleeve, I dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath.

The shouting continued, and as my head cleared, I could make out the words.

“I’ll not tell ye again!” rang out a voice from down the corridor. “If you don’t shut up I’ll come down there and make things a whole lot worse for ye!”

Even in my groggy state I recognised the sergeant’s voice. Grimmon had said something about him living in an apartment over the police station. He must have heard the ruckus caused by the ogre.

The haziness left my eyes and I lifted my head. The ogre had turned away from me and was staring at the cell’s door. In the dimness, the blue skin of his thickly muscled back was striped with moonlight coming between the bars across the window.

He growled. “Who dat shoutin’?”

Like a drowning man clutching at a straw, I said, “He’s a wizard!” Each word was accompanied by a rasp from my bruised throat.

The ogre glared over his shoulder at me. “A WIZARD?”

His booming voice shook a sprinkling of dust from the ceiling.

“Yes.” I pushed myself painfully to my feet, speaking quickly so as not to give him time to think. “He’s the one who cast the spell that brought you here.”

The ogre spat an egg-sized ball of phlegm out the corner of his mouth and snarled. “Don’t like wizards!”

In one swift movement he stepped forward and grabbed hold of the door, a bar in each hand. There was a brief shriek of tortured steel as he tore it loose and tossed it aside.

Bricks tumbled from the sides of the doorway into the corridor as he forced his huge body through the gap.

“Gonna get you, wizard!” he bellowed.

“No!” I yelled. The last thing I wanted was him stomping around the police station, thirsting for revenge, instead of opening doors so I could escape. “You have to get outside before the wizard turns you into a… a little blue kitten!”

I’m not sure whether he heard me, for he didn’t pause and headed down the corridor past the other cells. I staggered after him. The door at the end was shut. Most likely it was locked too. From the noises coming from the other side it sounded like the sergeant was dragging furniture in front of it.

Undeterred, the ogre barely slowed. With a grunt, he slammed his shoulder into the door. It must have been thicker and heavier than it looked for the wood creaked, but held.

Baring his impressive canines, the ogre stepped back, raised his leg and kicked the door with the sole of his bare foot.

With a sharp crack, the door flew from its hinges. I caught a glimpse through the doorway of a desk and cupboard skidding across the polished tiles on the other side and crunching into the opposite wall.

Another blow from the ogre’s foot widened the gap, sending crumbled masonry flying. He shouldered his way through, and taking care not to trip over the rubble, I slipped after him.

Was there a door to the outside in this room? I squinted around through the dust-hazed air.

The left wall supported a flight of stairs leading to the upper floor. Standing on the bottom step, lit by lamplight from the floor above, was the sergeant, his huge moustache trembling. Clad in a blue dressing gown and slippers, he would have looked comical if hadn’t been for the heavy, studded club clasped in one of his meaty hands. He was staring open mouthed at the ogre.

Straight in front of me, across the rubble and grit strewn across the floor, alongside the cupboard and desk crumpled against the wall, was a stack of shelves and a coatrack. No sign of a door.

I looked to my right and my heart lifted.

Flanked by a couple of shuttered windows was the station’s front door. At this time of night it would be locked, but that wouldn’t present a problem to my ogre friend.

“This way!” I called, heading towards the door. “Quick! Break this down and you’ll be free!”

The ogre ignored me. He growled, stretched out his enormous arms, and lumbered towards the sergeant.

“No!” I screeched. “Over here! The door, remember?”

I have to hand it to the sergeant. I expected him to scurry to safety up the stairs, but instead he loosed a blood-curdling yell and faced the oncoming ogre, brandishing his club.

With a fearsome howl, he leapt forward and lifted his club high. The ogre snarled and pulled back his arm, his fist poised to smash the sergeant’s moustache right through the back of his skull.

Time slowed. Mauve mist appeared from nowhere and swirled around the ogre.

The sergeant’s club arced down in slow motion. Before it could connect, the ogre vanished.

My eyebrows crawled upwards as realisation hit me. The spell which had summoned the ogre must have had a built in time limit and had returned him to wherever it was he’d come from.

The mist faded and time sped back to normal.

The club crashed into the floor.

A look of surprise shot across the sergeant’s face, but he recovered quickly. His gaze swept the room and settled on me standing like a gaping idiot in the middle of the floor.

“Ha! I should have known you were responsible!” he shouted, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me, his face purple with fury.

I shuffled backwards as he came for me, his club poised to strike.

“I’ll not let ye get away!” he roared.

I swivelled around and scrambled for the front door. My skin crawled at the sound of the sergeant’s slippers slapping the tiles too close for comfort behind me.

I stooped, picked up half a brick and tossed it behind me.

He ducked and it sailed past him. Cackled like a madman, he came on.

I reached the door. Hoping he’d forgotten to lock it, I yanked the handle in desperation but the door stayed firmly shut.

Instinct kicked in at a tiny noise behind me and I threw myself to the side.

The sergeant’s club smashed into the door where I’d been standing. There was a faint sound of splintering wood. The door juddered and rattled in its frame.

With an incoherent cry, he whipped his club around in a vicious horizontal swing aimed at the side of my head.

I ducked. The club swished over my scalp, ruffling my hair.

The sergeant’s wild attack had unbalanced him. He stumbled, his slippers skating on the grit for half a dozen paces before he fell on his backside.

Had his first blow weakened the door? I whirled around, grabbed the handle and shoved. The door creaked but stayed obstinately closed.

At the sound of a harsh laugh, I looked over my shoulder.

The sergeant was back on his feet.

My heart hammering, I faced him and held up my hands in a futile gesture of surrender.

“I’ve got you now!” he screamed.

With a bloodthirsty howl, his bloodshot eyes fixed on mine, he came at me, holding his club two-handed above his head.

Before he reached me me, his foot whacked into a brick and he tripped. He roared in surprise and hurtled unbalanced towards me, his feet scrabbling, his arms windmilling, the club tumbling to the floor.

Out of control, he rammed into my chest. The wind erupted from my lungs and my back thudded into the door.

Under the force of our combined weight, the already damaged door flew open.

The sergeant clung to me like a lover as the pair of us soared through the air over the front steps, executing a slow half roll that put him underneath.

We crashed into the cobbled street and his breath exploded out of his mouth, spraying garlic laced spittle over my face.

In the sudden silence, it took me a few moments to realise we’d come to a stop. I groaned and rolled off of the sergeant.

He didn’t move as I pushed myself painfully to my feet. Swaying unsteadily, I looked down at him. He’d treated me abominably and I can’t say I felt sorry for him lying there senseless on his back, a rivulet of saliva dribbling from his open mouth.

“There you are at last,” said a voice from the shadows next to the station’s steps.

I whirled around.

Grimmon stepped into the moonlight and scowled at me. “What took you so long? I’d almost given up waiting.”

Still groggy, it took me a second to remember he’d said he’d meet me outside the station at midnight.

But this was not the time for back-slapping reunions. I grabbed his shoulders. “How long was I locked up in there?”

“Two weeks… give or take.”

“Give or take? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I lost count after a week or so.” The goblin shuffled his feet. “I’d been marking the days on a piece of paper. It was in my pocket and I, um, forgot what it was and blew my nose on it and… threw it away.”

My stomach sank. “So you’re saying we’re too late? The castle’s gone already?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“There’s only one way to find out! We need to hurry! Where’s that horse you promised?”

“Ah,” he said. “About that…”

*** Continued in episode 13 ***

The Ghastly Exchange – Index of Episodes