Rachel Golden and the Retriever of Sin (18 page)

It was morning (they supposed, not being able to see the sky), in the rabbit/mole warren. The three boys had been woken by bailiffs from the court, and were eating breakfast in the hotel bar. Rachel had yet to join them.

‘What I want to know,’ Ros said, sniffing at his plate, ‘is why, if the rabbits and moles are the size of SUVs, this bacon is normal-sized?’

Kel paused with the fork halfway to his mouth, and stared at the ‘bacon’ on it. Assorted Colors, who was using his toothbrush shiv to slather butter onto a piece of toast, opened his mouth to speak. Kel cut him off before he had the chance. ‘Please, AC. Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, let it wait until I’ve eaten.’

‘Suit yourself,’ the little man sniffed.

But now that Kel thought about it, Ros had a point. If the Altworld rabbits were so big, any pigs they had around would have to be the size of elephants. And would they be okay with eating them? Maybe it was just the moles that were omnivorous. And as for the eggs… Well, he decided not to think about it. He thanked god that they were scrambled, and put the forkful of food into his mouth.

‘I don’t know,’ Ros said, just as Kel had wondered where Rachel was. He looked sidelong at the dog, and chewed thoughtfully. He had been prepared for this. They had touched on it in Safeguarder training. It was said that sometimes—though not always—members of a Hero party could develop a kind of psychic bond.

Not in a sense that they could read each other’s thoughts, more like pick up on their moods and feelings and anxieties. The way he did with Rach. Though, now that he was on the receiving end of it, he began to understand why Rachel would get a little snarky when he did it to her. It was unnerving. Though where
was
Rachel…?

Rachel was sitting on the edge of the bed in her room. She had slept badly, and her face was puffy and her eyes sore. Eyesore, she thought, without much humor. She also had that mild nausea that comes with lack of sleep. Would some breakfast help? Coffee certainly might.

She looked down at the myriad little paper cuts on her hands. She looked like she’d been playing with a kitten. They stung. She breathed out deeply through her nose. So was this some leftover symptom of her dream? That cliché moment where she cuts her hands in a dream, and then wakes up finds that she really has cut herself? She thought back to the dream, being on the cliff top, and scrambling up through the marram grass.

She tentatively licked one of the stinging cuts. Salty. Yep, she thought, that makes sense. I bet there will even be sand in my shoes. She upended one of her sneakers and a small avalanche of sand poured out onto the floor, like an hourglass. She rolled her eyes in disgust at the predictability of it all.

‘Eff it,’ she said aloud, and made a token effort to smooth down her hair in the hotel room mirror before traipsing down to join the boys for breakfast.

Conversation was stilted at the table. Rachel was eyeing Kel as she chewed a mouthful of toast. The rest had already eaten and were politely waiting for her to finish. Kel topped up her coffee from the silver pot as she ate, and she scowled at him.

Was it fair to blame him for something he’d done in her dream? When she was fleeing from the butterfires, then hiding from the Dark Ones, he was nowhere to be seen. He had abandoned her for the sake of his Safeguarder license. Granted, she was mad about that, but there was also plenty of real life shit to be mad about too. Like that girl Caroline. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Kel, and she was pleased to see his cheeks turn pink. Good, she thought, chewing. Read
that
thought, A-hole.

Ros cleared his throat politely. ‘Well, gang,’ he said, and AC snickered at his attempt to be… what? Cool? It was a very teacher-like, or parent-like, thing to say. ‘Not to rush anyone,’ he said, and coughed nervously, ‘but the bailiffs are waiting for us. We probably shouldn’t keep the Crown waiting.’

The rest of them nodded, in agreement but were also not entirely happy about it either, judging by the way they unenthusiastically got up from the table. What was this ‘Crown’ thing anyway? Rachel wondered, brushing toast crumbs from her hands as she stood. She had always just assumed that it was some sort of king or queen of the rabbits, and/or possibly the moles too. She guessed they’d find out soon enough.

They found out soon enough. They were led, by the bailiffs, through the tunnels of the warren, past the courtroom and judge’s chambers of the previous day. The crowds of public rabbits and moles began to thin, and the tunnel floor sprouted cobblestones. Even the butterfires’ light had changed color, from the greenish glow of the general populace to a cleaner, brighter white. This gave the vein-like roots that wormed their way through the walls a silvery, spectral appearance. It was certainly elegant.

They passed through a security checkpoint, where armed and uniformed moles confiscated AC’s toothbrush, much to his chagrin. And then they were in a waiting room. Dark wood and red velvet and gilt frames abounded, as was befitting a palace. After a few minutes a nervous-looking rabbit page ushered them through the double doors of the anteroom to the throne room.

None of them were really sure how to act. Ros bowed so low that his nose touched the carpet. Kel and Rachel went with an awkward cross between a bow and a nod. AC was staring around the room with his mouth open, removing a wedgie from betwixt his butt-cheeks.

The ‘Crown’ wasn’t really like any of them had expected. Rachel had imagined an ancient, white-haired old rabbit on the verge of death. The monarch sitting on the throne looked young and vibrant however. He sprang to his feet as they entered, wearing as much of a grin as is possible for a rabbit to wear.

‘Guys!’ he said, coming forward to shake their hands. ‘Don’t bother with all that bowing and scraping nonsense. We’re not living in the middle ages!’ He spoke with an accent like Prince Harry. [Or William. Which one is the ginger? —Narrator.] He dropped back onto his throne with one leg draped over the arm. Rachel and Kel were pleasantly surprised. Ros had a slightly distasteful look on his face.

‘So,’ the Crown continued, ‘Pepper here tells me you’re in a ghastly spot of bother with the Dark Ones.’ For the first time the party spotted Pepper Benjamin among the assembled rabbits and moles. He gave a small wave, which they returned.

Rachel volunteered to speak, as no one else seemed about to. ‘Yes, uh, your… majesty?’ she said, unsurely. The Crown waved his paw as if in dismissal of the title.

‘Tricky, tricky,’ the rabbit said, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully. ‘Bunch of blighters to a man, Dark Ones. And as for the Overlords… Well, the less said about them the better, what?’ There was a murmur of agreement around the royal court.

‘Old Pepper has filled us all in your situation,’ he went on, ‘and we’ve had a jolly long old talk about it. You see, we don’t normally involve ourselves with the goings on of the surface world. Aside from growing a few bits and pieces up there, we find it much more comfortable down here, away from the blasted unicorns.’ Rachel thought back to the pair that had given them a ride to Crabs’ shack, and the Crown seemed to pick up on her look of discomfort. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ he said quickly, ‘I hear some of the feral ones are alright. But I don’t think anyone here would try to defend the Dark Ones or the Overlords, what?’

‘What what?’ AC asked, and Ros kicked him. ‘
What
?’ he complained, rubbing at his ankle. ‘He keeps asking “what”, and I don’t know about what.’

Kel couldn’t help himself. He said ‘what what’ like a rapper, but quietly. Rachel almost burst out laughing and had to disguise it as a coughing fit.

The Crown looked bemusedly from face to face. ‘What?’ he asked, and that was it. They all fell about laughing, even Ros. Luckily for them the royal rabbit was a good natured sort and joined in as well, though he seemed to not quite get the joke.

‘Well, anyway,’ he said after they had all calmed down, ‘as I was saying, we try not to involve ourselves in the surface world too much. However, as some of my advisors have pointed out: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And in that spirit we are willing to offer you help in your quest.’

This sounded promising. Come on weapons, Rachel thought. Or failing that an armed mole escort. An aide brought an ornately carved wooden box to the Crown, and he opened it reverently. The box cast a golden glow on the rabbit’s face, like the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. Could he be giving them gold??

‘To light up your quest in the darkest hours, we give you these butterfire eggs!’ Rachel decided not mention that that sounded like it had been lifted straight out of The Lord of the Rings. The Crown held up a small glass vial on a leather thong. Inside it, two spheres the size of peas glowed with a golden light.

A different aide—or possibly page or attendant—took the vial and thong from the box and tied it around Rachel’s neck. Oh! It was a necklace. Well that’s kinda cool, she thought, though was slightly disappointed. It didn’t really seem to be of any practical help, though it would make a sweet souvenir (assuming she made it off this Altworld alive).

She bowed again and thanked the rabbit king, who again gave another dismissive wave. ‘It’s symbolic more than anything,’ he said. ‘We give these out like candy to anyone who visits.’

‘Oh,’ Rachel said, a little deflated. She reached up and felt the glass vial around her neck and found it warm to the touch. It was like the necklace contained a tiny piece of the sun. She tucked it inside her shirt.

Another page stepped toward the Crown with another carved wooden box, this one a little larger than before. ‘Now this,’ the rabbit said, ‘should come in
really
useful to you. We understand this is an extremely powerful human weapon.’ He opened the box and brought out a pistol, which he brandished. ‘You’ve seen these before, yes?’ he asked Rachel.

Rachel swallowed her disappointment. She had indeed seen guns before, but not ones that were so old and, well, rusty before. This one looked like it had been on the ocean floor for 20 years and would explode if someone tried to fire it. ‘Oh. Wow. Thanks,’ she said, taking the gun from the rabbit and trying to sound enthusiastic. It weighed a ton. She clicked out the cylinder with a little difficulty, and saw six rounds of (probably unusable) ammunition in it. ‘I love it,’ she added, unsure of what else to say. The Crown beamed. Rachel handed the gun to Kel who gave it a cursory look before dropping it into the backpack.

‘Yes, we found it on the beach not far from here. Now,’ the rabbit went on, rubbing his paws together. ‘How to get you out of here. The Overlords will by now suspect that you are using the old mine tunnel, if I’m not very much mistaken?’ The question was to his court in general, and a military-looking mole nodded and pulled down a wall map that had been rolled up. It was like a projector screen. ‘Here’s what I was thinking,’ he said…

So that was how it came to be that Rachel was cleaning and oiling a Smith and Wesson Model 29 in the forest of an alternate world. She had been pleasantly surprised. The backpack had offered up a cleaning kit, and after an hour’s work, the rust had revealed a beautiful and fully functional revolver with a stainless finish. She re-tightened the last screw, clicked out the cylinder and gave it an experimental spin. It clicked like the spokes of a brand new bike. Smooth as a dolphin. She pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger. It snapped instantly and smartly into place.

Kel knew a little about guns from playing COD, and told her that the Model 29 was also known as the .44 Magnum. It was at one time the most powerful handgun in the world. ‘Weird that one would show up in the Altworld though,’ he had said. Rachel didn’t tell him about the hand carved initials she had seen on the gun’s wooden grip. ‘R.G.’ Robert Golden. Her dad. She just
knew
this had been his gun at one time. The rabbits said they’d found it on the beach ‘not far from here’, and she thought back to the cliff where her dad still hung, frozen in time.

‘Well, this is the moment of truth,’ AC said. He had dried out the black powder from the rounds of ammunition, and reassembled them, carefully putting the bullets back into the sanded and oiled shell casings. They now gleamed like polished brass (which, in fact, they were). None of them really had an idea if this would work or not.

Rachel carefully loaded the six huge rounds into the cylinder and clicked it closed. Her heart was beating fast. What if it really
did
blow up in her hand? She waved at the others to stand back a little, which they did. They also stuck their fingers in their ears.

The gun felt like it weighed a ton as Rachel hefted it and carefully sighted down the barrel. She focused on a tree trunk about 10 feet away, steadied her breathing, and squeezed the trigger. The boom was tremendous. It was like a thunderclap from lightning right there in front of her. It was deafening and thrilling at the same time. The sheer power of the gun had nearly sent it flying out of her hand, but her Hero reflexes and strength had kept it in her grasp.

As the smoke cleared she saw the fist-sized hole that the .44 caliber round had punched in the tree trunk. ‘Damn,’ she breathed. That had felt
good
. She imagined what kind of damage a shot like that would do to El’s chest, and smiled. Ros and Kel exchanged nervous looks while Assorted Colors jumped and clapped with excitement.

THE GUN WAS WEIGHING HEAVILY ON RACHEL’S JEANS where she had it tucked into the waistband. But it was a good weight; a feeling of power and security. She really wanted to take it out and look at it again, but controlled herself. She had a feeling that Kel and Ros were a little wary of her carrying the massive hand-cannon. Which was pure BS. Several times on this mission they had all agreed that weapons would be helpful. They were probably just jealous that she was the only one that had one. And she bet they’d be pretty damned thankful if she saved their asses with it.

Kel was walking in that slow, stop-start way that people use when texting, though he wasn’t on his phone, he was studying the map that the rabbit Crown had given them. ‘Uh, guys…’ he said, still not looking up, ‘I think we should slow down a little. If this map is to scale I think we should be coming up the tunnel entrance soon.’