Friday Flash Fiction: The Duel

This Friday Flash is a sequel to Satisfaction. The beginning of this mini-serial is The First One.

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Cathy burst into the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides, panting and silently cursing the founder of public transport, his children’s children and all of their pet rabbits. It had taken two hours to reach the shop, and to top it all, she still hadn’t had a cup of tea.

The shopkeeper looked up at the sound of her heaving breaths and removed his reading glasses, closing his book. “Miss Papaver,” he said with just enough surprise to sound condescending. “You’re here after all. Did you forget that you cancelled your appointment?” He watched her suck in the dusty shop air. “Or perhaps you are extraordinarily early for your next appointment.”

“I need a scrying glass,” she wheezed. Damn she was unfit. When all of this was over, she was throwing out the Xbox. No, she reconsidered, she’d get a Wii fit instead.

“But what about my accounts? They’re in a terrible muddle.”

“Sorry, they’ll have to wait,” she said, bracing her hands on her wobbling knees. “I need that glass right now.” She couldn’t bear to discover the outcome of the duel from a nauseating double page spread, nor a summons from Lord Poppy angered at her mishandling of the duel and his loss of face in the court.

The shopkeeper peered at her and then sighed. “I have a wide variety, perhaps you could give me an idea of the power you need and your preferred frame. I recently took a delivery of scrying glasses decorated with crystallised tears wept after the restoration of sight, the most powerful range this side of the Nether.”

“Just a simple, plain frame will do.”

She watched his slow movement towards the appropriate shelve with the agony of someone in a hurry waiting for another who has all the time in the world. A glance at her watch told her that she now had less than twenty four hours. No doubt that frog’s fart of a fairy would soon arrive to tease her.

“This is a lovely glass,” the shopkeeper said, lifting one down that was wrapped in lambs wool.

She barely looked at it. “How much?”

“The price for this fine specimen of craftsmanship is only one secret, a lock of hair and a song learnt as a child. Very reasonable.”

“Blimey!” she squawked. “I only want to scry into central London!”

“In Mundanis?”

She nodded after a moment, not immediately recognising the old term. “Yes, just a mundane place, that’s all.”

The shopkeeper sighed as he carried the Glass back up to the shelf carefully. “Why didn’t you say so?” he said, grabbing an unwrapped glass from another part of the shelf and climbing down with less care. “It’s not a powerful glass, one use only.”

“How much?”

“Twenty of the Queen’s pounds. No coins.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said as she handed two notes over.

“You’ll need to be in Mundanis to use it,” he said, holding the notes at arms length with a thumb and forefinger as if they were dead rats. “So be careful.”

She nodded, dropping it into her handbag. Unlike the majority of the fey-touched, her primary residence was in the mundane world so that wouldn’t be a problem. And this time, she’d get a taxi.

“I don’t suppose you have any fresh milk do you?” she asked.

The shopkeeper looked at her as if she’d asked whether he stocked pop music. “Fresh milk?! You do know where that comes from, don’t you? And don’t tell me it’s for tea. Any civilised individual drinks tea with lemon.”

“Never mind,” she muttered, and hurried out.

 

As she sat down to use the scrying glass she realised she’d forgotten to stop off at the shop. There wasn’t time now, so she held her hand above the mirror, holding the only thing of her ex she still owned; his dried blood that had soaked into her skirt that night at the casino.

The glass’s surface rippled once as she whispered the old words handed down to her, losing its opacity as it became a tiny window looking onto another place.

She saw Mr Iridaceae staring at the broken blade of his sword in disbelief, a battered lampshade perched on his head like a boater hat at a jaunty angle. Her ex staggered into view, holding a large copper saucepan, hair wild and clothes rumpled. She could make out a disgustingly swish room in the background, with a TV that cost more than she earned in a month.

“I’m not familiar with your fighting style sir,” Iridaceae was stalling for time as he struggled to regain his poise. “It’s beyond chaotic.”

“I told you, if you don’t leave, I’m calling the police,” Dingle shouted.

“But our business is unfinished,” Iridaceae continued, rounding the sofa. He glanced at a point behind Dingle’s shoulder with a shocked expression. Dingle turned to see what had caused it as his opponent took the opportunity to step and thrust.

The dirty tactic would have worked, if a seagull hadn’t flown into the room through an open window, making Dingle duck instinctively. The bird caught the blade’s swipe instead and the decapitated gull landed with a thud at Dingle’s feet.

Iridaceae stared at the dead bird, aghast. “This is ridiculous. I have no idea which agencies are protecting you but-” He was cut off as Dingle exploited the opportunity to swing the saucepan and it connected with Iridaceae’s head with a terrible clang. The swordsman crumpled like a broken marionette leaving Dingle white-lipped as the bloodied feathers settled at his feet.

Cathy didn’t need to see any more and dropped the glass onto the table. It shimmered back to its original form and then cracked. She didn’t know whether the tears that rolled down her cheeks were ones of relief or heartbreak at seeing him again, but there was no time for them either way. The third wish still eluded her, and she had less than twenty hours to make it.

Read the next installment: The Third One

This Friday Flash is part of a year and a day of urban fantasy stories set in the Split Worlds. There is an index of the the stories here and some more info on what the year and a day is about here. And if you liked it, you can subscribe by email if you like, so you get the rest delivered to your inbox.

Tagged as: Emporium of Things in Between and Besides, Friday Flash, scrying glass