tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90361047755632656472024-03-07T03:34:01.971+00:00David StimpsonA life time fan and Prisonerologist of the 1960's series 'the Prisoner', a leading authority on the subject, a short story writer, and now Prisoner novelist.David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.comBlogger10868125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-88127218763598574452022-12-27T08:03:00.001+00:002022-12-27T21:48:14.332+00:00End of The Line!<p><span style="color: white;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: large;">D</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">ear Friends & Fellow Prisoner Enthusiasts,</span></span></p><p><span style="color: white; font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> The
days of publishing articles on the subject of the Prisoner, combined with short
stories and novels based on the series are now at an end. After twenty-two
years of writing on this blog I have reached the point where there is nothing
more I wish to say about the series, and having pushed the boundaries with a
large number of short stories, together with 4 novels enough is enough.
Although I think three novels was pushing it, however I managed to push it that
bit more with ‘Village Day.’</span></p><p><span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">
</span><span style="color: white; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> It has been a long, long journey, well twenty-two years is a
long time to have been writing about one particular subject, and hardly a day
has gone by in all those years when the Prisoner has not occupied my time, and
it has been my pleasure, and for the pleasure of YOU the reader. Oh I have not
given up on him entirely, I still remain a fan of the series and will watch it
now and then, with the occasional episode in between. However I do still have
one Prisoner related project I shall be slowly working towards, which is one
for the not too distant future.<br />
As for my blog, inactive it might be, yet will remain a place for
information, information, information, as well as entertainment with its
numerous pieces of Prisoner fiction, all of which I know readers all over the
World have read and enjoyed. But all good things must eventually come to an
end, and it has been a great pleasure for me to have made contact with fellow
enthusiasts for the Prisoner through my blog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;"> A letter of resignation? I suppose you could call it
that! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX but nevertheless be seeing you……be seeing
you....<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1L6UD7PQcMfJL8jjWVBh3285cvYAN74gcNzNL3V52OmPBV11NL4lI0iPbCAOfYy7kWFAwTcdga-ZRw2HEgSyLPIFDkawouxRtGTBHajDrjIyKpeqdFCTj_1HPO2ZAaRiy1FvFQUEhVkT-Wx1qwOklDLUHjq6M-w1X47s7fPliI3QgwPjN6DOUM-C80w/s423/Copy%20of%20img279.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" data-original-height="423" data-original-width="416" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1L6UD7PQcMfJL8jjWVBh3285cvYAN74gcNzNL3V52OmPBV11NL4lI0iPbCAOfYy7kWFAwTcdga-ZRw2HEgSyLPIFDkawouxRtGTBHajDrjIyKpeqdFCTj_1HPO2ZAaRiy1FvFQUEhVkT-Wx1qwOklDLUHjq6M-w1X47s7fPliI3QgwPjN6DOUM-C80w/w128-h130/Copy%20of%20img279.jpg" width="128" /></span></a></div><p></p>
<p><span style="font-family: "Lucida Handwriting"; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: white;">David</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-35638356485693068302022-12-20T15:02:00.000+00:002022-12-20T15:02:02.148+00:00Seasons Greetings<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipq2ga3GGktrxoa9LpGaYNMjIK_u4M_bm8mrZEmGmBTClbKNLsUqv_0YgfP03320X7pS41CocZau6FsYuK43x2WMNg8tOxWjyButMCT1V_MzskjY5Np7Xdf2-QiIRn_8eg8Lh6zr3bukNXxkHc7Qc6FK4ccqSZTthJTtxqWquMqkRA7H2wr2-Sv6FxkA/s746/rb.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="451" height="746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipq2ga3GGktrxoa9LpGaYNMjIK_u4M_bm8mrZEmGmBTClbKNLsUqv_0YgfP03320X7pS41CocZau6FsYuK43x2WMNg8tOxWjyButMCT1V_MzskjY5Np7Xdf2-QiIRn_8eg8Lh6zr3bukNXxkHc7Qc6FK4ccqSZTthJTtxqWquMqkRA7H2wr2-Sv6FxkA/w450-h746/rb.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #800180;"> <b>And wishing readers of my blog, one and all, a</b></span><b> <span style="color: #cc0000;">very happy, peaceful, and better</span> <span style="color: #274e13;">2023</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;">
David</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-48386398438760101592022-12-20T14:59:00.003+00:002022-12-20T14:59:43.693+00:00The Prisoner - Village Day Chapter 17<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">17</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">An Arrival</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">S</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">omewhere
in a hospital room a man’s eyes suddenly opened, his vision was blurred and it
was difficult to focus on any of the ghostly like images about him. And what’s
more there was a thumping going on in his head, as if someone was doing double
time with a hammer striking an anvil! He tried to stir himself, to sit up, but
that only made the pain worse, so he relaxed and laid back and the pain was
relieved slightly. Then there came the ghostly figure of someone standing over
him, he tried to clear his eyes, to speak but his mouth was so dry, putting a
hand to his head he felt the bandage. The nurse stood at the end of the bed
completing the patient’s medical chart, then hung the clipboard on the end of
the bed, then seeing that the patient had </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">regained
consciousness smiled and made to leave to find the doctor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient coughed and swallowed hard
“Please wait, where am I…. who are you…. what….” but it was to much of a
struggle for him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nurse stood by the patient’s bed and soothed
his brow “Don’t worry, you’re in hospital. Now please lie still and I’ll get
the doctor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient lay there looking at the
ghostly figure standing over him “How did I get here…. I don’t remember….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then don’t try” the nurse told him “I’ll
get the doctor” and went off along the ward and through the pair of frosted
glass doors of ‘A’ ward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor was walking out of the waiting
room, a short stout woman with her black hair swept back in a tight bun, she
was in the company of a tall, slim young woman in a light blue coat and
matching knee length skirt and high heel shoes, and her blonde hair </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">cascading
down over her shoulders. To say that there was something familiar about her
would probably seem clownish to the casual observer, but there she was tearful
and upset about something.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Before you see him” the doctor began “you
must understand that he is still in a coma and likely to stay that way for some
considerable time. And should he eventually regain consciousness there is the
possibility of brain damage.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eleanor opened her handbag reaching inside
for a handkerchief, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose “Then there is still a
chance doctor?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My dear, there is always a chance” said
the doctor “only time will tell, we shall just have to be patient. But he is
young and strong, I see no reason why not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was at this point that the nurse came
hurrying along the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it nurse, I gave instructions that
he was not to be left alone” said the doctor at seeing the nurse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Doctor, but the patient has regained
consciousness, it <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">was
only two moments ago” the nurse said with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">156<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very well nurse, if you would be so kind
as to return to your patient, we shall be along directly” the doctor informed
the nurse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But Doctor, the patient spoke!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor turned to Eleanor and smiled
“There my dear, it looks as though you are going to be a most fortunate young
woman, and so too your fiancé. Come, we shall attend to him right away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The double doors of ‘A’ ward swung open and
the nurse hurried to the bedside of her patient who was lying quite still with
his eyes closed. The doctor and Eleanor followed closely behind, and they too
now stood at the bedside of the patient, who opened his eyes while the nurse
attended to his saline drip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now young man, how are we feeling?” the
doctor asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient looked up at the shadowy
figures around his bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can you tell me your name?” asked the
doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient said nothing, only lay there
trying to focus his vision, then said “I have a headache and I can’t see
properly” he said </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">suddenly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well that is something” said the doctor
“can you tell me your name?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient tried to remember “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about the car accident, do you
remember that?” the doctor asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient tried, tried to remember
something, anything “Wh…what accident?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t worry young man, you are in good
hands” began the doctor “you have slight amnesia, as for your eyesight, that
will return, your fiancée is here to see you” and whispered in Eleanor’s ear
“don’t worry my dear, he will not remember you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eleanor sat in the chair by the bed and
took her beloved by the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">hand
“Oh my darling, you have come back to me, now you are not to worry about
anything. You are in a hospital and they will take very good care of you, and I
will be beside you for as long as it takes to see you well again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The patient tried to recall “I don’t
remember…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s Eleanor darling, I came as soon as I was
told of the accident” she said smiling and clutching his hand in hers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Accident?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes darling, you were on your way to see
the Colonel, I’m to phone him as soon as there is any news” Eleanor told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Colonel?” the patient said shaking his
head “I don’t remember!” and closed his eyes in some distress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nurse something to sedate the patient
please” the doctor ordered, helping Eleanor to her feet and steering her along
the ward in her quite obvious distress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why sedate him?” Eleanor asked out in the
corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He needs to sleep, sleep will be very good
for him” the doctor told <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">her
“sleep will help him recover. He had a very nasty car accident, his </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">physical
injuries are not serious apart from his head, which accounts for his loss of
memory.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">157</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And that will return?” Eleanor asked, a
worried frown upon her face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In time” replied the doctor “he has a bad
case of concussion and will suffer from headaches, once his physical injuries
have healed and he is able to leave the hospital, I suggest you take him away
somewhere, somewhere familiar to him, somewhere quiet and peaceful where he can
relax and recuperate. Such surroundings will only aid the recovery of his
memory.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eleanor dried her eyes with her
handkerchief “I think I know the perfect place doctor, an Italianate village
with the most peaceful atmosphere.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sounds Ideal” said the doctor “now if you
will excuse me, I have to be getting on.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was high in a cloudless sky, it was
the perfect summer’s <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">day.
The green hills which rolled by were scattered hither and thither with sheep,
water ran down the mountains into the streams of the valleys and there was not
another human being to be seen for mile after mile. The open road stretched on
ahead, twisting this way and that, winding its way round hills and down vales
and the blue Mini Cooper S sped ever on, with Eleanor at the wheel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had been driving for hours, since
early morning in fact, and in the passenger seat was Eleanor’s fiancé enjoying
the scenery, enjoying the ride and their destination was that tranquil
Italianate village of which <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>had
grown so fond over recent years.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll soon be there now darling, not much
further” Eleanor said assuring her fiancé, steering the car through a series of
sweeping bends. The man looked at Eleanor and smiling said one word
“Portmeirion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know where we are going? You will soon
start to remember. Everyone there is looking forward to welcome your return”
Eleanor said with a warm reassuring smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-indent: 15.35pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The man smiled and said nothing
more, there was nothing to say, because he was too busy trying to remember. The
Mini Cooper S turned left off the main road, then a right turn down a narrow
hedge and tree lined lane. Ahead was the grey stone walled building which was
trying to do its best to look like a castle, but somehow failed in the attempt.
There was a left hand fork in the road at this point, a blue sign with white
lettering indicating Italianate Village, the car took it and followed the winding
road, lined on both sides by Rhododendrons and then trees. It felt familiar to
him and he was trying to remember, just as he had been trying to remember since
leaving the hospital some three weeks earlier. But it was difficult to think,
difficult to concentrate, to focus his mind. He had been feeling quite calm,
too calm in fact, perhaps a better word for it would be lethargic. There was a
lack of energy, a dullness about him, Eleanor </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; text-indent: 15.35pt;">had been looking after him
since he left the hospital, there was hardly a time when she was not by his
side, to almost suffocating proportions. Everything seemed so distant, that was
the treatment the doctor had explained, but that would soon change once the
treatment stopped. But the treatment had not stopped, it had carried on at the
hands of Eleanor and that feeling of things being so distant, and lethargy, had
if anything, increased. Strange how he could not remember anything. This woman
Eleanor said she was his fiancée, but he could not recall any fiancée as hard as
he tried! And yet there was something familiar about her, he couldn’t recall
exactly what, but something. They were almost at their destination, following
the road through the trees. The passenger suddenly felt rather drowsy, possibly
from over tiredness, the long drive, the glare of the warm sun through the
trees and windscreen, all playing their part to make him drowsy and finally to
slump unconscious in his seat. Eleanor dropped the gas gun onto he floor, wound
the window down and removed her gas mask. She looked at her slumbering
passenger.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sleep well while you may, but don’t worry,
you will soon be amongst old friends!”</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">158</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-56582003978640375802022-12-20T14:59:00.002+00:002022-12-20T14:59:29.426+00:00Village Day Chapter 16<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">16</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">The Masque
Ball</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>N</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">umber 6
returned to his cottage, stormed in and slammed the door shut behind him, only
to find Peter Pan sat in a chair, waiting for him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you want?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“To offer you a shoulder to cry on, to
help, I saw what happened” the housemaid said rising to her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Couldn’t very well avoid it, could you!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I thought as a friend….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let me assure you of a few things, first I
don’t need anyone’s help, nor do I need a shoulder to cry on and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we</i> are certainly not friends!” he
snapped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I understand that you think me to be one
of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>, and I don’t blame you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Like half the Village, you had no idea!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We didn’t, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> didn’t have any idea that you were the founder of the Village,
how could we?” Peter Pan carried out in her own defence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This took the wind out of Number 6’s sails
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me</i>, I’m not the founder of the
Village.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not you?” said Peter Pan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That unfortunate distinction goes to
another!” he replied “and I no longer know the man I thought he was.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh,
but he was. He’s the one you have been asking about” she told him “let me tell
you more, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He</i> fought them, resisted
any form of coercion, and would not conform in anyway to life here. He once
said that he was not subject to the rules!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Doesn’t sound much like the founder of
your Village, he sounds more like a rebel!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Precisely, rebelling against that which <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>had created!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s deep!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You think he is still alive, this brother
of yours?” she asked “that they have him put away some place. Why don’t you ask
Number Two?” she suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Me, ask <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i>, as if she would tell me anything. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’s</i> the kind to have me put against a wall and shot any time
soon!” retorted Number 6, looking sideways at the woman in the green costume
“perhaps Number 2 sent <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> here, is
that how the land lies?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peter Pan looked startled by this
preposterous suggestion “I came here of my own free will.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s something of a novelty here,
wouldn’t you say!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Novelty?” Peter Pan queried.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That anyone here should have a free will!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you do not wish my offer of help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know where the door is!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">148<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I only wanted to help” said Peter Pan
making for the door, then pausing turned “I understand your anger.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you, do you really. Well <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> only wished I did, because I don’t
know what’s real anymore. I certainly don’t know my brother, whether he’s dead,
still alive somewhere, or some other place far away from here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peter Pan really felt something for Number
6, only she dare not show it, for fear of those who would be watching, but
dared to say “You can trust me you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at her “Can I, can I trust
anyone but myself? Perhaps you are part of all this, this utter farce put
together by Number Two in order to see me broken. Is that what you want” he
bellowed at the ceiling “to break me, is that it, to reduce me to a man of
fragments. Well do you see any cracks developing, well do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the control room the supervisor and his
Observers watched and listened, certainly to them the first cracks had indeed
started to appear, and this would reported to Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you don’t trust me Number Six, who do
you trust?” Peter Pan asked standing at the open door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Me, I trust me!” he said without thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, that’s what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>would have said!” she said with a knowing smile “you know you’re
both very much alike you and your brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The door’s open.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I know what he would have done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What would he have done?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he
</i>were here now, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> would put on
that fancy dress costume of yours and go to the Masque Ball.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The door closed behind the housemaid
leaving Number 6 pacing the floor pondering what to do next, if there was
anything still left for him to do. And then looking at the cream telephone he
picked up the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number please” asked the operator.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number One” Number 6 ordered and waited to
be connected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry caller, but I have been unable
to connect you” said the operator.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slammed the receiver down. In the
bedroom he opened the wardrobe door and looked at the flamboyant costume
hanging there. In truth he had a taste for the outlandish costumes and from
time to time had thought himself to be quite the Dandy, white frilly shirts and
frock coats, that sort of thing, and Scaramouche being one of his favourite
films he divested himself of one costume, his Village attire for that of
another. The costume consisted of a white blouse with wide sleeves, a white
doublet with inlays of silver, grey and black striped tights in the Italian
style, with matching boots, cape and feathered hat. He picked up the white mask
with a long pointed nose, which went over his eyes and nose and the top of his
cheeks and put it on and his sword completed the ensemble, so that it was
Scaramouche who stood reflected in the full length mirror “My, my, who’s going
to be the Jack-a-Dandy of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">Masque
Ball then?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">149</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 indeed cut a dashing figure as he
went out into the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">Village,
but he was not alone with that thought, for the supervisor-Number 25 had that
very exact same thought. He was in his quarters changing into his costume, and
now stood admiring his reflection. Dressed in a white powdered wig with a large
blue bow tie, Navy blue satin waistcoat, with the most delicate gold embroidery,
long fitted satin coat and navy blue breeches, also with gold embroidery, white
silk stockings and silver buckled shoes and frilly white shirt with lace cuffs
completed the 18</span><sup style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"> century costume. The final touch, a sword which
the now Paul Le Marquis de Martan, France’s finest swordsman, whipped it from
its scabbard and brandished menacingly at his reflection in the mirror, the
sharp tip of the blade unprotected!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early evening saw a handsome fellow down on
the beach, it was quiet and peaceful, the only footprints in the sand being his
own. He stood there looking out to sea, why, he had no idea, but he was lost in
his own thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what are you doing here Scaramouche,
you should be on your way to the Masque Ball” said a voice behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche spun round to see a woman standing
a few paces away wearing a long black cloak which was drawn about her. Her
black hair was up in a rather attractive way and decorated with two large blue
plumed feathers, the woman was no lesser person than Number 2!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You seem to know who I am, but who are you
supposed to be?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">asked
Scaramouche.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can’t you guess?” she asked playing the
coy innocent that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she</i> wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I like the way you have your hair, it
suits you” he said, paying her a compliment.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A compliment, from you of all people, who
would have thought, so in return may I say what a dashing figure you cut, and
so handsome.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Handsome, yes handsome” Scaramouche
replied and bowing with a flourish “but how can you tell, I am wearing….. a
mask!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah, but I know my Scaramouche and what it
is he has to hide, for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his </i>face is
hidden away from others, so hideous that it is!” she said teasing the man
before her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah, but is this night not the night of the
Masque Ball, and you do not wear such a mask!” Scaramouche said pointing with a
finger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps because unlike you, I have nothing
to hide” she teased, her flirtatious manner so alien to her, but she played her
part well “but tell me, can you not guess who I am?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He moved closer to the woman, close enough
to smell her perfume “can I not see your costume first?” sure now that the
cloak so </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">wrapped
about her was to ensure her modesty.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">150<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who do you think I am Scaramouche, the
right guess may reveal all about me!” she teased.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He feigned thought, standing on one leg,
bring up the other knee and putting his fist under his chin feigning thought,
then snapping his fingers said “I have it, you are a dancer!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I, a mere dancer, am I not more than
that?” she asked coyly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A woman of the night perhaps!” Scaramouche
suggested, then seeing her annoyance changed his mind “a dancer, singer,
actress of the stage and lover of men!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled warmly seeing Scaramouche’s
tease for that and nothing more “For a moment I thought you to have a low
opinion of me, but I am all you have said and more, for I am your Columbine”
she said opening her cloak wide.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche was taken aback for a moment,
for beneath that black cape Number 2-Columbine was seen to be a most shapely
and attractive woman. Especially wearing the rather alluring costume she wore.
A blue and black tutu dress, encrusted with diamante. Black silk stockings
covered her long shapely legs and black high heeled shoes she wore upon her
feet completed the ensemble. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
shall permit you can escort me to the Masque Ball.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche took Columbine’s arm and led
her across the open sand back towards the Village and the Town Hall in which
this <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">evening
he would be allowed to enter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am surprised.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Surprised, how so?” Number 2 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By your choice of costume for this
evening.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why so, am I not a woman of some
femininity?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mightily so, the perfect woman of woman
kind” he replied and who as Scaramouche, had to admit to himself, completely
captivated by this woman.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The circular chamber had been specially
decorated for the occasion of the Masque Ball, with balloons and decorations of
all kinds with a large chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling. On a
raised dais a Baroque quintet all in 18<sup>th</sup> century costume played,
and dancing around the circular chamber, all rather sedately were the citizens
all in fancy dress costumes. Dick Turpin pranced about on his hobby horse.,
Anthony danced with Cleopatra, as Josephine with Napoleon, Pierrot and
Pierrete, while Sir Walter Raleigh pushed Queen Elizabeth the first round in
her wheelchair. Popsey the clown was there amusing those who had not taken to
the dance floor, and calmly mingling with the people like some will o’ the wisp
was the white robed monk, cowled head bowed in holy reverence, while Admiral
Lord Nelson was talking with a French artillery officer and little Bo-Peep was
looking after her sheep! As Scaramouche and Columbine entered the chamber all
heads turned and gasped in awe at the couple, even Le Marquis de Martan’s head
turned from the Lady in Waiting he </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">had
been so eagerly paying his attentions to, a young woman in a</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">151<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">rather
fetching white dress with a tight bodice and very low cut! A servant slipped
Columbine’s cloak from her shoulders and a second servant carrying a tray of
drinks offered her a glass of Champagne. Columbine took two glasses, handing
the second to her escort who took it with some suspicion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t worry, its un-doctored!” Columbine
assured him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche looked at her through his mask
and smiled sipping his wine as they casually mingled with the people, who turned
to congratulate Columbine upon her costume. Scaramouche’s eyes were everywhere,
looking out for anyone out of the ordinary, but then here tonight, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who</i> was ordinary? A young man
immaculately dressed approached Columbine.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah Paul, you came, how do I look?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Beautiful, dazzling, exciting, indeed I
have never seen you looking <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">better”
he told her<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But I think you have eyes for another”
Columbine accused, glancing over to the Lady in waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Only eyes for you, will you dance for us
tonight?” Paul asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But you must, your fans demand it of you”
he persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche stepped boldly forward and
placed his arm round Columbine’s waist “Who is this fool, does he bother you my
love?” hardly believing the words he was uttering!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let me introduce you to Paul, Le Marquis
de Martan” Columbine </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">told
him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche gave a flamboyant bow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Paul, you have no wine!” said Columbine
“waiter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I need no wine, for I am already
intoxicated by your beauty” de Martan said with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Always the flatterer Paul, but then you
know how very fond of flattery I am” Columbine replied with a flourish.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Marquis bowed “I was unwholly ignorant
of that very fact until this moment” he replied “but I shall remember it
always. Now who is this strange fellow who hides behind a mask?” his left hand
upon the hilt of his sword.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Columbine feigned shock and surprise “Paul,
do you mean that you do not know who Scaramouche is?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Madame, who is he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I shall tell you” said Columbine waving
the quintet to stop playing “do you know who this is?” Columbine asked the
gathered people theatrically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Scaramouche” the people shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Scaramouche yes, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who</i> is Scaramouche?” Columbine asked, now playing the audience.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche stood nervously as all eyes
turned upon him, his <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">hand
upon the hilt of his sword, wondering what would happen next.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-indent: 15.35pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“And why does he hide his face
behind a mask, well I will tell you” said Columbine “Scaramouche is a fool! A
genius” in a pose of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; text-indent: 15.35pt;">thinker, a-ne’er-do-well”
gestured Columbine with her fists “a saint” hands together as if in prayer
“fickle, alluring, false and true together.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 15.35pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">152</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 15.35pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Le Marquis De Martan stepped forward “Come
fellow, reveal yourself, take off your mask and show your face.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche leapt dramatically up onto the
raised dais and leaned against one of the music stands “Oh you wouldn’t want me
to do that, think of the effect it would have, to remove my mask would be like
baring my soul, and think what a dark and terrible thing that would be to
behold!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Take off your mask I say” the Marquis
demanded, boldly stepping forward, hand still on the hilt of his sword.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche still standing upon the dais
shook his head in dramatic fashion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You openly defy me, very well” said the
Marquis drawing his sword “I shall have to remove it myself!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scaramouche pulled off his feathered hat
and drawing his sword prepared to defend himself as he dramatically leaped from
the dais onto the floor much to the shock and surprise of the audience.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment nothing happened, and then
came the laughter and pointing from the onlookers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then an Artillery officer strode forward
“He is almost certainly a <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">fool
to be taking on France’s finest swordsman!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was then that Scaramouche saw the reason
for the laughter, he looked at the thin pointed plastic blade, which he
brandished so menacingly. The Marquis stepped forward, the point of his blade
now <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">at
the throat of Scaramouche, who was now powerless to defend himself, was this
then to be his execution? As de Martan advanced he backed away, and seeing a
suit of armour standing by the wall, was quick to topple it over, narrowly
missing de Martan, but allowing him to make good his escape, through the throng
of people and down the elaborately decorated corridor. Scaramouche turned to
see that he was not being pursued!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stood at the end of a green
carpeted corridor, a corridor with intermittent plaster busts set on plinths on
either side, Darwin, Stevenson and Voltaire. At one point there was an ornate
wall mirror, just passed the first door on the left. Number 6 removed his white
mask and tried the first door, it was locked, as was the second, third and
fourth doors, but a pair of French doors, with their blacked out panes of
glass, opened automatically for him. He was taken aback for a moment, but it
was with a bold heart that he finally passed through the pair of doors which
closed automatically behind him, as lighting was at the same time automatically
activated. He found himself standing in a room filled with grey filing cabinets
and two long wooden tables with chairs and reading lamps. His eyes became fixed
on another pair of French doors at the far end of the room, they <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">153<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">opened for him, he paused before stepping into the darkness beyond. The
pair of doors closed behind him. Fearlessly he strode out into the darkness
finally emerging into a dim light. There the figure still lay upon the
operating table, the medical equipment and instruments, the wall screen, great
electrical power cabinets and switch gear helping to generate the power. As he
approached the figure lying covered by a white sheet upon the operating table,
on the wall screen a tall man dressed in a grey charcoal suit advanced along a
dimly lit corridor. He pulled a pair of doors open and stormed into the office
beyond, where a balding, bespectacled man sat behind his desk doing the
Telegraph crossword, but who looked up at the intruder now in his office. The
man paced up and down ranting and shouting in a fit of anger. From the inside
pocket of his jacket he produced a white envelope marked ‘private and personal’
‘by hand’ and slammed it down on the desk, followed by his fist, this upsetting
a cup set upon it’s saucer breaking a tea plate in the process. Number 6 stared
open mouthed at the screen as the scene was repeated over and over on the
screen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve found him, he’s here!” he said
and was about to pull back the white sheet to reveal the patient upon the
operating table, when a voice said behind him “I wouldn’t do that if I were you
Scaramuche!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned to see Le Marquis de Martan
standing just on the edge of the light “Never give up do you, the game’s about
to be over. I’ve found him, I told Number Two that I would, pity she is not
here to witness the occasion of her downfall!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Number 2 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> there, stepping out of the darkness she stood at the shoulder
of the supervisor “I once warned you that you may have </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">to
face a disappointment, that time it would seem is not that far off.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 dropped the corner of the sheet “I
thought I had already faced that disappointment with that founder’s bust you
produced, what on earth did you hope to achieve by a stunt like that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh it was no stunt I assure you” Number 2
replied with an air of confidence “but you have to admit that it did shake you
up, hit you for six you might say!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i>
really is the founder of your Village, Number One?” said Number 6, still not
being able to believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And yours now, you are just as much a
citizen here as anyone” Number 2 assured him “and yes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> is still here, we are keeping him alive, as you can see for
yourself. He was in an accident, but can yet be of service to us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The sheet, it indicates that someone has
died” said Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By no means, we have to protect his
anonymity” retorted Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Even here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Especially here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have just become expendable!” Number 2
informed him, and added “you, Number 6, are far more trouble than you are
worth!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">154<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then I have nothing to lose!” and made to
pull the sheet from the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">patient
lying on the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor drew his sword pointing it
menacingly at Number 6, then he lunged forward swishing his blade in the air
and slashed open the right sleeve of Scaramouche’s doublet, this time drawing
blood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So this is how it is to end, with you as
my assassin!” said Number 6, dodging behind the operating table..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You wouldn’t give up would you, you’re
just like that predecessor of yours, he was the same always poking his nose in
where it wasn’t wanted” the supervisor accused, swishing his blade after the
evading Scaramouche “settle down they told you, like they told <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him</i>, but your family are all alike, do
the exact opposite of what you are told, don’t try to settle down, not conform
but still expect the Village to take care of you, well that’s all to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your </i>cost now!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Stop!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at Number 2, his hand
grasping a corner of the sheet covering the patient, then whipped away the
white sheet covering the patient upon the operating table revealing the
unconscious, yet fully dressed body. There was a penny on one eye, and a
farthing on the other as on the eyes of the dead. But then the body stirred and
sat upright, the coins falling from his now open eyes. Shocked by this horror
Number 6 stumbled back, he was staring into a face he new very well indeed…his
own! Two other figures emerged from the darkness; one stepping forward brought
a white truncheon down onto his head rendering 6 unconscious!</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">155<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-26825504512644844452022-12-20T14:59:00.001+00:002022-12-20T14:59:10.567+00:00Village Day Chapter 15<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">15</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Village Day<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">n the
Green Dome Number 2 paced the floor of her office in her black boots, matching
her blue military uniform, allowed as she was not to adopt the more usual style
of Village uniform. Hands clasped behind in the small of her back, growing ever
more impatient at the lateness of the supervisor. Steel doors suddenly opened
and the supervisor-Number 25 hurried through and down the ramp, the steel doors
closing behind him with a resounding clang.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah supervisor I’ve been waiting for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I got away as soon as I could Number 2,
there was a bit of a flap on at the hospital, Number Six……..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why is it when there is any trouble, or
disturbance in the Village, Number 6 is always at the heart of it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Something should be done about him!” the
supervisor recommended.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-indent: 15.35pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Don’t worry, something will be
done” Number 2 told him “did he find what he was looking for?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; mso-char-indent-count: 1.5; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Of course not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; mso-char-indent-count: 1.5; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">“Good<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps, but Number Six is
persistent, he was asking about a previous Number 6’s description” said the
Supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That damned quest of his!, why can’t he
give it up?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s a loose cannon, he’s already
discovered the black room once, if he should discover……”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“……. It could be the ruination of us all”
she told him “you wouldn’t be trying to tell me what to do, would you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Number Two, you have the final word, but I
am here to advise.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have to work within certain parameters, not
to interfere too much with Number Six and his quest. Apparently he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> brought here for his own protection
against himself” Number 2 explained “and I am to allow him a certain amount of
latitude in allowing him to carry on with the search for his predecessor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor looked at Number 2 and knew
he shouldn’t, but did so anyway “do you think that’s wise?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, but it is what our masters want, and I
am not one to go against them. But don’t worry” said Number 2 taking her seat
behind her desk “our friend Number Six has a very nasty and painful shock
coming to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Harrowing and traumatic?” suggested the
supervisor “one that might prove to be fatal?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well perhaps that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> too much to wish for. But at the very least the shock should be
enough to see him see the truth behind this Village <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">and
to toe the line in future. It seems that he was not simply brought to the Village
for his own good, but also for the good of others.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">139<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He was put here out of the way of them”
suggested the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For protection” said Number 2 “protection
against himself, but then I have to ask myself, who then is to protect him from
us?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you have in mind?” asked the
supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well that all depends upon Number Six,
wouldn’t you say. And should he find his way back into that black room, well he
can stay there, after all the woods are littered with the doctor’s failed
experiments, one more will not make any difference either way!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s expendable then?” the supervisor
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Six could have been of great value to
this Village, but his behaviour has proved him to be more trouble than he is
worth, which makes him worthless to us” Number 2 explained. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And the doctor?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She will be pleased for another subject to
experiment upon.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The doctor seems a little too unstable if
you ask me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I didn’t ask” snapped Number 2 in
response, then thinking again “but I am aware. You have your costume?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number 2”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then I shall be seeing you later on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two” he said walking towards
the ramp.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just a minute, those jamming reports”
Number 2 asked “do we get many of these?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor stopped and turned “not as
many as we used to, but if one is known to be a Jammer, then we simply ignore
them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So you have never acted upon any of these
jamming reports?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“One or two, the more probable ones” he
replied and then after thinking for a moment or two said “then there was the
case of the glider!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Glider, tell me about that” said Number 2
with keen interest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well it was before your time, Numbers 24,
14, 105 were discovered to be building a glider in the attic of 24 Private.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whatever will they try next!” Number 2
said smiling to herself “but please, go on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course they had no chance of launching
it, it would have been stupid even to try.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why did my predecessor even allow them to
construct this glider in the first place, I would have put a stop to it the
moment it was discovered by the observers!” was this Number 2’s response.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well your predecessor was a very clever
and astute man. Always in control, calm and calculating, and seeing that there
was never any chance of them launching, let alone escaping in the glider he thought
to allow them to continue. Besides it gave them something to do, and kept them
out of trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But it was an escape attempt!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh
it was never that, they were jamming, that’s what jammers do” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
supervisor explained.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, but they actually built the glider”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">140<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What happened to it?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We had it dismantled” the supervisor
replied “will that be all?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 nodded “Until later.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two” said the supervisor
turning and walking up the ramp, the steel doors opening, he turned “a very
clever man, your predecessor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So it would appear” said Number 2 “but he
is yesterday’s man.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doors closed behind the departing
supervisor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hour was drawing ever closer to noon,
which in turn brought the ceremony for Village Day ever closer. Outside the
citizens were everywhere enjoying themselves, the village fete already open.
Citizens eating candy floss, toffee apples, and Number 23 one of a few happy
citizens winning prizes at the ‘Duck on a Stick’ stall, yellow plastic ducks
floating in shallow water around in a circle, each with a hook in their heads,
the idea being to snag a duck with the hook in the end of a pole, and the
number on the bottom of the duck corresponded with the prize won. And in
testing his strength number 73 rang the bell and won himself a Teddy Bear! The
Brass Band was playing, Top Hat officials made their way to the Gloriette in
time for the ceremony. Numbers 42 and 73, with Teddy Bear in arms, arrived at
the Green Dome, they to provide security for Number 2, and waited on the
balcony. At the bottom of the steps of the Green Dome, a taxi stood waiting.
The driver busy giving the paint work a final rub over in places, just to make
sure it was clean and shiny for its most important passenger to come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Village was filled with excitement and gaiety;
everyone was in fancy dress costume, even the Admiral-Number 66, as Admiral Lord
Nelson, who sat with Number 6 down on the lawn of the old people’s home over a
game of chess that neither were playing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not joining in with the Village Day
festivities then lad?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gentlemen” the waiter said clearing the
tea things away “you did hear the announcement?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 paid four work units with his
credit card “No, I was at the hospital this morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter clipped the card and handed it
back to his owner, who slipped it into the breast pocket of his piped blazer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Really lad, nothing too serious I hope”
said the Admiral.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just a quick check up, a general
examination that’s all, to see if there was anything malignant” Number 6
replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I trust nothing was found?” the Admiral
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Unfortunately the examination was
incomplete, there was a bit of a flap on, and I didn’t like to outstay my
welcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re a fool lad” that’s my opinion,
“there’s no point in fighting battles you can’t win.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me Admiral, are there any battles you
did not fight, just because you thought you might not win?” Number 6 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Listen lad, there’s a lot you don’t know.
You have to learn to play </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">the
game, just as I have done, now it’s your move” said the Admiral.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">141</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked down at the chessboard and
played pawn to king four “what’s it all about?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What?” the Admiral asked moving his king’s
pawn forward three squares.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This Village Day, a lot of stuff and
nonsense about nothing, wouldn’t you say?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t know about that lad, but they
do say that the founding of the Village was sometime in 1928. But what is it to
you lad, let them play their game. If you don’t learn to bend a little, you’ll
break!” the Admiral advised.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s their game” Number 6 replied “and I
am only just beginning to <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">learn
the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral drew closer to Number 6 across
the table and warning him said “Aye lad, and theirs for the winning!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing the Admiral was a long time resident
of the Village, it seemed to Number 6 that he was the man to ask “How is it that
you have managed to survive for so long?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“One may not be able to win the game lad,
but a minor victory here and there is sometimes as good as a battle won!” the
Admiral replied with a knowing wink.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All interest in the chess match was now
lost, not that it was there ever to begin with, not today, far too many
distractions, like the issue of The Tally Ho lying upon the table. Number 6
cast an eye over the front page ‘Founders Day Statue To Be Unveiled By No. 2’
and there was a photograph of Number 2, all severe looking, with cold unfeeling
eyes, a firm jaw and unsmiling lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s dangerous you know” said the
Admiral.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked up from the newspaper “What
is?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thinking, they say it corrupts the mind”
the Admiral told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A
complaint which few around here suffer from.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But one which can lead to trouble lad” the
Admiral warned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me Admiral, was it celebrated last
year?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why do you ask that lad, is it important?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know, what day is it Admiral?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, I didn’t mean that, I meant the date.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral looked blankly at the young man
sitting opposite him,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">and
Number 6 beckoned to the waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What date is it today?” he asked the
waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day sir” replied the waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re as bad as he is, no, the date, what
is the date?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why the nineteenth sir” said the waiter
indicating the date upon The Tally Ho.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And today is founders day” said Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes sir, didn’t you know?” the waiter
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And the Village celebrates its founding
every year?” Number 6 <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">142<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why yes sir, it’s a tradition of the
Village every year, but this year is extra special” the waiter confirmed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why is that?” Number 6 demanded to know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Because of the founder’s statue sir” was
the reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And who is the founder?” Number 6 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Enjoy your Village Day sir” said the
waiter and hurried away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral could see that the game was
well and truly over and began putting the chess pieces back into the wooden box
“They say lad that the statue could turn out to be a likeness of the founder of
the Village, and that could only be…….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number One” said Number 6, finishing the
sentence for the Admiral “who so ever Number One should prove to be!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There then came the following announcement
over the public address system.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Citizens wishing taking part in the grand
parade should gather in the square, I repeat all those citizens wishing to take
part in the grand parade should gather in the square. The parade begins in five
minutes, the minutes are five.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I should be going really lad, don’t want
to miss the big parade and all that” said the Admiral “are you coming lad?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why not, I’ve no other place to be at this
time!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Number 6 and the Admiral stood up from
their table, they realised that they were in fact alone, everyone else making
their way up the hill into the centre of the Village.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, Number 2 and her entourage of
Numbers 42 and 73, minus the Teddy Bear, trooped one after the other down the
steps of <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
Green Dome as the citizens paraded on their way around and <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">around
the piazza, it was quite a colourful affair to see so many citizens all in a
variety of fancy dress costumes, from the mysterious east to pantomime
characters, from National dress to historic characters, all around the piazza
they paraded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 and her entourage climbed aboard
the waiting taxi which drove off slowly along the road and through the cheering,
waving citizens, and even Number 2 began to succumb to the carnival atmosphere,
giving the citizens as she passed by a gentle wave of the arm. And behind them
all, bringing up the rear so to speak, was the butler, still in his usual pair
of black tails, brown cape, black gloves and bowler hat and holding aloft his
black and white striped umbrella!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was shouting, cheering and gaiety all
around the village, as Admiral Lord Nelson saluted an old enemy, Napoleon!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You stick out like a sore thumb lad” the
Admiral told Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good, it reminds me that I am still
myself!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You do have a fancy dress lad?” the
Admiral asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean apart from the school boy one I’m
wearing at the moment, oh yes Admiral, and rest assured I shall put it to an </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">extremely
good use later this evening!” Number 6 assured his old friend “for tonight I am
going to be Scaramouche!” he said with a flamboyant bow.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">143</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Top Hat officials had taken their
positions upon the balcony of the Gloriette, who stood awaiting Number 2, who
now arrived at the back of the Gloriette dressed immaculately in her blue
military style uniform and black boots, alighting from the taxi, climbed the
three steps onto the balcony of the Gloriette and from the turquoise railings
saluted the citizens as they came to the end of their parade. And now lining up
beneath the balcony, awaited a speech from Number 2 who cut a most impressive
figure and was handed a megaphone by one of the Top Hat officials, and waited,
giving the still cheering citizens time to settle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who do you think she was?” the Admiral
asked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who?” asked Number 6, who walked around
amongst the citizens, but not actually taking part in the parade.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Two lad, who do you think she was,
in her former life before the Village?” asked the Admiral.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In that uniform, probably a chief of
security for some south America Republican President” was Number 6’s
conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the citizens settled themselves, amongst
them Sir Walter Raleigh was there and Good Queen Bess, as was the Cardinal, a
couple of frogmen, a cowboy, red Indian, Harlequin, a well dressed gentleman in
dog tooth coat and plus fours, pushing his penny farthing and a tall white
robed monk, his face unseen hidden away deep inside the cowl of his robe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 looked down upon the citizens of
this community from the balcony of the Gloriette. She felt a sudden sense of
pride, this was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> Village, all
former allegiances suddenly forgotten, and these people <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> citizens, who now all stood waiting for their leader to address
them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fellow citizens, friends. We are all
gathered here upon this most auspicious and very special day, to both celebrate
and honour our fine community.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this the citizens gave a rousing
applause, and Number 2 waited for them to quieten once more before continuing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not only are we here to celebrate our way
of life here in the Village, but to pay tribute to someone who made all this
possible, the founder of this Village. A man of vision, with idealistic
principles, a man who has been an example to us all, a man of both steel and
determination and without whom, none of us would be standing here today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The citizens cheered and waved showing
their appreciation of their leader, lapping up every word Number 2 uttered.
Number 2 waved to the crowed before turning to leave the Gloriette, followed by
the Top Hat officials and the butler as she made her way to the lawn and the unveiling
area of the statue or bust, there to stand waiting as the citizens gathered
around, all jostling for the best position in which to view the unveiling
ceremony. Number’s 42 and 73 both dressed in </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">black
and sporting dark glasses, were there on hand to see that no one got too close
for Number 2’s comfort, especially Number 6, who was being closely observed.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">144</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good people of our community” began Number
2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hooray, hooray, hooray, the crowd cheered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“To commemorate this anniversary of the
founding of our Village, I am both proud and privileged to unveil this special
commemorative bust of the most singular man who made possible our idyllic way
of life with its community you see before you today. If it had not been for him
we would not be standing here together today, he would be proud to see so many
of you gathered to pay him homage. I ask you all now to raise your voice in
appreciation of a truly great man, and remarkable individual.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There came a sudden drum roll through the
public address system and it was the butler’s honour to pull on the scarlet
cord and unveil the bust mounted upon its ornate stone plinth. The crowed were
stunned into silence as they marvelled in awe at the bust of the founder of
their Village. The head and shoulders of a man perfectly immortalised forever
in stone. A handsome man with thick wavy hair, his face unsmiling and curiously
there was just the hint of a frown, and the eyes staring somehow accusatory,
the sculpture having captured the man’s persona to a tee! To say it came as a
shock would be putting it mildly, Number 6 was dumbfounded as he stared at the
face unveiled, a face that he knew only too well, but not wanting to believe it
could be possible!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know lad” said the Admiral “there’s a look
of you about that bust.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 said nothing, he was stunned in
disbelief. But once the shock began to subside a little, he found his old self
and stormed forward, ready to confront anyone who stood in his way and that
included 42 and 73 as they stepped forward to block Number 6’s path to Number 2
and the bust of the Village’s founder. However Number 2 motioned her two lap
dogs back into place, allowing Number 6 to storm forward unhindered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This,
this farce cannot be right</i>!” shrieked Number 6, pointing to the founders
bust “he is an individual, independent and would never, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never </i>have anything to do with a place like this, unless he was a
prisoner. He would never conform to any of the Village’s beliefs, unless it was
through absolute coercion! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He</i>” barked
Number 6 pointing at the bust again “would not think himself a member of this
community, let alone be the founder, you’ve got the wrong man!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 stepped forward to face the
aggressor “I can see how upset and agitated you are, but how would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> know what he is?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stared back at Number 2 in sheer
anger and outrage and from his pocket produced that photograph he has been so
keen to show about the village and now holding in front of Number 2’s face <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">yelled
for all to hear “because he’s my brother, as well you know!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">145<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there came more murmurings from the
gathered citizens, as they remained as onlookers, seeing the likeness between
Number 6 and the commemorative bust.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So what have you done with him, is he
still here, somewhere in the Village?” Number 6 asked, ready to vent his anger
upon the first person who now got in his way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 took another two steps forward and
stared into the face of Number 6 “Questions are a burden to others…….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And answers a prison for oneself!” he
added.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You may not like the answers” Number 2
warned him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps not, but I think I’ll go on asking
the questions anyway” he said in response “at least that way I shall remain a
burden to you! He’s still here isn’t he, what have you done with him, this
founder of your village who you are so proud of to pay tribute to him this
day?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally Number 2 relented “Yes he is still
here in the Village and always will be….<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i>
us. A long time ago something inside of him died, and after death there is
birth….. he gave birth to the Village, and <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">everyone
of us within its community. Even as a child there was something in his brain
which was a puzzlement, perhaps the Village was there even then!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 face to face with Number 6
“Strange how often we don’t know those closest to us, we think we do, but we
don’t. Sometimes we hardly know ourselves!” there was a deep malevolence in her
voice and a cruel smile lingered upon her lips.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no need for violence, even numbers
42 and 73 could see<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was a
broken man, as he fell to his knees in tears upon the ground. He looked up at
the bust of his brother and one word passed his lips……. “Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 content with the day’s events so
far, lifted the megaphone to the good people of this community “Let the
festivities continue. Feel free and enjoy yourselves its Village Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly and instantly the seemingly
paralysed crowd became animated once more, cheering and waving in Village Day celebration
as many went off to enjoy the many attractions. As for Number 6, he was still
kneeling on the ground, reading the inscription beneath the bust;</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">For Him His
Days Are Not Numbered</span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Number 6
slowly picked himself up off his knees, appearing a broken and disappointed
man, and now he stood alone before the founder’s bust. Number 2, the ceremonial
pageant over, had now returned to her administrative details in the Green Dome,
just as had most of the other citizens gone, and those few who were left, felt
little or nothing for Number 6. But if Number 2 thought Number 6 to be the
broken man she thought him to be, then she was to have yet another thought
about that. For the tears that Number 6 had wept had gone, </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">and
the once anger inside was being replaced with burning revenge, but to enjoy
this Number 6 would have to bide his time until the Masque Ball tonight.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">146</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the control room the supervisor
instructed the observers to keep a special observant eye open for Number 6,
just in case, because Number 2 feared he might do something stupid after his
terrible ordeal, because of the shock and trauma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet suicide was not 6’s way, he was more likely
to cause trouble, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> is what
the observers were watching for.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 walked slowly through the Village,
he was the subject of much muttering and murmurs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s the way to do it” shrieked Mr
Punch, dressed in piped blazer and straw boater, as he beat a rather portly
policeman with a goatee beard with his own truncheon, much to the enjoyment of
the citizens.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah, Number 6” said the Victorian showman
“you wanted…….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he simply ignored the showman and
walked straight passed him, having seen more than enough for one day! His mind
was in a state of stupefaction, insensitive and lethargic as he walked on,
ignoring anything and everyone about him. He merely returned to his cottage.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">147<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-9803609220677961282022-12-18T22:50:00.000+00:002022-12-18T22:50:00.868+00:00Village Day Chapter 14<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">14</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Raspberry The
Flavour of The Day<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>O</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">n the
morning of Village Day in her office in the Green Dome, Number 2 sits watching
the wall screen from the comfort of her black global chair and Popsey the clown
stands in attendance as Number 6 rose from his bed tired and irritable, and
donning his orange and black striped dressing gown over his blue pyjamas. Downstairs
in the kitchen he made himself a cup of coffee, in the lounge he threw the
curtains open and peered out into the cloud covered Village. Suddenly
ubiquitous music began to play through the black speaker and the television
flickered into life, pictured on the screen was Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How did I sleep?” he asked, looking at the
television screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You had a disturbed night” she told him
“another bad dream?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He scowled at the woman on the screen “And
you would know all about it, wouldn’t you. How was it done, something in the
water?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps you need a check up, you’re irritable
this morning” she suggested “or perhaps you simply need taking out of yourself.
Feel free to enjoy the day…. be seeing you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
with that the television screen went off. He went back up stairs to the
bathroom, showered, shaved and then got dressed in his usual attire, watched of
course by Number 2, who was speaking on the telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes splendid, everything is ready….. oh
he’ll be no trouble…….oh yes I’m sure that it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> come as an immense shock to him, I’d be disappointed if it
didn’t……. he’ll not believe it of course, and no doubt will deny it to the last
breath in his body, but we are well prepared for any such act of denial
behaviour………..yes sir the Masque Ball should prove to be a grand affair….. yes
sir, I’m sorry too” and at that Number 2 replaced the telephone upon her desk.
She sat looking thoughtful for a moment revolving her chair and said “Run along
Popsey and see that all is proceeding as planned, the celebrations are due to
begin soon, citizens will be starting to enjoy the Village fete, and remember
to keep a sharp eye out for Number Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Popsey said nothing, she simply bowed and took
her leave up the ramp and out through the open steel doors, through which the butler
wheeled his breakfast trolley for his mistress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was having breakfast at the same
time as Number 2, just toast and coffee this morning, after such a disturbed
night, he couldn’t face anything else. He carried the tea plate, cup and saucer
into the lounge and placed them down upon the coffee table, then </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">taking
the two copies of the Tally Ho he began to study of them.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">129<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first Tally Ho ‘No 6 Speaks His Mind’
was obviously a clue to say that he had been here, but the second newspaper was
a mystery to him, there was nothing to indicate anything about Number 6, just
No 2 calling for increased vigilance from the citizens. But most of the text
was gobbledygook, a number of different stories cut up and pasted back together
in higgledy-piggledy fashion! Folding the papers he donned his piped blazer and
went out into the Village. Citizens were up and about early this morning, all
in their variety of fancy dress costumes, all determined it seemed to enjoy the
village Day celebrations, this as well as the fete, of which all the stalls
were already manned and beginning to do business.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Roll up, roll up, three shy’s a credit unit”
called out the man at the coconut shy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a feeling of excitement about the
Village, the Brass Band was already out and playing at the bandstand, it was
something called ‘Here Comes The Band’ as Bongo Bolero and his Jumping Jugglers
all trooped passed, dressed in sparkling silver and black leotards and sporting
thick black moustaches and waving to the citizens as they passed by, and the
Punch & Judy’ man busy putting out the sign ‘Punch & Judy Show at 10:30am.’
Then there came a fanfare over the public address system, followed by the
following announcement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good morning, good morning and congratulations
on yet another day, Village Day. The weather forecast is that the weather will
remain fine and dry, with sunny spells later in the day. The Village fete is
already under way, and later there will be the grand parade. Your chance to
show off <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your </i>fancy dress costume,
and there is a prize of 2,000 free work units for the best costume of any
category. A speech is to be given by Number 2 herself, followed by the
unveiling of a special Village Day commemorative bust. This evening there is
the Masque Ball in the Town Hall. There will be fun and frolics for all
throughout the day, don’t forget the Punch &Judy show, at 10:30, and Bongo
Bolero and his Jumping Jugglers, and of course the ‘What the butler saw!’ Ice
cream is now on sale, raspberry is the flavour of the day. Listen out for
further announcements and have a very happy Village Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Number 6 strolled casually amongst the stalls
and attractions </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">on
the chess lawn, amid citizens decked out in their fancy dress costumes as they
paraded around the piazza, round and round the free sea, and as the brass band
played and the citizens cheered, there seemed to be a real atmosphere of gaiety
about the village. And for a moment, just for a split moment he couldn’t help
himself from thinking what an idyllic place the Village was. Everyone seemed to
be happy, their every needs taken care of, nothing to worry or vex the
citizens, just as long as they gave them what it was ‘they’ wanted! This though
soon snapped Number 6 out of his melancholy state of mind, because as he looked
about the seemingly happy smiling faces of the citizens he thought to himself
that “there are none so blind as cannot</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">130<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">see.”
Because as he looked about the citizens he could see only bland expressions
upon their faces, and the sound of their cheery happy laughter, came not out of
the citizens mouths, but carefully positioned speakers!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing by the free sea of the pool and
fountain in the piazza was the diminutive butler, he and Number 6 appeared to
be the only ones wearing their usual garb, and in so doing stuck out like two
sore thumbs. He in his piped blazer, and the butler in his brown cape and black
bowler hat and black gloves, carrying his open black and white striped umbrella
aloft he and Number 6 paying cursory glances as the two parties passed by. It
was at this point that he espied the red and white striped ‘What the butler saw’
tent, and being the curious sort, he opened the tent flap and ducked inside. There
was a red mechanical machine, circa 1920’s standing in the centre of the tent.
Number 6 approached it, a large drum with a handle set upon an iron framework
of legs. Placing your penny into the slot and looking through the visor,
turning the handle at the same time, an action which inside the drum flicked a
circular set of cards, each one in turn giving you the sight of what the butler
saw. Each viewing lasted only a couple of minutes, and usually ended before you
got to the juicy bits! But Number 6 had no penny, he had no coin of any kind,
and it was at this point when he was searching the tent for just such a coin,
that the flap opened and a gentleman in Victorian costume, top hat and black
frock coat, entered carrying a black Gladstone bag. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not open yet sir” the showman said
somewhat hastily, putting his Gladstone bag down upon a table, opening it and
looking inside at its contents.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was curious that’s all” Number 6 said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not the best frame of mind to be in young
man” the showman replied “especially here in the Village.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But I haven’t a coin” Number 6 added.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man looked up from his Gladstone bag “Coin?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For the machine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah,” said the showman raising a finger “you
need a token!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I haven’t one of those either.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have, I have several” the showman told
his customer, turning <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">his
attention back to the Gladstone bag and delving inside and from which he
produced a white token, a white token with a black penny farthing set on either
side “a private preview for you young man, what say you to that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A pleasure I’m sure” said Number 6, taking
the coin and dropping it into the slot of the machine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’d be careful what you say young man”
said the showman with a knowing smile “you haven’t seen it yet!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 bent down and looked into the
viewer whilst at the same time turning the handle, and was truly amazed at what
the butler <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> see!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nighttime as the figure stood on
the patio of the roundhouse cottage,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">131<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">there was a sign outside the door, 6 Private. The figure of a man he
recognised, the same man as in his photograph was now sitting at a table with a
rather attractive young woman. She had a kind and beautiful face, with the most
feminine eyes and shoulder length auburn hair. The man wore no badge upon the
lapel of his piped blazer, but the woman wore a penny farthing badge pinned to
her blue cardigan with the red numeral 8. The man and woman sat at the table
facing each other, music was playing through a black loudspeaker. The man ran a
finger along the curl of her auburn hair, they were close enough to kiss, but
didn’t. They appeared to be whispering to one another, certainly they appeared
to be getting very close to one another as they gazed into each others eyes. Then
they stood up together and strolled up and down the short patio in each others
arms. The man finally picking up the black speaker and with it under his arm
walked with the young woman to the door of his cottage, and as it opened
automatically for the couple, they walked together inside. The man placed the
black speaker upon the coffee table, then taking the young woman in his arms
they embraced and kissed passionately, the man’s hands running down the length
of the blue skirt and then… click!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s going on, it’s stopped!” Number 6
shouted out, looking in annoyed frustration at the showman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right sir, the token’s run out,
always does when it gets to the good bit!” returned the showman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do I do now, have you another token?”
he asked and holding out his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That I do” replied the showman “but you’ll
have to wait, come back later.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why should I wait, I could just put my
hand in that bag of yours and…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You could, but are you prepared to pay the
price?” said the showman snapping the Gladstone bag shut.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 thought for a moment, did this man
know something or was he just showing me something and if so why? And what was
it he was seeing anyway, could it be trusted to be the truth, or something
cleverly put together to look like something it wasn’t? And in this <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">place
was such intimate privacy allowed between two people?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll be back later, don’t change that
drum, or it will be the worse for you!” snapped Number 6, lifting the flap and
taking his leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very good sir” said the showman, opening
his Gladstone bag and lifting out a fresh drum of cards for the machine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 decided that his next port of call
should be the hospital, it should have been his first, but that is often the
way of things in the Village, one gets waylaid! But now he needed transport, a
taxi he could drive himself out to the hospital, and he needed to consult the Village
map. This he did via the electronic ‘Free Information’ Board, this to place the
hospital on the outskirts of the Village. From there Number 6 crossed to the
taxi rank, but instead of a white Mini-Moke with candy striped<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">132<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">canopy, there stood a black two wheel hansom cab and black horse.
There was no driver, the horse had its head in a nose bag. Number 6 went to try
and find the driver, the café being the most likely place. A sturdy looking man
with a big bushy moustache, dressed in a long grey coat and brown bowler hat
sat at one of the tables.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I say cabbie” Number 6 said
approaching the man, “can you take me to the hospital?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I could.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Will you?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m having me’ lunch, come back in
five minutes” the cabbie told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But I want to go now!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why is there something wrong with
you?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then anther five minutes won’t matter either
way then will it?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look I need to go to the hospital.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You will in a minute mate, to have
my fist removed from your face!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re a surly brute!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, one who’s having his lunch!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 backed away.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few paces from the café was the ice
cream stand where Number 99 was busy serving a customer, a woman dressed in her
‘Good Queen Bess’ costume took her raspberry cornet and having paid with her
credit card strolled slowly away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Busy Ninety-nine?” Number 6 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 99 was also in fancy dress, as a
Venetian Gondolier, blue trousers, deck shoes, red and white striped jersey and
straw boater with a red bow, much like his normal attire really! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Y, y ye yes nu Number 6” he replied with
his usual stammer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me Ninety-nine, is there a clown
standing on the opposite side of the road watching me?” not wanting to attract
the clown’s attention.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 99 turned and looked directly at the
clown, who turned instantly away “Yes, yes Number 6, it’s pop pop pop popsey.”<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"> “Popsey,
Popsey the clown!” said Number 6 “and who exactly </span><i style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">Pospey
the clown?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“N n no one knows n nu number Six, that’s
the whole p p point” 99 stammered out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, but I wonder what face lies underneath
all that make up?” Number 6 asked 99 quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know Number Six. P perhaps, she’s
an ob observer seeing she’s still watching you” 99 suggested “will there be an,
anything else, nu, Number Six?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked at the selection of ices “I’ll
have a ninety-nine cornet, chocolate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Rasp, raspberry is the flavour of the d
day Number Six, it’s very good for you, I recommend it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">133<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Chocolate” replied Number 6 adamantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“As you wish, nu Number Six” said 99 handing
his customer a filled cornet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took the cornet and paid for it
with his credit card, which was duly clipped and handed back to him. He saluted
99 and quietly strolled off, knowing full well that Popsey the clown was only a
few paces behind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be seeing you” 99 saluted in return, but Number
6 was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Popsey had been busy checking that all was
going according to plan for Village Day, and it was whilst she was carrying out
these duties that she observed Number 6 leaving the ‘What the butler saw’ tent and
had decided to follow him. Later she would speak with number 235, the Victorian
showman to ask him what went on between himself and Number 6, she even may have
to report him to Number 2. But for now she contented herself with following
Number 6. She danced and clowned around hitting citizens with the balloon tied
to a stick. At one point picking up a bucket by a wall, a bucket of suspected
water, but when she threw it over some citizens sitting on a bench, silver and
gold ticker tape flew everywhere, this much to the delight and enjoyment of the
onlookers. But all the time Popsey was clowning around she never once took her
eyes off Number 6, well not until he went through an archway, then she had to
finish her act quickly, this so as to be able to follow him as he walked at a
leisurely pace and in no particular direction, slowly licking and nibbling on
his ice cream cone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 went up the three steps at the
back of the Gloriette and stepped out onto the balcony and stood there looking
out over the piazza where citizens were promenading around the pool and
fountain in finery and costumes. He waited, waited, as Pospey waited in the
road for Number 6 to reappear. When he didn’t she danced her way onto the
balcony……..he was not there!! He stood in the Piazza looking up at her and gave
a cheery wave. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having finished his ice cream he moved
away to the far end of the Piazza, down the steps and across the lawn, round
the wishing fountain, past Hercules with the World on his shoulders, up the
steps and through the gates opposite the Town Hall where he as accosted </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">by
a Tally Ho vender.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Copy of The Tally Ho sir?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at the man, then at
the strange looking broadsheet dispenser, it put him in mind of his grandmother’s
washing mangle. The device stood on four wooden legs, had the usual candy striped
canopy, and two white rollers operated by the turning of a handle. On the top
roller were words “Village Day Celebrations,” and the vender tore of a copy of
The Tally Ho from the second roller, and handed it to his customer. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That will be two units please.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">134<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlM3gnR8jfJMwLGqmzA7up3GLR1_zO23Jx95dBzaXxhMJl6xT-1Zot_mYImUs4JzIhzxHm4wWGZzGIIq5O3YLdKSf87TolxoWPxA1U4mjePMV2ocTTevGvxY_n8OY6HbhAZQwtFkwq6ebDD8K0zvUgP0mzoq7TYUu0mxMD6xp0QAF7kwCr9x1fIcVRg/s1600/1%20THE%20TALLY%20HO%20VILLAGE%20DAY.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1132" height="731" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlM3gnR8jfJMwLGqmzA7up3GLR1_zO23Jx95dBzaXxhMJl6xT-1Zot_mYImUs4JzIhzxHm4wWGZzGIIq5O3YLdKSf87TolxoWPxA1U4mjePMV2ocTTevGvxY_n8OY6HbhAZQwtFkwq6ebDD8K0zvUgP0mzoq7TYUu0mxMD6xp0QAF7kwCr9x1fIcVRg/w516-h731/1%20THE%20TALLY%20HO%20VILLAGE%20DAY.jpg" width="516" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took the offered broadsheet
and paid with his credit card. He walked away glancing at the headline Founders
Day Statue to be unveiled by No.2. It was accompanied by a picture of a most
severe looking Number 2. He began to read the article “Today is Village Day,
when we celebrate the founding of your village and its community. Citizens are
invited to join in the celebrations, and to enjoy the freedom of the Village.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What utter tripe!” he thought to himself
as he rolled the broadsheet up and went on his way.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahead of him was the taxi rank, he
was pleased to see the hansom cab had left the rank, and only two regular white
Mini-Mokes stood there. He strolled passed the two female drivers sat on a
bonnet of one of the taxis talking, a photographer stood there taking pictures.
He stopped suddenly, and turned sharply. Popsey the clown had not expected
this, having caught up with him, and walked straight into his arms. She hit him
on the head with her balloon, spun and went on her way, as he went on his way towards
the blue and red stagecoach. Opening the door he climbed inside, the stagecoach
being the perfect place to observe the taxi rank, without himself being observed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The photographer thanked the two girls and
walked away, they slipped off the bonnet and walked towards the café leaving
the two taxis unguarded. This is what Number 6 was waiting for, and so made his
move. He stepped out of the stagecoach and quickly glanced about him before
crossing the street and getting behind the wheel of the second taxi on the
rank. The key had been left in the ignition, he turned it firing the engine
into life. Engaging reverse gear the taxi backed away off the rank, backing round
until it faced the large yellow and white Triumphal arch. Then first gear, foot
down on the accelerator, the clutch depressed and the taxi sped forward through
the arch and along the tree lined road. There came a bend in the road, where he
turned right over a stone bridge, then followed the winding twisting road which
straightened and took the taxi out beyond the Village. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Following the road there was a large
grey structure on the left, a castle. Number 6 slowed the taxi until he could
read a sign, hospital. He turned the vehicle onto the gravelled forecourt and
parked at a discreet distance from the grey turreted hospital building, as he
did not wish to attract attention.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a taxi with a Red Cross trailer
in tow parked at the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">entrance
to the hospital, a bearded medic with a clipboard was busy supervising the
removal of a patient from the white canopied trailer. Two male orderlies lifted
the patient out and onto a trolley, which they pushed into the hospital. Number
6 sat observing this, and when the bearded man went into the hospital he took his
chance. Climbing out of the taxi he calmly crossed the courtyard and entered
the hospital, if challenged he would simply say he was a visitor to one of the
wards.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">135<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reception area was deserted, much to
his relief. On a stand behind the reception desk hung a white coat, stepping
round the desk he took the white coat and slipped it over his piped blazer. In
the breast pocket he found a pair of black rimmed spectacles, he put them on,
but being unable to see a thing, slipped them off and back into the pocket. In
another pocket he found a stethoscope and this he hung about his neck, it
seemed to give him confidence and completed his disguise as he strode along the
grey wall lined corridor, now able to move freely amongst hospital staff and
patients alike.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the control room the supervisor-Number
25, a tall slim man with black hair and dressed in a plain black blazer was
about to make a report to Number 2, he picked up a blue ‘L’ shaped telephone. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Two, it has been reported by Popsey
that Number Six has stolen a taxi.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t worry he can’t get away, there’s nowhere
for him to get away to!” Number 2 replied with confidence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Observers report Number Six driving out to
the hospital, the taxis parked on the hospital forecourt and he’s gone inside”
the supervisor reported.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps he’s feeling unwell!” Number 2
quipped in cruel jest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sticking his nose in more like!” offered
the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 leaned forward in her black
spherical chair and pressed a button on the control panel of her desk, and the
wall screen depicting Astro Lamp effects switched to that of the hospital
forecourt and the white Mini Moke taxi parked there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, but do you want us to do anything
about it?” asked the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, wait a minute” said Number 2 pressing
another button on the control panel “doctor.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two” said a disembodied voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are we clear at the hospital, I mean
there’s nothing to find?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who is there to look?” the doctor asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No-one, thank you doctor” said Number 2
“you heard that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes” the supervisor replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Take
no action” Number 2 ordered “let Number Six look, he’ll soon learn that there’s
nothing to find.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want to see you in my office, say in
fifteen minutes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two” said the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Three bags full Number Two” he muttered to
himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the hospital Number 6 walked the entire
length of corridors on <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
ground floor. All looked normal, nothing out of the unusual or untoward, until
he saw the room marked Aversion Therapy. Looking through the observation window
he saw some poor soul sat strapped in a chair, electrodes taped to his forehead
and wrists. The man was looking at a screen and became quite an agitated as he strained
against the restraints holding him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">136<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can I help you doctor?” asked Number 71,
the matron of the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stalled, unable to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No one is allowed in the therapy room during
a therapy session” the matron informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned from the door to face the middle
aged woman in white cap and dark blue dress. Removing the stethoscope from
about his neck he handed it to the matron, this along with the white coat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re no doctor of this hospital”
observed the matron “who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Forgive me matron, but I’m on a fact
finding mission” Number 6 replied, making it up as he went along.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fact finding mission….. for whom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Two” he told her in his best
authoritative voice “tell me matron, is there a short, stout and severe looking
doctor here at the hospital?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The matron, somewhat severe herself said “I
can assure you that there is no such doctor at this hospital.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not carrying out such therapy as this?”
asked Number 6 again looking through the observation window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The matron thought for a moment “Come with
me into my office would you, I think I should speak with Number Two.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I shouldn’t bother her” he said brushing
passed matron “I’ll be seeing Number Two myself later today.”</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">137</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-45336285496871967752022-12-16T22:20:00.001+00:002022-12-16T22:20:20.806+00:00Village Day Chapter 13<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">13</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Ill</span></st1:place></st1:state><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"> Met By
Moonlight!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>W</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">alking
along the gravelled path towards his cottage, Number 6 observed the ground
floor lights having been switched on, indicating that he had guests. Two of
whom he was already acquainted with, the third being a newcomer to the Village.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who the devil are you?” snapped Number 6,
bursting in through the French door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Numbers 42 and 73 stood with their arms
folded, motionless and silent on either side of the armchair in which at a most
severe looking middle aged woman dressed in a blue military style uniform. The
white Penny Farthing badge pinned to the lapel of her tunic had the red numeral
2. And there was a smaller badge, black with a red crest, a gold braid lanyard
hung down from her left shoulder and her black hair was swept back and secured
in a tight bun which helped much towards her severe and draconian appearance. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 annoyed with this unwarranted
intrusion into his home repeated the question “I asked who the devil you are,
and what do you mean by coming in here like this?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The new Number 2 slowly rose to her feet,
straightened her tunic and said in a stern and threatening voice “Not quite the
devil you’ll be disappointed the learn Number Six, but you will wish I were by
the time I’m finished with you. I am the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">new</i>
Number Two” her smile was severe in the extreme.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, I can see you’re going to be a
bundle of laughs!” he quipped “what happened to the old one, he left a bit
suddenly didn’t he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am not here for laughs Number Six, as
you will be quick to learn” she informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What a pity. Mind you, you look like a
woman who enjoys her work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You didn’t respond to my summons, how very
remiss of you” she scowled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you didn’t answer my question!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>73 suddenly stepped forward without
instruction, delivering several blows to Number 6’s head and midriff, sending
him staggering back against the fire place, winding him, doubling up in pain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stop
that!”</i> barked Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Number 73 with a hand on Number 6’s shoulder, his right hand clenched in
a fist and about to deliver the final blow, but stopped at hearing the command
and stepped back from the antagonist, like an obedient dog at hearing its
master’s voice!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Never
make such a move like that again, without my command</i>” she ordered “you
might have damaged him, I don’t want that to happen…… not just yet anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right, call your dog off!” said Number
6 rubbing his chin </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">and
reminding her said “you had better check my file, you will see quite clearly
that I am here under protection, which was offered to me on the day of my
arrival here.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">120</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 stared into the face of Number 6
long and hard “Any such decrees made by my predecessor were rescinded the moment
I took up office in the Green Dome.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 could instantly see that this new
Number 2 was of a completely different calibre to that of her predecessor. In
fact she was as far right as he had been left, the Penny Farthing upon her
badge indicating as much, to the right as it faced!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have read your file Number Six” she told
him in that stern authoritative voice of hers.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s nothing remarkable in that,
you’re not the first, nor will be the last I expect!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You have been allowed to get away with far
too much since your arrival here, well all that is about to change. I hear
you’ve been a bad boy, not obeying instructions, poking your nose into thing
which are none of your concern. Then going around bothering the good citizens
of this community, asking questions and showing them some ridiculous
photograph, well all that sort of thing is going to stop. Tell me Number Six, why
did you go to the graveyard?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I much preferred the better company!” he
told her with a smirk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What did you expect to find there, surely
not this elusive comrade of yours, thought we did away with him, did you?
Surely you don’t consider us so barbaric?” she asked, knowing full well the
lengths that she herself was prepared to go to.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On the barbaric front, you will be pleased
to learn that I already rate you pretty highly on that score!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re on a fools quest Number Six, I tell
you that for nothing, is that what you are, a fool?” she asked, with that
smarmy, condescending smile which could only be hers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That would be telling, and your job task
to find out!” he replied, trying to keep his sense of humour, as well as his
temper as he still wanted to payout Number 73.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 studied the room about her, she
stooped down and picked up a copy of a ‘Danger Man Omnibus’ off the coffee
table and thumbing through it pages said with a warning “Look if you must, but
you may have to face disappointment. Are you prepared for that?” and placed the
book back upon the table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 heeded the warning, and attempting
to turn the tables returned, and with some determination said “are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> prepared?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your kind never learn Number Six” she told
him, but for the moment choosing to play the game.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I won’t give up, if that’s what you want”
scowled Number 6 in return, shoving the copy of The Tally Ho under the nose her
“Where is he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 took the offered newspaper,
studied the headline and photograph, then dropped it on the floor and rubbed
her heel into the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">face
in the photograph.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">121</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But a child must be taught. It’s often a
long slow, and sometimes tedious and painful process……” Number 2 began.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is it!” Number 6 butted in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“…….. But a teacher must have a great deal
of patience, and the Village is very patient. Everything will work out in the
end, and upon that Number 6 you may depend” Number 2 finished.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Work out for who, you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For everyone of course” returned Number 2
smiling “we all have a few tricks up our sleeves, and you are no exception Number
6, but remember I might just have a surprise or two up mine as well!” which
made it sound like a warning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 smiled and saw the challenge which
lay ahead “Perhaps there will be a surprise or two in it for you along the way,
and I promise I’ll show you trick or two you haven’t even heard of!” was Number
6’s promise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
new Number 2 drew close to Number 6, there was a sardonic look in her eye, her
voice dangerous and threatening “Perhaps, but if I were you, I would take it
easy, don’t run before you can even crawl!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 and her entourage turned to leave,
the French door opening automatically. Number 2 paused and turning as Number 6
wished them a good night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please feel free to come calling anytime”
quipped Number 6 “this visit has been such a pleasure.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 stared him full in the face with
cold menacing eyes and said “Be careful Number Six, you’ll only go and take a
nasty fall and injure yourself. And we wouldn’t want that now would we?” and
turned to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve found his cottage you know!” Number 6
shouted after Number 2, she being halfway through the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other side of she paused for a
moment and said in quiet resignation “Yes, I know!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the French door closed, Number 6 was
left alone to pace the floor in a state of abject anger, then he saw it, a
large flat brown cardboard box set upon his desk. He had failed to notice it
before, his mind being left in its agitated state as it was. But now as he
stood before his desk Number 6 read the label stuck on the top of the box, it
read ‘No 6. Compliments of No 2,’ it being from the new Number 2’s predecessor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lifting the lid of the box and removing the
tissue paper Number 6 discovered the fancy dress costume there in. The costume
consisting of white cape with blue lining, a white tunic with silver sequins,
white shirt with full loose sleeves, white boots, black and white striped hose
or tights. There was also a white hat with Ostrich feathers, and a white mask,
which not only covered the eyes, but also the top of the cheek bones and had a
long pointed nose. A black wig complete with black bow, this along with a foil
sword, its tip protected, thus completed the costume. Oh and there was a card
in the box with a </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">name
upon it, which read…….. Scaramouche. He carried the box through into the
bedroom, then hanging the costume carefully in the wardrobe, realising that
ordering this fancy dress costume would probably have been one of Number 2’s
final acts as Chairman before departing in so much haste.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> 122</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was ten minutes to curfew, Number 6 knew this from the announcement made through
the black speaker. The maid had arrived to make him his nightly night cup of
hot chocolate, which she had placed by his bed as usual.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Was that you putting your costume away
sir?” asked the maid making her departure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Costume?” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For tomorrow, the Masque Ball sir” the
maid reminded him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you been making me my night cap?” he
asked, suspicious of what else the night cap might contain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why yes sir, the same as I do every
evening” she replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And is it by my bed?” he asked, knowing
full well that it was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why yes sir, is there a problem?” the maid
enquired with some concern.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Only that I have to drink it!” he sneered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s good for you, it will help you sleep”
the maid replied with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s what I’m afraid of!” retorted Number
6 “very good to me, aren’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“All part of the service” said the maid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 retrieved the said night cap from
the bedroom and held the cup and saucer to the maid “Why don’t you drink it, if
it’s so good for one?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a look of alarm upon the maid’s
face, as she gazed at the cup and saucer held out towards her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You had better go, it’s almost curfew” he
told her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
maid didn’t think twice “Goodnight sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Goodnight” he replied watching the maid hurriedly
depart the cottage, the door closing behind her in her wake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He carried the cup and saucer into the
kitchen and poured the contents into the sink, and turning on the cold water
tap washed the chocolate away down the drain. Then taking a glass from the
draining board, filled it with cold water from the tap, held it up to the light
for closer examination, then took a long draught of the clear liquid before
finally retiring to bed for the night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the circular chamber of the control room,
Number 2 and the night time Supervisor-Number 253, a middle aged man, with
thinning hair stood watching the wall screen. The Observers sat at their
monitors ever watching, ever listening, as two further Observers sat upon
either end of the steel see-saw device, as it went round and round, up and down
set in the centre of the control room floor. The wall was adorned with a world
map and an astrological chart. A set of steel stairs led up to the gantry and
the pair of steel </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">doors
gave access. And around the base of the circular wall wound the map of the
Village, while set in the domed ceiling was a disc of lights, not forgetting
the stainless steel all seeing electronic eye which orbited the control room,
both day and night. A case of the observers being observed!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">123</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number 6 appears to be in a sound sleep”
remarked the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Despite his not drinking his night cap” Number
2 observed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor
looked at his superior, who despite her lofty position, seemed to still have much
to learn of the ways of the Village, and so said with a satisfied smile “Don’t
worry Number Two, the sedative is administered in the water supply.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 was pleased to see such efficiency
and ordered Number 6’s sleep to be deepened.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Supervisor was eager to oblige and
order the pulsator hidden in the overhead light above Number 6’s bed to be
lowered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the bedroom of 6 Private the overhead
orange lights had begun to descend over the slumbering Number 6’s face, the
light pulsating with a hypnotic sound, until it was but a couple of inches over
the man’s face thus deepening the sleep of the slumbering Number 6, drawing out
his worst nightmare…………..</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woods at night took on a different
atmosphere than in daylight. It was dark even when the moon was full, the tree
tops allowing little of the moonlight through it’s full canopy of leaves and
branches. The woods during the day were a wondrous place to be, but at night
they became a wild and lonely place, dark and haunting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For Number 6 to walk alone along the
moonlit path along the cliffs as it skirted the edge of the woods was one
thing, but once inside the dark dense woods where the moonlight could not
penetrate, well one could get lost in the thicket if you should stray from the
path. Keep to the paths, you don’t want to get lost do you! Haven’t you been
passed that old oak tree before, and along here through the Mangrove walk…..
and then something grabs hold of you from out of the darkness, but its alright
you’ve only snagged yourself on a low branch, or have you? It’s a long arm with
bony fingers, reaching out for you, tightening its grip on you, and the more
you struggle the tighter their grip becomes. And then suddenly you’re free,
free to run, free to escape! And run you do as fear finally lays its grip upon
you, helter skelter you run along any path which will take you away from the
horror back there in the deep dark woods. Then the path has gone and you plunge
headlong through the bushes and thicket, brambles tear and scratch at your
face, but anything is better than the horror lurking back there in the dark
dank woods. But you are still in the woods and not free at all, as branches
with long tapering twigs reach out for you, then swipe you in the face as you
brush them away. Fear now has its grip upon you, sweat covers your brow,
breathing is heavy, and your heart is pounding, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">124<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">pounding fit to burst as you plunge through the bushes.
Then you trip and stumble to the ground, you lie there in the dirt and fallen
leaves, listening for something, anything which is but a finger touch away now.
But what is there to fear, but fear itself! He picked himself up and followed
the path out onto the cliff tops once more and gazed out across the open sand
of the estuary in the bright light of the full moon. The night air was warm and
still, the silence broken only by the occasional nocturnal rustle in the
undergrowth. Below the cliffs was the graveyard, where the long departed of the
village lay, each grave marked by either a cross or headstone and inscribed
upon each was the number of the dead. As he looked down at this silent and
quite eerie scene of headstones tilting this way and that in the sand from his
lofty position at the very edge of the cliffs, he could see that one grave had
been set a little aside from all the others. He stood upon the sand in his deck
shoes and stared at the lonesome headstone. Green with mould, weather beaten,
the countless tides having taken their toll, and grey underneath the mould, as
Number 6 crouched down, rubbing the mould away looking for the number of the
dead. But there was no such number! For this was the grave of the man with no
number, and in which something dark and dangerous now began to stir.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had lain there in his coffin, well what
was now left of the coffin, for the night to come, and now that night was here.
The rotting, decaying flesh had long since giving way to a multitude of maggots
which fed heartily upon the rotting flesh of their host, rotting stinking flesh
which in places hung loose from its skeletal bones. Long straggly hair still
grew out of the scalp, as did the long tapering finger nails, turning long bony
fingers into razor sharp talons, and the clothes in which this man with no
number had once been buried, his black piped blazer, turtle neck sweater,
trousers and deck shoes, were now little more than tattered rags which tried to
dress this long dead corpse. But the dead often have a way of coming back to
haunt us, and this night was to be no exception, as those long talon like fingers
clawed at the soft sand as the corpse began to dig itself out from its cold, damp
grave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt that he had been here before as he
stood up from the gravestone, unaware that so close beneath his feet something
fierce and fatal was coming his way. And perhaps it was a sense of that
stirring that made him suddenly back away from the grave. The desire inside him
was to run and not to look back, as he ran pell mell for the security of the Village
and the warm confines of his cottage. But he was firmly rooted to the spot,
just as his eyes were compelled to gaze upon the grave of the man with no name,
transfixed as they were, as in the soft sand a hole began to appear, like a
whirlpool in water, then cracks in the sand slit the grave asunder and two long
bony talon like hands appeared, clawing at the sand, making the cracks wider. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">125<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 remained transfixed, as long bony
hands found a solid grip of the sand and the decomposing corpse hauled itself
out of the now open grave. Number 6 was suddenly awoken from his transfixion,
strength returned to his legs, and he turned to run, run from this horrific and
awful place, but as he ran the sand seemed to want to hold him prisoner,
yielding under his feet as they sank into the soft sand, slowing the progress
of his run. Pausing for breath, because the going was soft and the running
difficult, he looked back towards the graveyard and there in the moonlight, the
corpse swaying and staggering along the beach after him. This sight made him
take to his heels once more, and now the going was more firm under foot, he ran
splashing through shallow gullies of water left by the outgoing tide. Ahead
were the lights of the Village and sanctuary, but they were a long way off and
the corpse behind him was keeping a steady pace, if not seen to be gaining on
him a pace or two. He kept his pace going, even though his heart pounded and
his lungs burned, but his legs carried him on, on towards and up the steps onto
the quayside. Up the hill from the Old People’s Home and into the Village, for
Number 6 there was no looking back now, as he ran along the street and up the
cobbled path, ahead the Green Dome and then the relative safety of his cottage
known a 6 Private.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside dark clouds had drawn themselves
like a veil across the full moon, plunging the Village into darkness.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">126<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 woke with a sudden start from the
nightmare which filled his night time dreams. He sat bolt upright and let out a
horrendous scream, and screamed and screamed again! His whole body covered from
head to foot in sweat, as he sat there looking feverishly about the room lit by
the silvery moonlight that shone through the window. The door was closed, the
window shut, and everything was as it should be. But there was a smell about
the room, the lingering smell of his own fear!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the control room Number 2 was about to
leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know” said the supervisor “one day you
will push him too far, and then where will you be?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can I help what lurks in his own
subconscious, what dreams and fears he might have?” retorted Number 2, with one
foot on the bottom step of the steel stairway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well this marks a first” said the
supervisor “you’re beginning where your predecessor left off!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 turned at the top of the gantry
and looked down upon the supervisor “Of course, never let it be said that I
fail to recognise a good plan when I see it” she said with an enthusiastic
smile “besides which we still have Village Day and the masque Ball to consider,
we mustn’t disappoint the community now, must we?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Number Two” the supervisor replied, and
saw for the first time that this Number 2 was human after all “you should do
that more often.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What?” Number 2 asked from the gantry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Smile, that with a sense of humour, helps
the job along” the supervisor told her, who realised his mistake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I understand that my predecessor was a
very charming man, that </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> had a keen sense of humour”
she said gripping the handrail.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">127</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well I am not a man, nor do I have a sense
of humour, which you will quickly learn” she retorted sternly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number 2.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tomorrow’s ceremony and entertainment will
both go ahead as planned, better than planned. You will of course be there at
the Masque Ball?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Number Two I’ll be working.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I shall save you some cake then.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not going as Marie Antoinette
then?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
ever gave you that idea, no I shall be Columbine!” she said smiling, and took
her departure through the now opening steel doors.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor turned back to his work, but
allowed his mind to wander for a moment, Number 2 as Columbine, a sight worth
seeing, but was quickly snatched back from his thoughts by the report from an Observer.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">128</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-46302565448458189812022-12-15T22:33:00.001+00:002022-12-15T22:33:34.818+00:00The Prisoner - Village Day Chapter 12<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">12</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">A New No.2<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>N</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">umber 6
floundered in the dark and dirty water of the ornamental fish pond, amid the
water lillys and colourful Carp. The water was deeper than it looked, and the
stone wall which surrounded the pond was higher this side. But luckily for him
two pairs of arms reached over the wall and together Harlequin and Number 3,
who still wore his usual Village attire of piped blazer and straw boater,
helped haul Number 6 out of the pond.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dim chillado da squelhachy du pungerato”
said Number 3.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh it’s you, what did he just say?” Number
6 asked Harlequin<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Take no notice of him, no one does, no one
can understand a word he says!” Harlequin replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve heard that said before.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a question of an interpreter you see,
they can’t find one!” Harlequin replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stood by the side of the pond
drenched from head to foot amid the pointing fingers, the whispers and
witticisms of “showers later!” He looked across the lawn to where 73 was
administering first aid to 42’s broken nose, and swore revenge and squelched
his way along the street back to his cottage.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Discarding his wet clothes into the laundry
basket Number 6 soaked for a long time in a hot bath with glass of non
alcoholic whisky in hand. As he lay there up to his neck in frothy bubbles, he
heard the helicopter flying overhead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Another new arrival, some poor soul’s in
for an unnerving experience!” he thought, and paid it no further heed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Allouette helicopter approached the Village
from over the mountains. The pilot had radioed his approach and requested to
land, the passenger had busied herself by reading through a sheaf of papers,
but now as the helicopter was on its final approach over the estuary she took
notice, requesting the pilot to circle the Village before landing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the control room it was the supervisor-number
25’s duty to inform Number 2 of the helicopter’s arrival “He’s not going to
like this” he muttered picking up the blue ‘L’ shaped telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes what is it?” Number 2 snapped with
annoyance at being disturbed, not his usual calm, calculating self.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The helicopter is here” the supervisor
reported.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what is that to me, the helicopter
calls once a day as part of its daily schedule.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well I thought you should be made aware
Number Two” said the Supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 sat back in his chair and thought
for a moment before </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">asking
“how far away is it?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">113</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The helicopter has just crossed the
estuary and is circling the Village at this very moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Circling the Village!” said Number 2
“what’s the pilot thinking of?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor waited before answering “Apparently
the passenger requested the pilot to do so.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Passenger, what passenger, we are not
expecting any new arrival” retorted Number 2, quickly checking a file.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Shall I order you a taxi, the helicopter
Number Two, don’t you want to meet it?” the supervisor asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now why should I want to do that……” Number
2 began, then suddenly fell silent, as though seeing the writing on the wall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well
the helicopter only stays a couple of hours each trip, it doesn’t give you much
time” said the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 pulled himself together enough to
reply “Not much time for what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well the helicopter will be waiting to…. to
take you onto better things” replied the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you know who that passenger is aboard
the helicopter?” Number 2 snapped down the telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor hesitated for a moment “No,
no Number Two.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well less of your insolence and be about
your business and despatch that taxi at once” Number 2 ordered, who was now on
the verge of losing it!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The sooner he’s gone the better!” thought
the supervisor, and went on to order the taxi transport.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside in the Village as the helicopter
touched down on the triangular lawn by the sea wall the Village bell tolled, as
though tolling a new arrival, which of course she was. The passenger gathered
up her papers and slipped them in her black leather documents case. The pilot
opening the Perspex cabin door stepped out onto one of the helicopter’s grey
floats, lending a helping hand to the passenger as she stepped down onto the
lawn.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 sat in the chair in his office,
watching the view on the wall screen as this new arrival crossed over to the
waiting taxi, who climbed into a back seat, and then as the taxi drove off he
switched off the screen. He spun round in his chair taking in the view of his
office, and the office which he could no longer hold on to. The failure to
recapture the Fakir-Number 91 was enough to put paid to any further idea of a
second term, this despite all his achievements for the Village and its
community. The line drawn between prisoners and warders is a thin one indeed,
and for he who transgresses……comes Nemesis! Leaning forward in his chair he pressed
a button on the control panel, moments later the pair of steel doors opened and
his ever faithful manservant stood at the top of the ramp.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">114<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 looked up at butler and said in a
trembling voice “Would you…. would you see that my things are packed, I shall
be leaving within the hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The butler remained silent, showing no
emotion, he simply bowed <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">and
withdrew, the steel doors closing behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for Number 2, he decided that he would
go with dignity and take the scenic ride through his beloved Village, it would
be something he would dearly miss when he’s gone. But then would the Village
and its community miss him, it seemed unlikely and yet he hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In ‘6 private,’ Number 6 was studying his
sodden Identity, credit, Employment and Health and welfare cards, not to
mention the photograph, which he had pinned up in order for it to dry. The
other items could be replaced, he would have to pay a call in at the Citizens
Advice Bureau at some point soon. Dressed in nothing but his blue striped
dressing gown, he went through into the bedroom and opening the wardrobe door
found an identical set of clothes to which he had been wearing. Once dressed he
went through and poured himself another glass of non alcoholic whisky, quiet
soothing music played through the black speaker and outside the sun shone as
citizens went about their business, or in fancy dress costume in early
preparation for Village Day. He found himself admitting to himself that life
here did seem to suit him, and that he was in grave danger of becoming used to
life here in the Village. Trouble is, however much a rebel you are, if exposed
enough to any given environment, you eventually accept it simply on the grounds
that there is nothing else.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adequately dried out and refreshed, it was
late afternoon when Number 6 returned to the great outdoors of the Village. He
still had his quest to fulfil, and time he felt, was drawing on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">The
Village seemed to be very quiet, certainly the citizens were not out and about
as they had been earlier in the day, but as Number 6 thought, time was drawing
and the shadows were lengthening towards that eight o’clock curfew. The Brass
band had long since ceased playing, the fete stalls stood silent and abandoned
until the morrow. Yet there were a few citizens in fancy dress costume still
promenading around the Village streets and paths, as they filled in the last
few late afternoon – early evening hours.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking along the main street Number 6 met
with a stout man at the top of a ladder, he was replacing a burnt out bulb of a
street light. Close by was the electrics truck and trailer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why do you drive those things, a bit
slow!” said Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In an emergency we walk” returned the
electrician.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fascinating” Number 6 replied, stepping
sharply to the side of the street to allow a taxi pass by, and who was amazed
to see the lonesome figure of Number 2, not dressed in his usual Village
attire, but a light grey suit.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi had travelled through the Village
swiftly and smoothly, too swiftly for this<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">115<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">ex-Number 2’s liking, who was about to depart his beloved Village.
There had been little time to see the new Number 2 settled in, but then <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">she </i>seemed to require no time at all.
And there was no time to say any goodbyes, but then no one was interested in a
departing Number 2, it was all about his successor! On the triangular lawn by
the sea wall the helicopter stood waiting, the pilot was </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">anxious,
because his departure time had been delayed and the light would soon start
fading, but he still calculated that there was time for the quick flip to the
landing stage. The taxi turned left at the bottom of the hill at the Old
People’s Home and round to the lawn. The pilot at seeing this, opened the
Perspex cabin door and climbing in started the helicopter’s engine and the
rotor blades began to turn. Number 2 alighted from the taxi carrying a single
bag. Halfway across the lawn he paused and looked about him, up and around and
knew instinctively that he would never see the Village again. If he were to, it
would probably be as….. a prisoner! Finally climbing onto a grey float and into
the Perspex cabin of the helicopter, the pilot prepared to take off, the engine
roared into life, the rotors turning faster and faster until they were a single
blur. The helicopter lifted off the ground, its nose tilted forward and then
soured high up over the estuary. This departing Number 2 had requested the
pilot to circle the Village in order to give him a final view, the request was
denied for there was no time as the helicopter climbed high over the hills,
leaving the Village far behind.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 watched the turquoise helicopter as
it flew high and away across the estuary and wondered if one day it might carry
him far and away. Then the words of Number 2 echoed inside his head “The
Village Is For Life” and he wondered if Number 2 could now see the irony of
those words. It was getting late, both the Café and Ice Cream Parlour were
closing up for the day, they along with the General Store and various kiosks
about the Village, he glanced at his watch and he thought about his quest and
the cave which featured in his nightmare, had it not been for the tide being in
he would have…… but the entrance would be flooded and then there was the little
matter of that steel door. He would have to find a way to open it, and so it was
with this upon his mind that Number 6 slowly made his way back through the Village
to his cottage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he
walked up the cobbled path he noticed the orange and white coloured cottage,
the Roundhouse which the maid-Number 27 had spoken about! He must have walked
past it a dozen times and more without ever really taking it in. Looking up he
saw the turquoise iron railings of the balcony and the French door, below
which, set in an alcove a Roman statue upon a pagan altar. He dashed up the
short path between the Roundhouse and the general store, through the archway
and up to the door of the cottage which upon turning the door handle, he found
to be securely locked against him. He tried peering in through the glass and
the small window to the left of the door, but could see little of the interior,
but enough to see that it was <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">116<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">furnished,
and in so being occupied! Stepping away from the window, he tried the door
again, but it would not budge. He paced the small patio thinking what action he
should now take, and sat on the curved wall to give this more thought. Perhaps
if he should wait, after all it will be curfew time in a couple of hours or so,
and who so ever occupies this cottage must surely return by then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak went the
Penny Farthing as it was pushed along. Number 6 heard this and stood up, when a
well dress, middle aged gentleman sporting a moustache and receding hairline,
dressed in plain black double breasted blazer, grey polo neck jersey and
flannel trousers came pushing the squeaking Penny Farthing through the archway.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Excuse me” said Number 6 stopping both the
man and the squeaking “can you tell me who lives here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why no one sir, it’s empty and has been
for some time” Number 9 replied politely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How can you tell that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well there’s no ‘private’ sign by the door
sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If it’s empty, why then is it still
furnished?” offered Number 6 looking in through the window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps it’s waiting for a new occupant sir” 9
replied in that polite manner of his.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Or the old one to return. By the way what
sign was it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sign sir?” asked Number 9, sounding rather
vague about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, the sign once outside this door.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 9 thought for a moment “Now let me
see, oh yes, I remember…. Six Private!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thanks” said Number 6, seeing that this
was possibly the next link in his quest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be seeing you” 9 saluted, and went on his
way pushing his squeaking Penny Farthing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you” Number 6 saluted in return.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the man and his Penny Farthing were
out of sight, Number 6 went to work on the lock of the door, with the pin of
his Penny Farthing badge which he removed from the lapel of his blazer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Click
and turning the handle, the door to the cottage once known as ‘6 Private’
opened and he entered closing the door behind him. He was astonished at the
sight which greeted him. The lounge was an exact replica of the lounge of No 1
Buckingham Place in the City of Westminster, and just for a second that is
where he thought himself to be. He knew the house of course, having been there
on numerous visits. All the furniture, fixtures and fitting, paintings, prints
ornaments and the like. The rest of the cottage, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom
were alien to him, after all both the bedroom and bathroom should be upstairs,
but here there was no upstairs. With the knowledge that surveillance in the Village
was absolute, he <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">117<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">understood
that they might well know where he was at this very moment. So time was short. There
was a distinct lack of dust, he ran a finger along the top of the fire place,
everywhere was neat and tidy, just as though the occupant had just nipped out
for a moment. then he began to make a search.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In her office of the Green Dome the new Number
2 sat in the black spherical chair watching the view of Number 6 on the wall
screen as he made a search of the Roundhouse. He found two old copies of The
Tally Ho, both undated, one with the headline ‘No 6 Speaks His Mind,’ it was a
newspaper he had seen before. The other read ‘Increase Vigilance Call From No
2,’ that was accompanied by a photograph presumably of a Number 2. He replaced
the two newspapers back in the empty magazine rack, wiped a finger across the
television screen, through which the new Number 2 was observing his actions
upon her wall screen, as Number 6 continued making his search. He was drawn to
the open bureau, she had seen enough, and pressed a button on the control panel
of her desk, switching off the wall screen and leaving Number 6 to it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bureau at first glance appeared to
contain nothing remarkable, a ‘Things To Do Today’ pad, a pen, a pencil. A
watch with a stainless steel watch band, it had stopped at <st1:time hour="3" minute="30" w:st="on">3:30</st1:time> and the date registered 19. A colour Map
of Your Village in a drawer, a small black note book, with nothing written in
it, but some pages <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had </i>been torn out.
There were several sheaves of papers in one pigeonhole, one having notes of a
drawing about a something called a Triquetrum, a Greek ancient device used to
find one’s bearings. A Penny Farthing badge in another, the red numeral denoting
the number 6, he examined it along side his own badge which he took from his
pocket. Both were opposites to the other in the fact that the Penny Farthings
faced different ways, his to the left, the other to the right. In another
pigeonhole were several cards,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Credit,
Heath and Welfare, Employment and Identity, and this contained the photograph
of the man on the front page of The Tally Ho, and his own photograph of the man
he has been searching for, Number 6….. his predecessor! Replacing everything as
they were in the bureau, he turned his attention to the black telephone on a
small side table, the number on the dial face was a black 6, he picked up the
receiver and listened for the dialling tone, there wasn’t one, the telephone
was dead. The rest of the cottage was quite unremarkable. Both water and
electricity had been disconnected, the turning of a shower tap, and the
switching on of a light switch was enough to prove that. But time was short and
for Number 6 it was time to go, but before leaving, he observed the wastepaper
basket under a small side table. He sat upon the recliner and reached for the
wastepaper basket, and retrieved the crumpled </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">sheets
of paper therein. He straightened them out, scanned them quickly, then folding
them he placed the papers in his blazer pocket and replaced the basket under
the table. “Careless” he thought to himself. One final </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">118<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">glance around the room and he made his departure, securing the cottage
door behind him, with the aid of the pin of his Penny Farthing badge.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside there suddenly came an
announcement, the supervisor’s voice booming out over the entire Village;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is an urgent message for Number Six,
would Number Six please report to Number Two immediately. I repeat Number Six
please report to Number Two, the Green Dome immediately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He decided to ignore the summons, for that
is what the announcement was. Instead he made his way through the Village,
passed the café, across the taxi rank, passed the Labour Exchange and along the
path into the woods towards the graveyard, because he had something he needed
to check, one more thing to tick off his list so to speak. Walking amid the
gravestones he was surprised not to see any new graves. Some headstones were
grey and weather worn, some more than others which were green with mould, all
with but one inscription a simple number 66, 80, 86, 27, 73, 113, 46, 204, to
name a few, no names only numbers. And no number 6 at that. Number 6 didn’t
know whether to be pleased or happy about that. Then he saw a woman kneeling at
the graveside of Number 73, her head bowed in quiet reverence. He slowly approached
the woman in colourful cape and blue trilby hat, and asked her if these were
all the graves, and whether or not she knew of a grave marked 6, and whether or
not there had been any recent funerals? The woman lifted her face and looked up
at the man standing at her side. Number 6 could see that there was much sadness
in the woman’s face, and she had been crying. He asked her again, the woman
said nothing, she simply shook her head before lowering it once more. He walked
away, leaving the woman to her grief at the graveside. Checking the time by his
wristwatch, Number 6 saw that it was less than an hour away from curfew. He
thought of the lonesome woman lost in her grief, he turned back to remind her
of the time. However as Number 6 turned, he was amazed to see that of the woman
there was no sign, she had gone. But to where, there was no place she could have
gone, and certainly not passed him, for there was only one path in and out of
the graveyard. He turned in all directions, and on all sides of the graveyard
was an overgrown dry stone wall, not difficult to climb over, but difficult
enough, besides he would have seen. A sudden breeze rustled in the tree tops,
and this with a cold chill in the air told him, the graveyard was not the place
to be!</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">119</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-29118788175568361322022-12-13T22:21:00.001+00:002022-12-13T22:21:45.312+00:00Village Day Chapter 11<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">11</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">The Grand
Inquisitor<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>N</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">umber 6
had only walked a few paces from the café, when for some strange reason his
attention was drawn towards a tall man, wearing a dark blue turban and pale
blue piped blazer and sporting a full beard. The middle eastern gentleman
seemed to be perfectly ordinary looking, at least there was nothing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">extraordinary</i> looking about his
appearance. Youngish, in his late twenties no more, about six feet in height,
and of thin stature. However one thing about this young man, was his apparently
extraordinary ability of walking and passing amongst his fellow citizens but
remaining perfectly unnoticed, like a ghost, or some will-o’-the-wisp. Because
no one, no one at all paid him the least bit of attention! Or perhaps it was
the case that because the Fakir <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>so
ordinary that the good citizens of this community simply paid him no heed.
Anyway if it were the former ability, then what havoc might he not play upon
the observers Number 6 thought, as he began to follow the Fakir along the street,
and without it ever once occurring to him as to ‘how or why!’ The Fakir
continued on his way, with great purpose and attitude along the street, across
the taxi rank and along the path up into the woods, carrying with him a length
of coiled rope and a bamboo flute. Number 6 followed just to see what he was
about, well it could be that he was a part of the Village fete activities, and
if so then nothing was lost. And yet Number 6 felt that there was something
about this young man, and then he was gone, quite suddenly and inexplicably! The
path ahead curved round to the right and that was when Number 6 lost sight of
the Fakir, not very far from the Village, but far enough as not to be seen, but
yes to be heard. For there by the side of the path as it curved round was a red
tannoy speaker set upon a black and white striped pole, under a candy striped
canopy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is an important announcement for
Number Seven, would Number Seven please report to Number Two the Green Dome
immediately. Number Seven, Number Seven to report to Number Two immediately”
boomed out the supervisor’s voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 wondered what that was about, but
as the Admiral had told him, they are always after someone, be thankful it’s
not you! Number 6 ignoring the message over the tannoy, carried along the path
until at last he caught up some little way behind the Fakir who walked on with
ever increasing speed and determination in his purpose. The badge pinned to the
left lapel of the Fakir’s piped blazer denoted the red numeral 7, and it was
quite obvious that he had no intention of paying the least bit of notice to the
message put out over the tannoy speaker.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">103<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Seven please report to Number Two
immediately, Number Seven report to Number Two immediately” boomed out again
the supervisor’s voice, loud and clear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The path lead both 7 and Number 6 passed
the pair of ponds in the woods, up through the mangrove walk, through dense
undergrowth and finally into a secluded clearing in the woods, and some
distance away from the nearest paths. It was here that the Fakir laid down his
length of coiled rope, and beside it the bamboo flute. Having settled himself
down in the bushes, Number 6 waited to see what would happen next, perhaps the
rope trick was to be performed at the Village fete and the young man was going
to do one final practise. And so it was as Number 6 looked on from his vantage
point amid the rhododendrons, that Number 7 began to disrobe. Piped blazer,
polo neck jersey were folded and placed on top of each other upon the ground,
these to be followed by light blue trousers, socks and deck shoes, the socks
placed inside the deck shoes. And now standing only in white loin cloth and
dark blue turban, sat upon the ground, the coiled rope before him, he picked up
the bamboo flute and began to play. As 6 looked on Number 7 sat crossed legged
upon the ground and began to play the bamboo flute. The music was haunting,
eerie, but yet magical and somehow hypnotic, and as this strange haunting music
played, something upon the ground stirred and rustled amongst the leaves. 6
watched transfixed from his crouched position as the end of the rope began to slowly
rise up, the rope uncoiling and paying out some tens of feet in length straight
up into the air, until the one end of the rope could not be seen. The Fakir,
placing his flute upon the ground, stood at the base of the rope, grasped it
firmly in both hands and began to climb it, hand over hand, bare feet gripping
and with great agility. Number 6 maintained his observation because he wanted
to know how it was done, such is the illusion of the Indian rope trick, it would
go down well anywhere. And so he waited there amongst the rhododendrons to see
the Fakir descend the rope. But descend the rope the Fakir did not. Emerging
from the place of concealment Number 6 crossed the clearing and slowly
approached the still taut rope. He looked up, but of the Sikh there was no
sign! Then suddenly there came that blood curdling roar of the Village
Guardian, and for Number 6 there was only one way…… grasping the rope firmly he
managed to climb up a few feet, with the Guardian quivering agitatedly, unable
as it was to pursue its prey. But then the rope suddenly became relaxed, and Number
6 together with the rope fell in a heap on the ground, with the Guardian
bouncing clear, just as a taxi appeared on the scene. The two men, one burley
built man, the size of Grandma’s outhouse, the other tall and lean, both
dressed in red and black hooped jerseys and grey </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">flannel
trousers, climbed out of the taxi and manhandled Number 6 to his feet, then turned
their faces skywards scanning the tree tops for the Fakir.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
are you doing here Number Six?” Number 42 asked brusquely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">104<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m a horticulturist, plants, trees, bushes,
that sort of thing” quipped Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not aiding and abetting then, where is he?”
barked Grandma’s outhouse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who?” Number 6 replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Seven, we have been despatched to
find him” said Number 42.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That just might prove to be a little
difficult” Number 6 replied, knowing that no one would believe his story, least
of all himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are these Number Seven’s clothes?” 42
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 answered in the affirmative, but
when asked where the Sikh was, and told the two men that he had disrobed and
climbed the rope, and that as far as he was concerned, the Fakir was still up
there……. Somewhere!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having scanned the tree tops, the two men
began to thrash about in the undergrowth, but of Number 7 there was not a
trace, he had vanished utterly and completely from the top of his rope!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 42, the leaner of the two men,
picked up 7’s clothes, and Number 73 the rope and bamboo flute.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You had better come along with us Number
Six” Number 42 told him, dropping the clothes in the back of the taxi.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Going for a nice drive are we?” quipped Number
6, who saw nothing else for it but to comply.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Get in, the Grande Inquisitor doesn’t like
to be kept waiting” 73 informed him, climbing into the back seat of the taxi.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Surly not Don Miguel!” quipped Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You’ll see, and when you do, perhaps you won’t find it quite so
amusing” added 42 climbing behind the wheel<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi drove off, carrying them through
the woods, back into The Village and right up to the steps leading up to the
Green Dome.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pair of steel doors opened and Number 6
was escorted into the office of Number 2, the Grande Inquisitor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So Number Six, what have we been up to
now?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve not been up to anything.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Really?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well there was a strange occurrence
in the woods.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not interested in strange
occurrences in the woods. I want to know here Number Seven is.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s the funny thing, he’s
escaped!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Escaped, escaped, what are you
talking about, there is no escape!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 approached the desk and leaning
across it said “I watched a man climb a rope, and disappear!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you expect me to believe that!” said Number
2 “he climbed the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">rope
and disappeared!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s what happened” Number 6 explained
again “I watched it all, the Fakir disrobed, played his magic flute, the rope
uncoiled <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">skywards,
he climbed the rope and never came down again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">105<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for Number 2 that was not good enough,
who saw Number 6’s story nothing more than a fairy tale “You were in it
together, you and Number Seven. You planted the clothes, the rope and the
bamboo flute in order to second Seven away, until he could make good his escape
at some later time, when the search had died down. Isn’t that how it was Number
Six?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have told you what happened, and I know
you find it difficult to believe, I have the same problem myself, and I was there!”
said Number 6.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 pressed a button on the
control panel of his desk, a round section in the floor slid away and a black
leather chair rose up through the hole. Number 6 was asked to sit down, and
when he refused Number 73 saw that he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i>
sit down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 walked round the figure of the now
seated Number 6 “That’s right my dear fellow, you hang on to that sense of
humour of yours, it might be the only thing you are left with by the time I’m
finished with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grandma’s outhouse-Number 73, stood stock
still, arms folded and not once taking his mean looking eyes off Number 6 for a
moment. Number 42 having taken the bamboo flute and rope to the laboratory.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who’s your funny friend?” Number 6 asked
“doesn’t say much does he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s the strong silent type” retorted Number
2 “however he is an expert when it comes to administering pain. Now why don’t
you make this whole thing easy for yourself, and tell me what really happened
out there. Tell me where Number Seven is and you are free to go.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can’t tell you what I don’t know”
returned Number 6, only wishing too well that he could.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You really are a stubborn fellow…. I don’t
much like the sight of blood myself… but if that is what it takes……”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look I’ll tell you what happened once
more” began Number 6 for the last time “I saw this Fakir fellow walking along
the street, he was like a ghost, no one was taking the least bit of interest in
him, and he seemed to be aware of this because he didn’t seem bothered <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who </i>saw him carrying that length of rope
and his bamboo flute.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why did you follow the Fakir” Number 2
asked pacing the floor of his office.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was curious that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean you were sticking your nose into
other people’s business” retorted Number 2 accusingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just as well I did, otherwise <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> would now be a prisoner down, and
with no idea of how he got away. Which incidentally, is your <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">present
predicament!” Number 6 replied with a grin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Again why did you follow the Fakir, what
was it that attracted you to him?” Number 2 demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I told you, he seemed to have the ability
to move amongst his fellow citizens like some will-o’-the-wisp, he could walk
through a crowd and without one of them paying him the least bit of attention” Number 6 said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">106<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 was thoughtful and had to agree
“Yes, he did seem to have that effect on the citizens, even our best
technicians cannot explain it. And whatever it was he could do, he could do it
at will. That’s why his presence here was so important, and what makes his
escape so damnable!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And now he has escaped, and someone will
have to pay, you I shouldn’t wonder!” said Number 6 with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps, but what I can’t understand, is
why you didn’t follow after him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was going to when your guard dog turned
up” Number 6 explained “then the rope went limp, and down it came and me with
it!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So you do believe me, and you knew all the
time. I should have known!” barked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grandma’s outhouse shifted his position,
but Number 2 signalled for him to leave, and waited for the pair of steel doors
to close before continuing with the debriefing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He played his flute, I don’t suppose you recall
the melody?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 relaxed in his chair now that they
were alone “Sorry, but I’ve no head for haunting tunes!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can’t remember a note of it, surely if
you tried” Number 2 pleaded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 sat in his chair, the Fakir’s tune
still inside his head, it was difficult to shake off, and so he had no idea why
he said “Sorry I’m afraid not. It was a strange tune, one which hung on the air
and then is gone!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was not what Number 2 expected to
hear, nor wanted to hear, much to his disappointment he said “alright, you can
go, but remember Number Six, I’ve got your number!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thanks very much” he replied rising out of
his chair and walking up the ramp and departing through the opening doors.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 took to his chair and pressing a
button on the control panel of his desk activated the wall screen, where the
image of a laboratory technician appeared, he was making a close examination of
both the bamboo flute and rope found at the scene.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, what have you discovered?” Number 2
asked the man pictured on the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The technician looked into the camera and
removed his spectacles “The flute is perfectly ordinary, fashioned out of
bamboo, nothing remarkable in that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I could have told <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> that” said Number 2 in response “what about <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
rope?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah, there we do have a mystery. The rope has
been hand woven, from Asian hemp if I am not mistaken.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Asian
hemp, where would Number Seven get Asian Hemp from?” Number 2 asked the
technician.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">107<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have no idea Number Two, unless he had
grown the plant himself” replied the technician “the rope although hand woven,
its not as usual rope is woven.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Number Seven was a Fakir, then it all
boils down to mysticism, that of the Indian Rope trick, which he used to escape
the Village thought Number 2 “What about the clothes, what did you discover
about those?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing in the pockets, washed and dry
cleaned yesterday, that’s all” was all the technician could offer.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How was it done?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How was what done?” asked the staring
technician on the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Indian rope trick, how was it done?” Number
2 repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m afraid I’ve no idea. You want a
mystic, or failing that another Sikh who might know the secret” was the
technician’s suggestion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, and I know what you want!” said Number
2 switching off the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting back in his chair, Number 2
pondered this latest situation. It was clearly one he was not going to quickly
resolve, if at all. Problems are created so to be overcome, but this time he
was dealing with something he had no experience of…. mysticism! And that one
was going to be difficult to explain, to his masters, as he stared at the large
curved, oversized red telephone, waiting for it to start bleeping as he knew it
must. And when it did it made him start, and sounding quite impatient. And so with
trepidation and a trembling hand Number 2 picked up the telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number
2 here……..”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside in the clear light of day, Number
6’s befuddled mind, caused by what he had witnessed in the woods slowly began
to clear, even the haunting melody played on the Fakir’s flute had finally
dissipated. It left him with but one regret that he had not been quicker to
react, after all if only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> had been
able to follow up the rope, where would he be now? Only the Fakir could answer
that one. The Village was itself alive to the sound of music, played by the
Brass band who were in the back of two taxis, and were being driven round and
round the piazza, as the citizens themselves paraded around, all in their fancy
dress costumes. A Bishop, Russian Cossack, Red Indian, Cowboy, Spanish Lady,
Queen Elizabeth 1<sup>st</sup>, Harlequin, Black <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Beard
the pirate, a Chinese Mandarin, and an Arabian Sheik to name but a few. Then
from behind the amusement tent advertising ‘What the Butler Saw’ tent, a clown
leapt out, dressed in bright colourful patchwork clothes as Popsey danced and
clowned around, her clown face painted white, with red curly hair and a big red
nose with painted smile as to hide the person’s identity. But as Popsey linked
arms with Number 6 and began to dance about with him, she stared him straight
in the eye, and for a moment there seemed to him, something familiar about this
clown, and when he was about to put his finger on it, popsey danced and whirled
Number 6 along and around the piazza. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">108<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">And
as they whirled he couldn’t help himself, he allowed himself a smile. Then popsey
stopped dancing and faced Number 6, and leaning forward indicated to Number 6
to smell her button hole. He leant forward and sniffed at the big yellow
daffodil, and out of the yellow trumpet of the flower a jet of water squirted
drenching him!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Oh
how Popsey feigned her mimed laughter, before dashing off to irritate some
other poor soul, as he took a handkerchief from his pocket to dry himself down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ooh, ooh, Number Six” waved and shouted Number
27, trying to attract his attention from a balcony set in the stone wall “I see
you’ve met with popsey, a lively character, and fun with it, don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hilarious, she’s a scream!” said Number 6
moping himself down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How are you enjoying the celebrations?” shouted
she from the balcony, standing there in her green tight fitting and rather
skimpy but very fetching Peter Pan costume.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, have they begun already, I thought
that was tomorrow!” retorted Number 6 walking towards the balcony.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> “Now
you must not be an old grumpy face or sour puss. How do you like my costume?”
27 asked, almost flaunting herself at Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very nice, not much of it!” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I like it, couldn’t wait to try it on, I
think it’s sexy!” she told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well it’s that alright” he replied eyeing
her up and down, several times.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you like my legs?” she asked, lifting
one up and stretching it out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very nice, you wouldn’t be flirting with
me, would you?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, wouldn’t I? Of course I wouldn’t, it’s
against the rules” she said, and went off giggling to herself like some giggly
school girl.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Brass Band suddenly came marching along
playing the Radetski March, along the path that flanked the chess lawn and
piazza, to the lawn by the fish pond. A small crowd had gathered on the lawn,
but made way for the Brass Band and taxi which had just drawn up. The taxi
towed behind it a trailer, and in the trailer something was covered by a
tarpaulin sheet. Four men in dove grey overalls got out of the taxi and two
‘Top Hat’ officials joined them by </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">the
trailer. They seemed to be discussing the contents of the trailer and the best
way of hoisting it out. The crowed was told to stand back, a crowd which
included Number 6 as an onlooker, as the taxi was backed up across the lawn to
where a stone plinth had already been erected a few days ago. Then the four
workmen, under the guidance of the two ‘Top Hat’ officials, rigged up a tripod
with block and tackle. Then fixing the stout rope around the object in the
trailer, the four men hauled away, lifting the object clear and swinging it
over to the stone plinth, whereupon it was settled down and then fixed in
position with a stout bolt set in the base of the plinth. As the four men busied
themselves in their work, Number’s 42 and 73 arrived, they to provide security
until the time of the unveiling of the special 'Village Day' bust hidden</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">109<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">under the tarpaulin, which was duly pulled away to reveal a
scarlet velvet covering, and tied with an ornate cord. The two Guardians took
their positions either side of the monument. Both now dressed entirely in
black, complete with dark glasses, their clear and explicit instructions being,
not to let anyone within ten feet of the now proclaimed monument. The crowd
were getting excited, anticipation filled the air, and the Band played on, and
Number 6 asked someone in the crowd what it was all this was in aid of?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you read The Tally Ho?” asked Number
51, a little white haired lady “under that covering is a bust, of the founder
of this Village and its community.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He doesn’t rate a full statue then?” Number
6 replied mockingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How
do you know it’s a he?” Number 213, a thin youth asked suddenly, having
overheard Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t” Number 6 said turning to the
woman behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s how rumours start!” said Number 65,
a rather brusque woman, butting in “there’s enough rumours about as it is!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Rumours?” asked Number 6 “what rumours are
these?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We the citizens of this community are
trying to guess who the bust is of” said Number 51 “personally, I think it’s of
Number Two, in recognition for all his sterling work for the community.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Rubbish” said Number 82 “Number Two isn’t
the founder of The Village, he’s far too young.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I agree” said Number 252 “it must be
someone older, perhaps someone who has long passed away!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right, Number Two-five-two is
right” agreed Number 12, a middle aged man in a brown and white striped jersey
“they don’t usually put up a statue of anyone unless their dead!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then Number 50 chirped up with her half
penny worth “I look at it from the artist’s perspective, it could be a piece of
modern sculpture.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 99-the ice cream vendor thought it
to be “A p,p, Penny f,f Farthing” he stammered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for Number 3 he said “Dim vast liquiardo
fechar dem opposse uso” which roughly translated means, well no one knew what
it meant because no one has thus far been able to understand a single word he <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">utters!
And so the debate went on, until one citizen came up with the idea of it being
a bust of Number 1, Number 1 being the most likely founder of the Village and
its community. But then who is number 1, and when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> the Village founded, since the war, before the war, which war?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the Brass Band stopped playing, there
came a fanfare through the public address system, followed by the following
announcement<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good afternoon everyone, good afternoon,
tomorrow is Village Day and the celebrations will begin early. The Village fete
will be opened by Number 2 himself. There will be fun and entertainment for
all. And a speech by Number 2 will be followed by the unveiling of a special
commemorative village day monument. A Grande Parade will take </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">place
around the Piazza with everyone in fancy dress costume, the Brass Band will
play. And in the evening there is the Masque ball, come one, come all. Be
seeing you.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">110</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 had had enough of listening to
people’s arguments over what it was underneath that scarlet drapery, and here
he sat on the stone steps of the bandstand watching the general goings on as
people passed by, “Watching the Village go by” he thought to himself, if only
he could! Then at hearing the announcement he suddenly became interested in
what it was that lay beneath those scarlet draperies. Perhaps he shouldn’t
bother to wait until tomorrow, perhaps now, right this minute was a good time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking to his feet, it was with purpose
that Number 6 weaved his way through the stalls upon the chess lawn, up the
steps and along the piazza, then emerging through the crowd upon the lawn, to
be faced with the two Guardians<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the office of the Green Dome, Number 2
and the supervisor-Number 26 stood watching the wall screen as Number 6 made
his way through the stalls on the chess lawn, up the steps and along the
piazza, emerging through the crowd to be faced with Numbers 42 and 73.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Six appears to be looking for
trouble” the supervisor remarked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well he’ll find what he’s looking for
then, wont he!” smirked Number 2, not taking his eyes off the screen “my men
are more than capable with dealing with Number Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re sure he won’t get to the bust and
unveil it prematurely?” asked the supervisor, who could clearly see such
danger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Watch, just watch” said Number 2, feeling
slightly insulted, then pointing said “then get back to your Control Room, my
replacement arrives tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve got the sack then, something to do
with Number Seven was it?” the supervisor was quick to ask, trying to hide the
smirk on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 quick to defend himself said “Certainly
not! As a matter of fact I’m going on to better things, they’re very pleased
with me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, that’s what your predecessor said!”
replied the supervisor, not taking his eyes off the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 stared at the supervisor in silent
indignation, then turned his attention back to the screen, just as the action
was about to begin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 73 stepped forward and asked brusquely
“What do you want Number Six, you have no business here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stood a few paces back, smiled at
the crowd, shot his cuffs and said “A private viewing, if you don’t mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No one sees the statue before the
unveiling tomorrow” returned 73 sternly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not even as a favour, one citizen to
another?” taunted Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">111<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crowd of citizens looked on quite
unemotionally, standing by the edge of the lawn and round the fish pond, as did
two ‘Top Hat’ officials.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 42 stepped bravely forward “Keep
clear Number Six, we don’t want any trouble from you, especially today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Toeing the line, being a good boy for
Number Two” Number 6 taunted “chin up Forty-two.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mind your business Number Six, as you are
so keen to see people mind theirs” retorted 42 aggressively “you will see the statue
at the proper time, along with everyone else and certainly not before!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I never was much good at waiting
though…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good at sticking your nose in where it’s
not wanted though!” 42 taunted in response.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“……..I think I’ll take a quick look now”
said Number 6 striking the first blow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Number 6’s fist made contact with 42’s
chin he was sent reeling backwards. Number 73 was quick to react and elbowed Number
6 full in the chest sending him to his knees on the ground. Number 73 hauled Number
6 quickly to his feet as 42 recovered from the initial blow and went to punch 6
in the stomach. But Number 6 read the move, bringing his shoe down 73’s shin
and stamping on his foot was enough to see 73’s hold on him<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>released, and 42 receive a kick in the head
for his pains, sending him sprawling to the ground. Then spinning round 6
caught 73 with an uppercut to his chin and a follow up punch to his stomach and
a knee to the chin as 73 doubled up in pain. Blood streamed from 42’s broken nose
and he delivered a punch to Number 6 kidneys, bringing him well and truly to
his knees on the grass. And as Number 42 grabbed a handful of 6’s hair, 73
clenched his fist and punched him full in the face. Then together 42 and 73
picked up Number 6’s battered body, and carrying him over to the pond……..
splash they threw him in!</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">112</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-55403297963585598762022-12-11T22:23:00.000+00:002022-12-11T22:23:34.698+00:00Village Day Chapter 10<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">10</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">An Invitation
To The Masque Ball<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he eve of
Village Day was for most, a busy hectic sort of day as final preparations were
being made. Outside on the piazza and chess lawn stalls of all kinds were being
fast erected. But for Number 6 the day began as leisurely as any other here in
the Village. In fact he was just finishing a hearty full English breakfast,
when there came a knock at his door, which was strange, because people here
just seemed to come in and go just whenever the fancy took them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 left the confines of the kitchen
and walked through to the lounge, where through the glass panels of the French
door he could see a rather stout gentleman wearing a Royal Mail hat standing
with one hand on the handle of his Penny Farthing bicycle, and in the other a
white card. Number 6 walked to the door and opened it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sign your number here Number Six” said
the postman offering the white card and receipt book.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What am I signing for?” he asked, taking
the white card.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">The Village<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Request<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No. 6<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To Attend<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Masque Ball</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 studied the invitation card and
slammed the door shut, and placed the invitation on top of the mantle piece.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The postman pushed his penny farthing
bicycle to the next cottage, as Number 6 donned his piped blazer and went out
into the morning sunshine of the Village.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s this, entering for the best kept Village
competition are we?” said Number 6 to the pair of Village gardeners.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’d win hands down if we did” returned Number
184 with confidence, as he busied himself trimming a hedge.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what do you think you’re doing?” Number
6 demanded, seeing number 36b carrying a window box towards his cottage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m about to put this window box up”
retorted 36b “this and a couple of hanging baskets, make the place look a treat
they will.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Supposing I don’t want flowers?” barked Number
6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t be silly, who doesn’t want flowers!”
retorted 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t!” he replied adamantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come off it” argued 184 “you’ll have the
only cottage in the Village without flowers, it just won’t do, it won’t do at
all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right” agreed 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">91<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s right?” asked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
he just said” 36b replied fixing the window box in place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me, does the Village always have
flowers for Village Day?” Number 6 asked casually.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course” said 184 in response<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And there were flowers for last years celebrations?”
asked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both 36b and 184 looked at each other
quizzically, and tried to remember.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come, come” began Number 6 “it can’t be
that difficult to remember, cast your minds back, forget all about Balaclava!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We did” said 36b suddenly “I remember
quite distinctly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You did what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Had flowers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On Village Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Last year?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On what day?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right” agreed 184 with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 frowned at 184 “What do you mean
he’s right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“On Village Day, that’s when we had the
flowers” said 184, who set about sharpening his shears with a grindstone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But what day is that?” Number 6 persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day” replied 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day, listen to the old fool, what
I want to know is what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">day</i>?” barked Number
6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well there’s no need to go and blow a
gasket, you should have said” replied 184 “now what day was it now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A Thursday wasn’t it” 36b thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No wasn’t a Thursday, but I do remember it
was the nineteenth” said 184 grinding the stone across a blade of the shears.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why couldn’t it have been a Thursday?” Number
6 asked, and when he had he wished he hadn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, it couldn’t have been on a Thursday,
because Thursdays is when I get my health and welfare card renewed” 184 replied
with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Health and welfare, blimey” said Number 6
“listen next time you go get some new marbles with it, because you’re off
yours!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The nineteenth, that’s tomorrow” said 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tomorrow is the nineteenth?” asked Number
6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right” agreed 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now don’t you start, tomorrow’s the
nineteenth and it’s March” said number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day!” said 184, putting down his
grindstone and returning his attention to the hedge “a Wednesday, I remember it
as though it was yesterday.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 207.0pt left 354.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>92<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 207.0pt left 354.75pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes” said Number 6 “and it will be
tomorrow if I waste any more time on you pair of old fools much longer!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 went on his way, along the
gravelled path leaving the two gardeners to their work. As he passed through a
small turquoise gate, he glanced up at the pair of golden eagles perched atop
of the huge white portico of the Green Dome. Only they were not eagles, nor
were they painted gold, the pair of plain grey stone figures made his blood run
cold, despite the warmness of the morning. The pair of grey gargoyles gripped
the edge of the portico with strong talons, their wings outstretched, as though
ready to take to the air. A woman in a pink hat and striped cape who had
climbed the steps, wanted to go through the gate, he staggered back, knocking
into her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Excuse me young man, I say are you
alright?” asked Number 38.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How long have there been gargoyles perched
up there?” asked Number 6, pointing up at the pair of statues.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gargoyles!” said 38, looking up to where
Number 6 was pointing “this is Number Two’s residence young man, not Croyland
Abbey!” and the woman walked off through the gate and along the gravelled path.
Number 6 watched the woman go, and then shading his eyes against the glare of the
sun, he saw a pair of golden eagles! But he was sure, he was certain, but then
how could he have been. Perhaps because of the glare of the sun, together with
the remembrance of a nightmare, nothing more that that, but the effect was at
the time quite unnerving.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Village looked like any village
preparing for a village fete. Colourful stalls were being erected almost
anywhere, but chiefly on both the chess lawn and piazza, even the stone boat
had been decked out with bunting specially for the occasion, and there was an
almost fun-fair atmosphere about the Village, and citizens seemed genuinely
excited, but you wouldn’t think it to look upon the bland expressions on their
faces. For Number 6 there was no such feeling of excitement, in fact he was determined
not to get involved. As far as he was concerned this was their village and
their celebrations, indeed he could see nothing worth celebrating. As he walked
through the Village he watched gardeners putting the finishing touches to the
flower beds, sweepers sweeping the streets and paths, electricians connecting
power cables and switching switches. He strolled amongst some of the stalls,
‘Lucky Dip’, ‘Test your Strength’ ‘Punch & Judy’ and a small tent with the
sign ‘What The Butler saw’ and so it was that the butler, Number 2’s personal
gentleman, emerged and tipped his black bowler hat at Number 6, as he went on
his way. However there is a saying “no man is an <st1:place w:st="on">Island</st1:place>”
and sooner or later you begin to get used to your surroundings, even to accept
them. After all you can get used to anything if exposed to it day after day,
after day, after day. And even he will learn to get involved, even if it’s only
a game of chess with the Admiral at the Old People’s Home!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">93<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral was an ancient mariner. He wore
a black and red striped sweater, blue flannel trousers and a white Navy cap,
complete with gold braid and penny farthing badge denoting the red numeral 66.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come along young man, it’s your move!” the
Admiral prompted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sorry Admiral” said Number 6, the Admiral’s
words jarring him from some deep thought, and he made his move, pawn to King’s
Rook 5.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral saw his chance and struck a
devastating blow, Queen takes Bishop “checkmate!” announced the Admiral in
gleeful victory.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well played Admiral, you’re in good form
today” Number 6 told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Either that or your mind’s not on the game,
I’ll give you another chance lad” the Admiral offered setting up the chess
pieces ready for a second game.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fine, why not, I mean I don’t have any
other appointments today, and my game can only improve” he replied sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That all depends on the game you’re
playing at the time” said the Admiral enigmatically, and made the first move
pawn to king 4.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at the Admiral wondering
what he had meant, and mirrored the move, pawn to king 4.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so the opening gambits;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Bishop
to Queen’s Bishop 4<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Queen’s
knight to Queen’s Bishop 3 <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Knight
to Queen’s Bishop 3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Knight
to King’s Bishop 3<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 leaned forward in his chair across
the chessboard can I ask you something Admiral?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fire ahead lad” said the Admiral.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve been here a long time haven’t you?”
was Number 6’s opening question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral looked at Number 6 for a moment
before answering “Aye lad, I suppose I have, hadn’t thought about it before.
But it doesn’t pay to dwell on such things, the Village took the best years of
my life, and now it’s too late, too old you see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Too old for what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For anything lad, the mind’s going and the
body’s too frail.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What happened Admiral, what happened all
those years ago to see you brought here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral had told it long ago, he
couldn’t see what possible interest it could be to them now, they never could
leave him in peace, but he told anyway “Aye lad it was a long time ago, but I
remember as if it were only yesterday, if only it were tomorrow, eh lad!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 smiled gently at the old man,
realising what he meant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was in the Navy, a keen young Lieutenant
at the time” began the Admiral “the Admiralty had wanted to see my Captain and
myself, we were entrusted with the blue-print plans for a guidance system for a
new torpedo, all very top secret. We took the night train from </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">Portsmouth
to Plymouth, the first of the tests for the new torpedo and </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">its
guidance system were to take place early the following day. We shared a
compartment, the Captain and I, not daring to let the other out of our sights,
for security purposes you understand. Well we had word that the Russians were
after the plans. Such a thing seemed to us most improbable to happen on the
night train to Plymouth…… anyway the Captain went to the toilet, he was gone,
well only a matter of a couple of minutes, but it was long enough, I must have
gone to sleep……..”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">94</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then as though to break the Admiral’s
story, there came the sound of a two tone siren, as a white Mini Moke taxi
turned left at the bottom of the hill, down the slipway and onto the beach.
Splashing through a shallow gully of water, and speeding along the beach, its
siren blaring out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who do you think they’re after?” asked Number
6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral looked out over the white balustrade
and across the sand “They’re always after someone lad, just be grateful that
its not you!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 watched the taxi disappear along
the beach “You were saying Admiral, you must have gone to sleep.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well when I woke up” The Admiral continued
“there was no sign of the Captain, his bunk bed had not been slept in, and
what’s more there wasn’t any sign of the steward, in fact there wasn’t any sign
of anyone, the carriage was completely deserted, save for me. I dressed
somewhat hurriedly and it was then that I realised two things, first that the
briefcase with the blueprint plans was missing, and that the train was no
longer moving! I went exploring, trying to find someone, anyone, but it was no
good you see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why not Admiral, what had happened?” he
asked eager to know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well lad, the carriage I was in was no
longer part of the train, you see I was here…… in the Village!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number
6 sat back numb with shock “There’s no railway line here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not now there isn’t lad, but there was in
my day, a loop line I think, long gone now of course” the Admiral informed him,
as he watched Number 6 take a photograph from his blazer pocket “what have you
there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you seen this man?” he asked handing
over the photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral studied the photograph for
several moments, he was trying to remember aye lad, I’ve seen him around the village,
played chess with him like I have you. In fact come to think of it, you remind
me of him, you look alike and have that same look in his eye that he had from
time to time. Take care you don’t go the same way as him!” the Admiral warned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what way would that be Admiral?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Rebellious he was, sticking his nose in
where it wasn’t wanted, always trying to escape, and always brought back!” said
the Admiral handing back the photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">95<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He placed it back inside his pocket “Tell
me, when did you last see him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral thought for a moment “Not for
sometime lad, a month maybe more, it’s difficult to say, but he was a good
chess player I remember.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you think has happened to him?” he
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What happens to anyone here?” retorted the
Admiral “you either give them what they want, and then are gracefully retired
into the Old People’s Home or in time they simply take it and then its worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then
if he isn’t here” said Number 6 looking about him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No lad, he’s not here, he’s not the type
to give them what they want, he’ll resist to the bitter end, they’ll have to
take it from him and when they do……it will be too late.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked thoughtful and said
nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You looking for him lad?” asked the
Admiral.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If he didn’t escape then he is still here
someplace, and that means there’s still a chance.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“For him…. or you?” asked the Admiral “it’s
a dangerous game you’re contemplating lad.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s still here, somewhere, and I intend
to find him!” he told the Admiral with an air of determination.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I dare say lad” replied the Admiral and
warned him to be careful “I’d hate to see something happen to you.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me Admiral, you were a young
and enthusiastic Lieutenant, but here you’re an Admiral.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Seeing as I never left the Navy I
calculated the rank I would have risen to over the years, now I’m an Admiral
retired.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 smiled. It was with another
game to play and a new opening gambit to consider, that Number 6 took his leave
of the Admiral and walked up the hill from the Old People’s Home, back into the
village. And it was as walked up the street that he saw three figures dressed
head to foot on black, black overcoats and top hats, and each carrying a black
leather documents case as they each entered the Town Hall. Having never been
into the Town hall and thinking that answers may lie therein, Number 6 strode
resolutely up to the portico of the Town hall, then climbing the three steps,
was held fast for a few seconds in the grip of an electrical force field!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A vendor of The Tally Ho newspaper
approached Number 6 as he stumbled backwards “Are you alight, you tried to go
in, it’s fussy who it lets in, this is the Town Hall.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his office Number 2 sat in the comfort
of his black global chair, watching the antics of Number 6 upon his wall
screen, there was an enormous grin on his face, as though he was the cat who
got the cream.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You enjoyed that, didn’t you” Number 86
remarked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, didn’t you?” retorted Number 2,
watching Number 6 back slowly away from the Town Hall on the screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Actually I found it rather puerile” said Number
86 in an air uppish-ness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">96</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 swivelled round in his chair to
face the young woman who stood beside the Penny Farthing bicycle, her hands
gripping the handlebars “You have ambitions eighty-six, of one day riding
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh I’m not ready yet Number Two, you may
have no fears about that” Number 86 answered “but one day I will be, and then
the Village will see my worth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well” said Number 2 “until that great day
arrives, you mind your place and I’ll mind mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 turned his attention once again to
the wall screen where Number 6 was approaching the café, sitting at a vacant
outdoor table he beckoned over the waitress. The waitress in a black pencil
skirt, white blouse and lace apron walked over to where Number 6 was sitting
and with pencil and pad in hand took the customer’s order, and Number 2
switched off the screen and rising up out of his chair, wrapped his old school
scarf about his neck and picking up his furled umbrella shooting stick, walked
towards the ramp.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hold the fort, I’m going out for a while.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Leaving me to mind your place for you
Number Two?” quipped 86 with a smile “will you be long?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
shouldn’t think so, but then you can never tell with Number Six, he’s that kind
of fellow, au revoir” Number 2 walked up the ramp and out through the opening
steel doors.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the pair of steel doors slammed shut, Number
86 left the Penny Farthing bicycle and went over to the black spherical chair,
she touched it, stroked it, almost caressed it, the chair she most coveted.
Then as bold as brass she sat in the chair, gathering her cape about her she
swivelled the chair round time and again, a broad brassy grin upon her face as
she visualised herself in what she saw to be a position that she would one day
be promoted to, in time of course. Had Number 2 himself observed Number 86’s
behaviour, she would have been reduced to scrubbing the steps of the Recreation
Hall with a toothbrush. However as it is, cameras are everywhere in the Village,
and the Green Dome is no exception, so it was that Number 86’s behaviour had not
gone un-noticed.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the café the waitress took Number 6’s
order of coffee and buttered scone, and was about to write it down on her pad,
when he slipped a photograph in her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want some information” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Information sir, what kind of
information?” asked the waitress in return.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The man in the photograph, do you
recognise him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress studied the photograph “He
looks familiar, but we get so many customers sir” and handed it back. She was
about to tend another table, when Number 6 grabbed her arm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day, what can you tell me about
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">97<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You must be new here sir, it’s the day we
celebrate the founding of The Village, it’s a tradition.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It should be abolished!” Number 6 snapped
in return.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What the tradition sir?” queried the
waitress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No….. the Village!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Was that black or white coffee sir?” asked
the waitress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A taxi pulled up outside the café and the
figure of Number 2 alighted, and as the taxi pulled away he crossed the street
and walked towards Number 6’s table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Black, and you had better make it tea for
two.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tea for two sir?” asked the
waitress.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think I have a guest” said Number
6, not taking his eyes off the approaching figure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress at seeing the important figure
of Number 2 she hurried away inside the café.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Was
it something you said?” Number 2 asked casually at seeing the waitress hurrying
away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, she’s just willing to serve, that’s
all!” quipped Number 6 with a wry smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“May I?” Number 2 asked, indicating the
vacant chair with the tip of his shooting stick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Help yourself, I took the liberty of
ordering you tea” Number 6 replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That was kind” said Number 2 sitting down
and noticing the photograph upon the table “still not going around showing
people that are you, I hoped you would have been passed all that by now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 sat twiddling his thumbs “Is that
why you allowed me the photograph, because you thought by doing so, I would get
it out of my system? I’m a stubborn kind of fellow you know, it’s in my file.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It won’t get you anywhere you know, and no
good will come of it” Number 2 informed him “why do you persist with a quest which
can have no possible result other than harm?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress returned carrying a tray, she
placed the two cups and saucers upon the table, along with two current buns,
butter and two knives “That will be seven units in all if you please sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at the waitress “I didn’t
order…..” but he could see it would be useless to argue and simply taking his
credit card from his blazer breast pocket, handed it over!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitress duly clipped the credit card
and handed it back to her customer, together with a smile and a curtsy at Number
2, then hurried away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s quite attractive, don’t you think,
and terribly efficient” Number 2 commented as he watched the waitress busy at
another table “She knows I always have a bun with my tea.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who?” Number 6 asked, adding sugar to his
coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The waitress, she smiled at me” Number 2
replied with a smile of his own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">98<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She smiles at everyone, but true you’ve certainly
had an affect on her” retorted Number 6, busy buttering his bun.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 fell silent as he tired and sipped
his tea, then said “How are you finding your new home from home, any problems?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just you, and the Village as a whole
really” Number 6 replied somewhat condescendingly, taking a bite of his scone
and a sip of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2 laughed “Good, I knew that you would fit
right in, and so lucky too, just in time for our Village Day festivities.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 finished his scone and sneered at
his companion “Another charade, I’m bored with it already!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Meaning?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Meaning just that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I assure you Number Six, that whatever
Village Day is, it is certainly no charade. It is all very real and earnest”
said Number 2 leaning across the table “all in celebration of its founding.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How quaint” replied Number 6
sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Isn’t it” 2 agreed finishing his coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There is just one thing I don’t
understand” said Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes” said 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When exactly was The Village founded, and
by whom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 looked at Number 6 across the
table “That’s two things.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But they’re both related” Number 6 replied
“aren’t you going to eat that bun?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 ignored the bun, but not Number 6
who he felt he had underestimated in his persistence, but what harm could there
possibly be in the telling, he’s bound to find out sooner rather than later
anyway “Four thirty-one am, March nineteenth nineteen twenty-eight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 made no recognition of the date,
but he knew it well “And the founder?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah” came the reply “there you have me,
before my time I’m afraid old chap. But it’s going to be a great day, everyone
is allowed twenty four hours in which they can do anything they want to enable
themselves to enjoy the day, within reason of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“As long as it’s what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> want!” snapped Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not at all my dear fellow, there’s the Village
fete with all kinds of attractions and stalls of many kinds, all for the
enjoyment of the citizens. Punch & Judy, Bongo Bolero…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“…. And his jumping jugglers” Number 6
added.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh,
you’ve seen them training!” said Number 2 disappointedly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, and the what the butler saw!” said Number
6 “all the fun of the fair, but without the thrill of the rides!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh my dear old chap, there are limits you
know. But I assure you that everyone will have a wonderful time….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By
order!” quipped Number 6 with a wry smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2 smiled and thought for a moment, then
offered Number 6 a warning “You should safeguard such flippancy, one day it
will get you in to trouble."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">99<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve
been in trouble before, it’s not so bad. Tell me, what happened to Number Six?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2 wasn’t ready for this, but he should have
been “Number Six, you are Number Six” he said pointing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your previous Number Six, my predecessor, was
he the man in the photograph?” he asked picking up the photograph from the
table and toying with it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Never give up do you? Yes I know, you’re a
stubborn fellow. But why persist so, I’ve told you before it will get you
nowhere. Look I’ve given you a warning, now let me give you two pieces of well
meant advice, a still tongue makes a happy life and questions are a burden to
others, answers a prison for oneself. And for your information there is only
one Number Six, and that is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> old
chap.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 listened, but did not heed 2’s
words, such was his stubbornness and the quest “he’s here somewhere, I know It,
I’ll find him and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> wont stop me!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Brave words indeed Number Six” this time
it was 2’s turn for a wry, yet knowing smile “but don’t waste your time” was
his suggestion “and don’t take life here too seriously, relax, try to enter the
spirit of the day tomorrow, as well as Punch and Judy, there’s Popsey the
clown.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Really” said Number 6 contemptuously, uninterested
as he was in the whole affair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Number 2 ignored this, determined as he
was for Number 6 to show some interest “Each year a different member of the
community is chosen to portray this lively, frolicsome character. You’ll love
it Number 6, it’ll be a laugh.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>
must be Popsey!” quipped Number 6 with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Splendid Number Six, still got your sense
of humour good, that will stand you in good stead. Tell me is there anything
special that you would like to see tomorrow?” 2 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 thought for a moment, playing the
game he said “a firework display, the whole Village lit up in flames!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2
laughed “You’ll be the death of me” then added coyly “by the way I understand
that you haven’t been sleeping too well.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just idle gossip no doubt, but then you
should know!” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t deal in gossip Number Six” he
began “the same nightmare night after night, it must be most disturbing for
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah, I see you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don’t </i>know. Hardly night after night, and not the same nightmare” Number
6 informed the man sitting opposite. “Another of your little games, it’s not
going to work you know, oh I forgot, you don’t know do you!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 grinned “You flatter me Number Six,
but your nightmares are your own doing…… you are always quick to look for
someone else to blame for your own failings.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ll never win!” said Number 6
defiantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">100<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then it’s going to get very uncomfortable
for you, old chap. You know, you’re not really so important to us, as I have
told you before. Do you really think that we would go to such extraordinary
lengths?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, when you want something badly
enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what is it you think you have, that we
want so badly?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing I’m sure, but you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> doing your damnedest to put me off
my…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Quest” added 2 “carry on with it if you
must Number Six, but I assure you that there is precious little profit in it,
and certainly nothing to be gained.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Except perhaps for the truth” said Number
6 twiddling his thumbs again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They say that the truth hurts, are you ready
for that Six, to face up to the truth?” grinned Number 2, fully knowing what
that truth is.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you offering me protection?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you want it, if you do, then perhaps I
could be doing you a big favour and more than you realise” was Number 2’s offer,
which seemed on the surface to be quite genuine, but Number 6 had been bitten
before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Save your favours for someone who really
needs them. I think I’ll settle for the truth” he told Number 2, rejecting his
offer and saving himself, or so he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Suit yourself, but I really do think you
are being somewhat foolish” Number 2 told him rising to his feet “don’t forget
the ceremony tomorrow, and the Masque Ball in the evening, you’ve received your
invitation?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t see how I can avoid it!” Number 6
sneered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh jolly good, I know you’ll get a great
deal out of it. It’s held in the Town Hall you know” Number 2 informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The
Masque Ball of course.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You
mean we are allowed in?” Number 6 asked remembering his recent encounter <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i> the Town Hall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Shocking, wasn’t it!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Electrifying, you don’t miss anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not me, the Observers, oh you have your
fancy dress costume of course” knowing all the time that Number 6 hadn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked down at himself “Seeing
that I’m already in costume, I thought I might go as Just William, he’s always
getting himself into things!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh my dear fellow, that’s not the spirit
of the thing at all. No if you will allow me, I shall select an appropriate
costume for you” Number 2 offered “something period, something bold and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dashing…I’ll have it sent round.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was about to protest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh my dear fellow there’s no need to thank
me, my pleasure” said Number2 taking the fire out of any possible protest “oh
well must go, people to see, things to do…. Be seeing you.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">101<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was with a look of unbelievable derision
upon his face as he watched Number 2 walk off along the street. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Will there be anything else sir?” the
waitress asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No
thank you” replied Number 6 rising from the table “I’ve had just about enough
for one day!” and he walked off down the street, but not in the footsteps of Number
2.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">102</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-44007595436271871392022-12-09T22:11:00.000+00:002022-12-09T22:11:20.603+00:00Village Day - Chapter 9<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">9</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">A Nightmare!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">t’s</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">evening while Number 6 is
preparing to retire for the night, a housemaid is busying herself in the
kitchen with her nightly ritual of making his night cap of hot chocolate, this
to help the resident sleep.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of the bathroom, Number 6 goes
though into the bedroom with the maid carrying a cup and saucer behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Drink it before it gets cold” the maid
told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it?” he asked sitting on the edge
of the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hot chocolate, it will help you sleep” the
maid told him, holding the cup and saucer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He takes the offered cup and saucer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be seeing you” saluted the maid.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Number 6 sits on the edge of the bed
drinking his hot chocolate, the figure of Number 2 was leaving his office in
the Green Dome, the old college scarf wrapped about his neck and furled
shooting stick umbrella in hand as he walked boldly up the ramp and out through
the open steel doors, closing behind him with a loud resounding clang. The
French doors he closed himself and with the front door opening automatically,
he passed through the foyer and out into the evening air of the Village. Standing
at the balustrade of the balcony he looked out over the cobbled square below,
it was deserted, as was the street, the general stores having long closed. But
there were lights, lights shining in cottage windows and from the occasional
ornate street lamps set on the corner of buildings. This was his Village, well
for his term of office at any rate, a term which could so easily end as it
begun, sudden and without warning. He was proud, proud of all he had achieved
during his term, this combined with the amount of personal power he had gained.
Who knows perhaps due to his success it would lead to a second term, then there
would be no stopping him, perhaps even an unprecedented third term might be on
the cards. He was a calm and calculating man, he was also nobody’s fool, he
knew that one false slip on his part and all he had achieved would stand for
nothing. What was that saying, pride cometh before a fall, well Number 2 was
also resilient, and that resilience had seen him through many a scrape. Self
doubt, no there was no self doubt, he had done all he could for the benefit of
the community and its citizens, he had also broken many a man and woman, after
all it had been expected of him. But then there had been Number 6, a man of a
different calibre…….. He drew himself up, no when push comes to shove there is
no other place he would rather be, than here in the Village, and on a warm
still evening as this. Then he thought of Number 1 an unknown quantity and as
changeable as the weather, Number 2 shivered, the thought s</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">ending
a chill down his spine, even on a warm evening as this.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">81</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was past curfew and Number 2 was the
only citizen abroad this evening, and so he set out on his journey, an evening
tour, one which he had taken to doing, well music may make for a quiet mind,
but the peaceful atmosphere was good for one’s soul and well being. Down the
steps of the Green Dome he strode, across the street, across the square and
through the arch and along the cobbled street, then through the portico onto
the chessboard, across the lawn, up the steps onto the piazza, and passed the
free sea. Up the steps and through yet another arch which brought him out
almost opposite the café, then slowly strolling along the street, following it
round by the red and blue stagecoach and down the road towards the Town Hall,
his destination this evening and the silence was absolute, almost deafeningly
so. But he was no fool, he was aware of the dangers of the Village, the Guardian
would be somewhere on patrol and even he wouldn’t want to meet ‘it’ down some
dark ally! Yet the Observers in the Control Room would be watching, and the
night time supervisor would take any action required, like the deactivation of
that membranic thing. A few paces ahead of him was the impressive stone
building of the Town Hall, he paused outside for a moment, and looked through
and beyond the pair of turquoise wrought iron gates. He could see the statue of
Hercules perched high upon his stone plinth with the weight of the world upon
his shoulders. Number 2 knew how he must be feeling, then turned up the steps
and through the portico of the Town Hall, to disappear into the depths just as
two men dressed all in black, black suits, overcoats, black glasses and top
hats, both carrying black document cases passed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re late, it’s after curfew you know”
was all Number 2 said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Couldn’t be helped, a late session you
know” came the reply. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A late session, anything I should know, or
be concerned about?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pair of Top Hat officials looked at one
another “No Number Two” Number 153 responded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 looked at them “It must have been
something important to demand a late session.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not really” said Number 211 “a simple case of
too much business to go through at one time, and the Chairman, being a stickler
for keeping business tidy, wanted to clear any other business before the next
session.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I take it that I can look forward to
receiving a copy of the minutes of the session?” Number 2 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two Top Hats agreed that they would “On
your desk first thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be seeing you” Number 2 saluted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But not for long!” 153 muttered under his
breath, as he and his top hated colleague hurried down the steps of the Town
Hall and into <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this time Number 6 was soundly
slumbering in his bed, the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">empty
cup and saucer set upon the bedside table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">82<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">It
may have been a deep sleep, but it was highly disturbing and had quickly turned
into one of those bad dreams he had been having of late, and turning into a
horrific nightmare!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stood upon the wind swept cliff
top, dressed as he was in his usual Village garb. It was a dirty night, the
wind in his hair, the rain on his cheeks, and high in the night sky the full
moon peered out at times from behind darkened clouds, and some distance away
the Village bell tolled. Below the cliffs was the foreboding graveyard, he
could see the tilted headstones in the sand by the moonlight, and there was
something else, a mound of sand and more two dark figures, were busying
themselves digging, digging a deep oblong hole in the sand. The moon
disappeared behind the clouds for a moment, and it was no longer than a moment,
for the next thing, Number 6 saw were the two dark figures leaning upon their
shovels and gazing up at him, one a grotesque, his face contorted in a most
horrible way, looked up and smiled up at him. Oh how he smiled, lips parted in
a most hideous grin, with yellow rotting teeth. The grotesque raised an arm and
with a bony finger beckoned for him to come down and join them at the grave
side. The other figure was far removed from that of the grotesque, yet
suggesting something far from being human. This second figure was naked, its skin
grey, like the colour of stone and a head shaven with pointed ears, a hooked
nose and two large bumps set on its forehead. Black cold eyes stared upwards at
the man atop of the cliff, and it too smiled, open mouthed baring razor sharp
fangs and teeth. Its muscular body stood tall, nearly eight feet tall, its
limbs strong and powerful, huge razor sharp talons gripped the shaft of the
shovel, just as a pair of talons sank into the sand. Standing at the very edge
of the cliff he tried to back away, but he could not move, as though he were
somehow rooted to the spot, forced to watch the obscene and awful sight below
as the two figures went back to their digging. He tried to move back a little
bit at a time, first one foot and then the other, but then his foot hit a rock
and sent it rolling over the top of the cliff, disturbing other rocks as it
went. One of the figures stopped its digging, attracted by the falling rocks turned
to see a cluster of rocks land in the sand at the foot of the cliffs nearby.
Then turning its grey face upwards to the top of the cliffs, its face sharp as
though etched in solid granite and once back cold eyes now burned orange and
red, like fire itself. Number 6 now found both the strength and will to move,
and did so, away from the edge of the cliff. The grey figure rose to its full
height, dropping its shovel and suddenly there came a cracking, rendering
sound, as from its forehead, two horns began to sprout, and a pair of leathery
wings grey sprouted from it’s back. The gargoyle let out a fearful and
terrifying scream, stretching it’s wings and flexing its talons, as to him the
full horror revealed itself as he stumbled backwards from the obscene and
terrible sight, and into to the bushes. Leathery wings began to beat the air,
as with </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">ease
the gargoyle rose swiftly into the night sky, never once taking its </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">eyes
off its prey hiding in the bushes below, Number 6 not once daring to move from
cover. The gargoyle swooped down and hovered above him, so close as it was that
it could so easily have grasped him with its talons, and with its enormous
strength, carried him off to God knows what fate.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">83</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he made his move, rolling to one side
he grabbed at a broken branch and waved it above his head in violent motion.
This took the gargoyle by surprise, it flapped backwards studying its prey, but
then was again on the offensive, as hovering over the figure below still
brandishing the branch, the gargoyle reached down with a hind talon and
snatched the branch out from his grasp and tossed it away like a child would a
twig. Suddenly Number 6 felt a talon at his shoulder, he fell backwards to the
ground, the Gargoyle descended to its powerless prey, ripping open the piped
blazer and jersey beneath, then slicing open flesh, drawing blood. He screamed,
his chest opened up with one slice of the powerful talon drenching its prey in its
own blood. The gargoyle‘s stone etched face grinned down at him, it was a look
of pure evil, its fiery eyes blazed. That was when Number 6 acted, and threw a
handful of sand into the face of the gargoyle, sending it flying back and high
into the air, talons brushed across its face, as blinded it was, but only for a
few moments. He gathered what strength he had, and made to make good his escape
the gargoyle swooped down, a talon sending him crashing to the ground only
inches away from the edge of the cliff. Arms flared out, and fingers grasped
nothing but thin air as he fell backwards over the cliff edge. The gargoyle
acted quickly, swooping down grabbing a pair of shoulders in its talons, talons
cutting deep in to flesh and Number 6 screamed and screamed again, the talons
sliced like red rot pincers deep into his shoulders down to the very bone. But
gravity is a powerful force to be reckoned with, and not even the powerful grip
of the Gargoyle could prevent the inevitable. Flesh tore and rendered itself
free of the talon’s grip, his arms and legs flaring out, he fell backwards to
the beach below. The sudden impact on the solid sand of the graveyard, forced air
to expel from his lungs, his whole body was wrenched with pain, and the last
thing Number 6’s eyes recorded were the beating leathery wings of the Gargoyle as
it rose high into the moonlit sky, a most inhuman thing, yet worse was the
sight of the bent and twisted grotesque standing over him with shovel in hand,
with that awful grin upon his face. He cried out from pain or fear, as it took
his shovel and began to back fill the open grave. Blackness swept over him,
dragging him into unconsciousness it was then that the pain finally stopped.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the Control Room the night-time supervisor
had been alerted to the disturbed sleep of Number 6 by one of the Observers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put up camera twenty-two, sound and infra
red” the supervisor ordered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the large wall screen appeared the
bedroom in 6 private. Number 6 lay in bed twisting first this way and then
that, his arms </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">waving
about in the air, open fingers seemed to be trying to grasp hold of something
which wasn’t there. The supervisor picked up a blue ‘L’ shaped telephone, and
was about to contact the hospital, when suddenly the pair of steel doors at the
top of the gantry opened and Number 2 entered standing at the railing at the
top of the mezzanine level “Problems?” he asked looking at the screen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">84</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Six is having another of his
nightmares, a particularly bad one tonight” reported the supervisor “I was
about to alert the hospital.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whatever for?” Number 2 asked indignantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor looked at his superior and
nervously replied “I don’t know Number Two, I’m not a doctor, perhaps they
should bring him out of it and a nurse could stay with him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 turned his face from the screen
and looked down at the supervisor “What to hold his hand and mop his brow! Why
should we want to do a thing like that, its only a bad dream, he’ll wake up
from it himself in a minute I expect, besides can’t have hospital staff running
around mollycoddling him simply because he’s having one of his nightmares.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But the man is clearly in some distress,
we could try to lighten his sleep” the supervisor suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In fact reverse the effects of the
pulsator.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, leave well alone” Number 2
ordered “no-one ever died in a nightmare, besides we don’t want to damage the
tissue.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Number Two” was the supervisor’s
somewhat reluctant reply.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> Number 6 opened his eyes as he
lay on his back looking up at the night sky, but he felt confined, closed in
and then he realised why, he was lying in an open grave! He remembered the pain,
but there was no pain and slowly he ran his hands over his body, there was no
blood, no lacerations or injuries of any kind. Clawing at the sides of the
grave the sand came away easily, if he wasn’t careful he would finish the job
the grotesque had begun. But with much effort in getting a toe and finger hold
in the crumbling sand of the grave’s walls, Number 6 finally hauled himself up
out of the open grave. He stood shaking the sand from his clothes then looked
about him, there lay the two shovels, but of the grotesque and the gargoyle
there was no sign, much to his relief. With no place else to go he should have
made his way along the beach back towards the Village and the relative comfort
of his cottage. But instead he turned from the headland into the cove, making
for the cave in the cliff. The rain had stopped and the wind was nothing more
than a gentle breeze, the clouds had cleared and the night sky was full of
stars and the light of the full moon made night almost as bright as day. The
sand was soft, sinking down almost up to his ankles, and the further he trudged
on, the further away the cave seemed to be. And that’s often the way of dreams
and nightmares, but through strength and sheer bloody</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br />85<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">determination
he finally reached it and eased himself through the narrow mouth of the cave
beyond and to the solid steel door which had previously barred his way, but
which now slid open allowing his access into the black depths of the cave beyond.
Or at least that is what he supposed, for through the door was a well lit
corridor and at the far end another steel door. He walked tentatively through,
the steel door slid shut behind him, now there was only one way, straight
ahead. The grey wall of the corridor were that and nothing more, no doors, no
observation windows, only a single ventilation grill set in the wall, which he
noted as a possible means of exit should the need arise. As he approached the
second steel door, it slid open automatically for him, as though someone
somewhere were watching and easing his way forward. But forward into where, for
beyond this steel door was nothing but pitch blackness, a blackness into which
not even the light from the corridor could pierce! He stood there at the brink
of darkness hardly daring to take the leap of faith. So there he stood at the
open doorway peering into the blackness beyond, looking for something,
anything, ray of hope, a ray of sunshine, a glimmer of light. Number 6 suddenly
felt afraid, the grotesque and gargoyle was physical fear, but this was a fear
of the mind, he thought to turn and go back the way he had come. But surely
there was nothing to fear but fear itself, and he found himself taking one step
from light into darkness. That was enough, he turned as to step back into the
light, only to find that the steel door had closed behind him, cutting him of
from the light. He stood there in total blackness hardly daring to put a foot
forward in fear of what might not be there. His mind brought Edgar Allan Poe’s
‘The Pit And The Pendulum’ to mind, and that gave him the idea of how he might
find the dimensions of this black void he found himself in. In order to
successfully circumnavigate the wall he thought to start out with the door to
his left….the door was no longer there! He reached out either side of him,
there was only the smooth surface of the wall. Taking his identity card from
his blazer pocket Number 6 felt the wall at his back for a crack, the smallest
fracture, the tiniest break in which to inserted the card, in this way he would
keep his back to the wall and edging his way along would pace out the distance
until he came to the card again thus giving him the circumference of the wall.
He imagined himself to be in some sort of chamber, but dared not to try and
cross the floor for fear of losing himself. Eventually his fingers felt a small
split in the otherwise completely smooth wall, and into the small split he
inserted the credit card. With his back press tightly against the wall, he set
off to the right of the card set in the wall, and began to pace out the
circumference of the chamber he imagined himself to be in. He counted out his
paces and at fifty paces he had come to no corner, door, or turning of any
kind. He had but two options, to either retrace his steps, or to go on. To
simply go back would achieve nothing, so he went on, moving slowly in the
darkness, keeping his back to the wall and after a further twenty paces his
hand came into contact with <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">86<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">something
set in the wall, a light switch perhaps, the knob of a door…….it was something
thin, it was his card of identity! How was this possible, he had set out to his
right and now the card in the wall was to his left. Then realized the full
horror of his situation, the chamber was in fact circular, and he had paced out
the complete circle finishing where he had begun. But worse than that, had he not
had the forethought to place his identity card in the gap of the door frame he
would have…. And then he felt a difference in the wall, there was a frame set
into it, and in the frame the steel door! It did not open automatically for
him, so he pressed against it, trying with all his strength to force the door
open, it would not yield. He slumped to the floor to rest, and would try again
in a few minutes. As he sat there in the pitch blackness he considered his
position. He could try to force the door open, which he was unlikely to
achieve. And that led to the question of the door appearing in the wall again,
suggesting that person or persons unknown had used it since. Either that or
person or persons unknown were giving him a false hope of escape.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is anyone here” he shouted “can
anyone hear my voice? Shout out if anyone can hear me” but his words were
swallowed up in by the darkness. He had two options, he could remain where he
was, sat on the floor and wait but for how long? Or he could, take steps into
the darkness, to what end he knew not. Getting to his feet, he felt the floor
under his feet and took the first tentative step, then two three and then
backwards to the wall, for the blackness ahead was blinding. And there was the
door to consider, if he should lose his way, he may never find his way back to
the door, it being possibly his only way out. And yet he needed to know, to
know if he was the only thing in this chamber, or if there was more to it. Number
6 was suddenly filled with new a found confidence and the courage to step out
into the darkness, the chamber was a perfectly circle. As long as he made it
across to the far side of the chamber, he only had to go this way or that in
order to come to the door in the wall again. So as they say “fortune favours
the brave” and so it was with arms outstretched that he took his first
tentative steps into the blackness. After ten paces he stopped, the blackness was
complete. It surrounded him, more it enveloped him, and he could no longer be
sure if he had been walking in a straight line or not. A straight line would
take him to the far side of the chamber. He walked on in the direction he
faced, but after another ten paces he had become lost in the dark! There was no
option but to walk on, walk into blinding white light! He put his hands over
his eyes, but the light burned into them </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">so
he could see nothing. The light was worse, worse than the pitch blackness. He
stood there for several minutes blinded by the light, daring not to remove his
hands, and open his eyes. And yet he began to adjust to the light, slowly
taking his hands away and opened his eyes, but then shut them again instantly.
They began to water, he blinked, the light strong and intense, but he began to
see again. He stood in a large open area of light, surrounded on all sides by
the</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">87<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">dense
blackness from which he had emerged. Across the other side of the floodlit area
were grey electrical cabinets, a work bench cluttered with all manner of
scientific and medical equipment and apparatus, surgical knives, scalpels,
saws, clamps, forceps, a case of syringes, clear plastic Petri dishes in which
cultures were being grown for whatever purpose. And drugs, swabs and dressings
all locked in a separate cabinet. A set of different coloured cylinders were
all linked together, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon monoxide, this being the
anaesthetist trolley, and quite obviously some form of medical experiment had
been taking place here. There was also a large screen set in the wall, and in
front of the screen was an operating table, and lying on the operating table
was a figure with a white sheet draped over it from head to foot. Electrical
wires trailed from under the sheet linked to a life support machine, the
electrocardiograph monitoring both pulse, heartbeat and other life signs, and a
saline drip feeding into the patient’s left arm. Being a curious kind of fellow,
and seeing as he was here, Number 6 slowly approached the operating table, and
was about to whip the sheet aside, when he heard the sound of footsteps coming
from somewhere in the blackness. Swiftly he dodged across the lighted area and
back into the darkness, from where he waited and watched as a figure emerged
from the blackness on the other side. A middle aged woman of small stout
stature, wearing glasses and a white coat, her black hair scraped back in a bun
and wearing a most severe expression on her face. Number 10 was a doctor who
had come to the Village of her own volition, such has been her opportunity to
carry out certain medical experiments which had not been afforded to her not
since the “old days!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor wheeled a trolley beside the
operating table, checked the patient’s life signs and was about to pick up a
syringe when she was disturbed by a noise somewhere behind her. So leaving the
patient for a moment the doctor walked away to investigate, however finding
nothing or no one there, she returned to the operating area to find the figure
of Number 2 standing over the patient lying on the table. He had pulled the
sheet away and was looking into the face of the patient who lay there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just doing my rounds doctor, not
neglecting your post I hope, absconding from your duties?” Number 2 asked
folding the sheet back in place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No
Number Two, I thought I heard something back there” said the doctor, in perfect
English, but with a strong German accent<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mmm indeed” said Number 2, looking
curiously in the direction indicated by the doctor “did you see anyone?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There was not a thing” said the doctor,
who gave of an outward air of subservience, yet underneath she saw Number 2’s
presence as an unwarranted intrusion, but the Village as means of her
completing the work she began so many years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor went back to her work attending
to the patient, checking his pulse and heartbeat with her stethoscope, then
pulled </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">back
part of the sheet, rolled up the sleeve of the blazer which the patient still
wore, swabbed his arm and with the aid of a syringe, took a blood sample.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">88</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And how is our friend tonight?” Number 2
asked in a jolly manner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A friend to you he may be, to me he is a
subject just like any other. As to his medical status, it is the same as it was
last night, and the night before that, no change in fact since he was brought
here from the hospital” replied the doctor, placing the syringe in a safe
place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No change there then, but what of the
phenomenon which you reported?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It is this” said the doctor switching on
the large wall screen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 stood and stared at the screen in
disbelief, he found it difficult to take in what he was seeing. There was a
tall man with light brown hair and light blue eyes, wearing a charcoal grey
suit and black polo shirt. He strode purposefully along a dimly lit corridor.
The expression on his face was not one of anger, simple one of determination as
he pulled the double doors open and stormed into the office beyond. A bald
headed bespectacled man sat behind the desk, with a bland expression on his
face as he looked up from his work. Now there was a distinct sign of anger from
the man as he burst into the office, pacing back and forth shouting out his
words in anger, then taking an envelope marked ‘private and personal’ ‘by hand’
from his inside pocket he slammed it down on the desk, as well as his first,
upsetting a cup in its saucer set upon a tea plate in the process. Before
storming out of the office and retracing his steps along that dimly lit
corridor. And this event was played out on the screen over and over and over
again in something which could be said to be an anguish pattern.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I wish we could hear what he is shouting
about” said Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I tried that, I hooked up a speaker” said
the doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And?” he prompted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing” retorted the doctor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But there must have been something?” he urged
somewhat disappointedly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There was, static!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want a lip reading expert to see this,
perhaps then we can learn what it is that made our friend here so angry, what
it was that made him resign” Number 2 ordered.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly Number 6 woke from his nightmare
in a sudden start, he sat bolt upright, sweat covered his brow and his
breathing was heavy. The cream telephone on the bedside table began to bleep
and continued bleeping for some moments. At first he tried to ignore it, but
you can only ignore something for so long before you have to respond. Throwing
back the sheets he picked up the telephone and hurled it to the floor. But the
telephone was not to be out done, as it </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">lay
upon the carpet, the receiver off the hook, the now impatient </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">bleeping
continued. Growling something quite incomprehensible, he flung himself back
into bed and hid his head under the pillow.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">89</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the control room the night time
supervisor watched Number 6 hurl the telephone to the floor and fall back into
bed, the covers pulled over him and pillow over his head, upon the wall screen
“To sleep, perchance to dream” he muttered to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What was that?” one of the observers asked
crossing the control room floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing, nothing at all” replied the supervisor
“what is it you have there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 72 carried a tray, on it was a selection
of hot drinks for the Control Room personnel “Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hot
chocolate?” queried the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Its
good for you” retorted Number 72 with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thought of the hot chocolate being good
for him, sent a shiver down the supervisor’s spine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whatever is it supervisor, you look as
though someone’s just walked over your grave!” 72 grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Black coffee, two sugars” said the supervisor
“and less of the lip!”</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">90<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-52690387803017789962022-12-07T07:16:00.000+00:002022-12-07T07:16:08.543+00:00The Prisoner - Village Day Chapter 8<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">8</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Questions Are
A Burden to Others<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">N</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">umber
6 trudged around The Village in no particular direction, ignoring the greeting
of his fellow citizens, wrapped up in his own dilemma. He was trying to walk
off his anger and frustration, brought on by the singular attitude of Number 2,
and it wasn’t working. He was sure Number 2 knew more than he was letting on,
but he was not a man to be easily rattled. But if there was one thing he was
most against, it was people keeping secrets, especially from him! And he had
not forgotten about the cave in the cliff and the steel door therein, that was
not there simply to keep the tide out. He was more determined to find out the
secrets lay beyond that door, the trick being to get beyond that door in the
first place!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking through the Village, but taking
little notice of anything much because of having things on his mind, Number 6
found himself in a large sandy square in part of the Village he did not
recognise. It was sudden curiosity more than anything which made him aware of
his surroundings, for he could not remember being in this part of the Village
before. Crossing the square there was a large stone building which had the
appearance of something between a castle and a church, but achieving neither. Steps
led up to a large Normanesque style archway, flanked either side by black
wrought iron street lights and railings. To the right of the steps, a flagpole
with the white flag with canopied Penny Farthing logo flying. And to the left
of the Normanesque archway, a public notice board displaying forthcoming events,
and over the archway itself a square green sign with white lettering Recreation
Hall from which citizens were busy coming and going, collecting their fancy
dress costumes in time for the Village Day celebrations. Then came a sudden
fanfare from a nearby orange speaker set on a black and white striped pole and beneath
a candy striped canopy. And then the following announcement;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good afternoon everybody, remember that
Village Day is the day after tomorrow, the day when we celebrate the founding
of our community. Remember fancy dress costumes are still available from the
Recreation Hall. The long range weather forecast is for clear skies and bright
sunshine, and for the great day itself a special ice cream ‘flavour of the day’
has been made by Number 99 himself. There will be fun and merriment for all,
and the unveiling of a commemorative statue, be seeing you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Fun and merriment for all, there’s a novelty
if ever there was one!” Number 6 sneered as he peered at the bland
expressionless faces of the citizens “some celebration this is going to turn
out to be!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He began
to climb the steps and it was here that he bumped into the maid Number 27 on
her way down carrying a fancy dress costume.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">73<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In a hurry are we, getting away from this
place, setting you free, or are you just clowning around?” Number 6 quipped
sarcastically, noticing the clown costume in 27’s arms.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who could ask to be in a better place than
the Village, especially at a time like this?” retorted the maid cheerily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
could for one, and they perhaps for another” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh they’re enjoying themselves well enough”
said the maid looking about her “only you are the odd one out!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Something to be pleased about” he said smilingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ll soon get into the swing of it” 27
smiled “have you come to collect your fancy dress costume?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can’t you see, I’m already wearing it!”
was Number 6’s sarcastic comment “and you a clown!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh this isn’t mine, I’m Peter Pan, I’ve
just collected this for someone else, Popsey the clown, and she’s welcome to
it!” replied 27 in a huff.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put your claws away Twenty-seven, they
don’t suit you. Besides you’re always the happy soul. Tell me what have you to
be so happy about, don’t you want to be free?” asked Number 6<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She moved to go on her way, but Number 6
remained <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in</i> her way “You’re being
impertinent again, if you don’t mind I have things to do, even if <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> haven’t!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stepped to one side in order to
let the maid pass, but as she did he walked with her across the sandy quad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you following me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, just walking in your direction, no
rule against that is there?” he asked casually.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In that case, you could offer to carry
this costume for me” she said with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh I wouldn’t want to go that far, people
might get the wrong idea about us, you know how people talk in a small
community as this!” he said keeping his hands firmly in his pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You were asking why I’m always so happy,
and don’t I want to be free. Well I wouldn’t be happy anywhere else, I couldn’t
be” said the maid answering her own question.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you known anywhere else, haven’t you
ever wondered?” he asked suspecting she hadn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 27 stopped, startled by his question
“I, I am a citizen of this community, I am perfectly happy here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about your parents?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They
died when I was young” was the maid’s sad reply, as she averted her gaze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 saw that here at least, he had
overstepped the mark “You were born here, I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It was a long time ago, my parents came
here voluntarily” said told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And freedom, don’t you want to be free?” Number
6 persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">74<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 27 thought for a moment “Where should
I go to be free? I am as free here as anywhere else, the Village is where I
belong. Besides what better place to be on Village Day!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They resumed their walk together <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day, what’s that all about?”
Number 6 grunted, who was already fed up with the whole thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not trying to tell me you don’t
know about Village Day!” said the maid in surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m new here” retorted Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid stopped walking and turned to face
him “Yes, but surely you heard the announcement?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took the maid by the arm and ushered
her out of sight into what appeared to be an old stable “Yes I’ve heard the
announcements.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 27 suddenly felt vulnerable and a
little nervous, and if she did her best not to show her feelings, then she
failed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t be nervous, I’m not going to hurt
you all I want is a little information that’s all” he assured her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well with Village Day coming up there’s so
much to look forward to, so much fun to be had, it promises to be the best fete
ever” she told him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s not simply another chance for the
citizens to parade around like so many brainwashed imbeciles then!” Number 6
replied sternly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked momentarily insulted by this, but
then that good natured warm smile of hers returned “It’s a celebration of our
way of life, to give thanks to the founder of the Village, and all it
represents.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Founders day, so I’m back at school is
that it. Who is this founder anyway, has anyone ever seen him, is he Number One?”
he demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number One?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i>
number One?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid looked startled at being asked
this “Village Day is a celebration, you must come.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can I avoid it?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why would you want to?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well there doesn’t seem much to celebrate,
besides I have a prior engagement!” Number 6 informed her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re just an old party pooper!” she
teased “now I really must be on my way.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 blocked her way and reaching into
his inside blazer pocket showed the maid the photograph “Seeing that you are an
indigenous citizen of the Village, perhaps you could tell me if you have seen
this man?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid studied the photograph carefully
“Handsome, isn’t he, a friend of yours is he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Something like that, I’m looking for him,
it’s been a quest of mine recently, a quest which has brought me to this Village.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">75<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">I’ve
a copy of The Tally Ho with his picture on the front page, so I know he was
here at sometime or other, I need to know if he is still here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Its Number Six, he has the look of you!”
exclaimed the maid in surprise.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where, where is he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I believe he used to live in the Round
House” said the maid trying to remember.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Used to, you mean he doesn’t anymore?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well the Round House is vacant, no-one
lives there at the moment. It’s possible he may have left the Village” she
said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean he escaped?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I….I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 put the photograph back into this
blazer pocket “It’s a year and more since I last heard from him it will be his
birthday on the nineteenth.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid’s eyes suddenly lit up “Isn’t he
the lucky one!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lucky, what’s lucky about it?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Being born on Village Day!” returned the
maid with a flirtatious smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Village Day, ugh!” was Number 6’s only
response.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I must be going” said the maid moving
towards the stable door “you have delayed me long enough as it is. Popsey will
be screaming for her costume, and my head if I don’t get it to her soon. Be
seeing you…. wont I?” the maid saluted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 called out after her “Which is the
Roundhouse cottage?” but she had gone.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi had been ordered especially by Number
2. The driver had been given instructions to collect Number 6 and take him to
the Labour Exchange, this too was on the instructions of Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Supposing I don’t want to go to the Labour
Exchange?” Number 6 said defiantly.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi having caught up with him on
his way back to his cottage from the Recreation Hall the driver was accompanied
by one burly set man, climbed out of the taxi raising himself to his full six
foot three height in something of an aggressive manner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deciding that discretion was the better
part of valour Number 6 agreed “Okay, lets go” he said climbing into the front
of the taxi.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver drove the taxi with her three
passengers, expertly through the village, sounding the two tone horn to warn of
its approach, avoiding pedestrians and cyclists alike, finally to pull up
outside the Labour Exchange, where there was a queue of people waiting outside
the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Here we are” announced the taxi driver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We seem to have caught them on a busy day,
perhaps we should come back later!” he suggested sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">76<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No worry for you Number Six” said the
guardian climbing out of the taxi “you have an appointment with the manager and
we are dead on time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing
that he had no choice, Number 6 stepped lively out of the taxi and into the
outer office of Labour Exchange, much to the disgruntlement of the people
waiting outside. A middle aged man with grey hair dressed in a dark suit, shirt
and tie stood behind a counter attending to a customer, while two other people
sat reading magazines The Village Weekly and Tally Ho Journal. Number 6 stood
taking in his surroundings. On the walls were such slogans as:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Of
the people<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">by
the people<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">for
the people<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">A
still tongue<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">makes
a happy life<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Questions are a burden to others <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Answers
a prisoner<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humour <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the very essence <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>democratic society</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">A
white water cooler and a grey filing cabinet behind the counter and to the left
and ahead were two frosted glass doors “Staff Only” and the “Private manager’s
office” and a notice board advertising job vacancies. A potted plant stood on a
small table, a hat stand decorated the space, and the clock on the wall said
twenty minutes to twelve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having dealt with his customer, the
assistant manager Number 229 beckoned Number 6 to the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And how may I be of assistance?” asked the
assistant manager.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you the manager?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No sir, I am the assistant manager,
how may I be of assistance?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Apparently I have an appointment
with the manager” Number 6 said reluctantly.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I see, I’ll have to check” and he
opened the ledger on the counter and ran his finger down the appointments list “So
I see, the appointment made by Number Two, you are honoured.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you say so” retorted Number 6
sneeringly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can go straight through, the manager
will waiting for you” Number 229 informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stepped behind the counter and
through the door into the manager’s office.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">77<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once through the door, ahead of him was a
large circular chamber, not much different to Number 2’s office, with its green
and purple wall and free standing circle of green/grey arches some two or three
feet from the chamber wall itself. Number 6 passed through one such arch and
approached the manager’s desk which was grey and black just like Number 2’s
desk, complete with control panel but with a single grey ‘L’ shaped telephone
and an old style ledger. The manager, a grey haired man dressed in grey tails
sat impressively behind his desk, the badge upon the left lapel of his tails
denoting the number 20 <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah there you are Number Six I’ve been
expecting you, won’t you sit down” he said indicating the black leather chair
in front of his desk “would you like some tea, oh but I was forgetting, you
prefer black coffee…. two sugars, isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It would appear that I am here at Number
Two’s request, not of my own volition” Number 6 stated abruptly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well what does it matter, you’re here now,
no need to be aggressive about it, please do sit down” said the manager pouring
out the coffee from a silver pot. He added two sugars, stirred and handed the
cup and saucer to the seated Number 6 “perhaps you would be so kind as to
complete a questionnaire, when you have finished your coffee.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 sat sipping his black coffee “questionnaire,
don’t you know everything there is to know about me already?” suggesting a
possible doubt in the matter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh yes, we have everything about you, it’s
all written down in my ledger. The questionnaire is merely a formality” said
the manager with a kindly smile on his face and a hand on the ledger “Sex, race,
religion, hobbies, what you like to read that sort of thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 finished his coffee, got up out of
his chair and placing the cup and saucer upon the desk picked up the
questionnaire and tore it in half “I’ve never been keen on filling in forms!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Never mind” said the manager taking a
handful of questionnaires from a draw in his desk “I have plenty more. Come,
come Number Six, all we want is to find suitable employment for you within the
community.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean Number Two wants you to find
employment for me, thinking that if I’m kept busy, it will keep me out of
trouble!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I assure you that Number Two has only your
best interests at heart. He cares very much for the welfare of the entire community”
replied the manager.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And
if I don’t want a suitable employment</i>?” barked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re being aggressive again” said the
manager “we all have to work for the good of the community you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is that you talking, or Number Two?”
grumbled Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It is my voice….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his</i>
words, I can here him spouting them now!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They told me you could be aggressive, they
didn’t mention anything about insolence!” returned the manager “it wont help
you, </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">you
know, you will set yourself outside the community and where will you be then?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">78</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Work for the good of the community” said Number
6 “you should have it framed and put on the wall along with all your other
slogans!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s very good, perhaps you should be
put on the ‘Promotion and Publicity’ Committee, I’ll talk to them if you like”
said the manager with enthusiasm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps they might not take to some of the
other suggestions I could have in mind” returned Number 6, with a wry smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The manager looked at his client and
screwed up the sheet of paper he had just written upon “No perhaps not. Well
what positions have you held in the past, perhaps we can begin there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you know, isn’t it in my file?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course, as I’ve said we have everything
about you” retorted the manager his resting on the ledger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then why bother to ask me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I thought it might save time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why is time short?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“As a matter of fact, yes, I have another
appointment in ten minutes and we have only just begun, so please let us get
on” said the manager opening the ledger upon his desk “you joined the Navy,
working your way up through the ranks, and then as a Lieutenant Commander you
were seconded into Naval Intelligence is that correct?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I suppose it must be!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, there’s no need to be quite so
insolent. Then something happened and you fell out of favour with your
superiors, a matter of conscience was it, because you were forced to……”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I walked
out!” Number 6 confirmed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Resigned” the manager corrected “runs in
the family does it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Having a conscience and then resigning
when the tough gets going!” the manager said accusingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 rose out of his chair and was
about to…..<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It says here” the manager said consulting
his ledger “that you have a questionable attitude towards authority, yes well I
think we can take that as read, can’t we?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 refrained from doing anything, and
sat down again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did that have something to do with your
resignation?” asked the manager.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
didn’t resign, I walked out!”</i> barked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is it still that painful! It’s still a touchy
subject as far as you’re previous employers are concerned. They kept tabs on you,
I wonder if they know you’re here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They
</i>probably had me sent here!” grumbled Number 6 defiantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now you travel the world as a paid agent,
a mercenary without a </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">cause, selling yourself to the highest bidder”
said the manager closing the ledger.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">79<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It all seems to add up quite nicely in
that ledger of yours!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a question of accountability.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m accountable to no-one, not even British
Naval Intelligence. They used me more often than not, choosing to risk me rather
than their own people! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Look what is this,
an interview, interrogation or a defamation of my character</i>?” barked Number
6 rising out of his chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Unfortunately we have no use for mercenaries
of your kind here in the Village” the manager informed him “unless it’s on the
outside as an agent working for us in the field so to speak…………no perhaps not. Tell
me Number Six what would you like to do?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Escape!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very droll. There’s a vacancy for a
new window cleaner, clean windows can you?” the manager asked with a smile.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s that got to do with the price
of a taxi fare?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing, do you want to be a taxi driver?”
the manager asked leaning forward in his chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about a field agent’s job? I’m up for
that, no training required, and I come cheap!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That position comes with an element of
trust. Could we trust you Number Six, to keep your mouth shut, and to return to
the Village when called?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m prepared to take the chance if you
are, I could undergo a probation period!” quipped Number 6 with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The manager marked Number 6’s employment
card for him “No I think a more menial job would be more in keeping with
reducing your current attitude. You can begin straight away, think of it as the
first step on the career ladder!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Angry and insulted he rose up out of his
chair, approached the manager’s desk and in a fit of rage slammed down his fist
upsetting the cup and saucer and spilling the coffee dregs, and telling the
Labour Exchange manager exactly what he thought of him and where he could put
his job vacancy! Turning he stormed out through the opening steel doors and
through the mangers office door slamming it shut behind him, the frosted glass
window rattling in its frame, and on the way out bumping into Number 3.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dork vost norsmits!” Number 3 called out
shaking his fist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The assistant came round from behind his
counter helping Number 3 to his feet and dusting him down “I am sorry sir, I do
hope you are not hurt.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 3 bent down and picked up his straw
boater “Daff vost das korton” he said “brosh den barvok da telefono.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Absolutely sir, the telephone” said the
assistant offering the foreign man the receiver.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside in the cold light of the afternoon
sunshine Number 6 felt <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
manipulative hand of Number 2 upon his shoulder. Well he wasn’t about to allow
himself to be so manipulated, all he wanted was to be left alone, after all he
had rights, That’s right, he had rights.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">80<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-45764052105699491942022-12-04T22:01:00.000+00:002022-12-04T22:01:35.632+00:00Village Day - Chapter 7<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">7</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Punch And Judy<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>B</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">ehind the
daily scenes of the Village, preparations were well under way for the long
awaited ‘Village Day’ celebrations. Carpenters had been working tirelessly to
build all the sideshow kiosks and booths in time for the big day, all of which
to be brightly decorated, covered either by candy striped canvas, in red and
white, or blue and white. The coconut shy, lucky dip, a tombola stall, Hoop-la,
duck on a stick, Punch and Judy, not to mention the ducking stool for the village
idiot! All this was in keeping with any English village fete, yet here would be
the addition of the celebrations for Village Day.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">There was an air of excitement about the Village,
citizens who were not physically involved with the preparations for the great
day were filled with a sense of great excitement and anticipation. For those
who were involved with the preparations their days were filled with work, it
was a question of rigging the Stone Boat with new bunting, and giving her a
fresh coat of paint. Streets and paths were swept clean, while the gardens and
flower borders were given an extra tidy up, and new plants planted, lawns were
cut, hedges trimmed, and each cottage given a window box of flowers. After all,
everyone has flowers for Village Day! The human chessboard had been taken up so
the lawn could accommodate ‘Bongo Bolero and his Jumping Jugglers’ there to
perform and entertain for the enjoyment of the crowd. The talk of the citizens was
that nothing like Bongo Bolero and his Jumping Jugglers had ever been seen in
the Village before, and probably wouldn’t be seen again, not in their lifetime.
The consensus of which between the Admiral and the General being, that such a
thing could only be for the best, and a good thing too! Each citizen was given a
fancy dress costume to wear specially for the occasion of which there was a
multitude of choice, cowboys, matadors, Spanish ladies, American native Indians,
Mexican Bandits, Chinese Girls, and Mandarins, Cossacks, Spanish dancers,
Little Bo-Peep, Humpty Dumpty, Peter Pan, an Arch Bishop, Edwardian, Victorian,
and medieval costumes. Harlequin, Pierrot and Piroutte, Little Red Riding Hood
and the big bad Wolf.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 27 – the maid, was at this moment
hurrying along the cobbled path and up the steps where she was met by Number 86
who was on her way to the Green Dome, her presence had been requested by Number
2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah Number Twenty-seven, we are well met”
said Number 86. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We are?” queried the maid “I was just…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well never mind what you were just, what
costume will you be wearing for the Village Day celebrations?” Number 86 asked
in rather a brusque manner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">58<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have that rather fetching Peter Pan
costume lined up” retorted the maid, in that flighty manner of hers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have you collected it yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, I’ve been busy, I was going later this
morning” the maid replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well while you’re about it, you can
collect my costume at the same time, I have to see Number Two” 86 ordered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not having it specially delivered then!”
the maid said sneeringly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why should I put them to all that trouble,
when I have you to do it for me!” 86 said with authority.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What
did your last slave die of, I bet it wasn’t boredom!” grumbled the maid “what
is it anyway?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s what?” asked Number 86.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your costume…… “ the maid refrained from
adding the word stupid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m Popsey the clown” retorted 86 with a
smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Popsey the clown!” grinned the maid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what pray is wrong with that?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Doesn’t suit you, does it!” was the maids
remark.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And why not?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I mean Popsey the clown, you’ll have to
dance and prance about and entertain the crowd, make people laugh, that sort of
thing. Think you can manage that?” the maid said, whilst doing her best to
suppress the laugh now building up inside her “I should have thought Lucrezia
Borgia would be more in keeping myself!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 86 felt the cutting remark hit a
nerve “Just because some of us have aspirations, want to get on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, but that’s no reason to trample all
over us mere mortals in the process!” the maid snapped back in return.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just make sure you collect my costume
before this afternoon, or it will be the worst for you” 86 ordered, then turned
tail and walked smartly along the street to the foot of the Green Dome steps
and marched up them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 27 watched her go “Well she can
wait, I’ve got my work to do” she muttered and went on her way to what could
only be described as the Round House it having no sign to denote its number.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile in the woods Number 6 was slowly
trudging his way through the undergrowth, and finally along the path back to
the Village. He was in no particular hurry, there was no particular place he
wanted to be, except away from here of course. Indeed at this moment he would
be glad for any such diversion which would in any way delay the inevitability
of returning to the Village. And just at that precise moment, as though his
thoughts had somehow been read, something which he would not discount in a
place like this, there came from the bushes a few feet away, a strange high
pitched squawky voice said “I didn’t do it, I wasn’t there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">59</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A much deeper voice responded “The butcher
said it was you, a string of sausages it was, stolen from his shop.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It wasn’t me” said the high pitched squawky
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I shall have to ask you to accompany me to
the police station Mr Punch” said the deeper voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh no you don’t!” replied Mr Punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re nicked Mr Punch, are you going to
come quietly?” Mr Plod the policeman asked, holding out both his truncheon and
handcuffs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 poked his head through the bushes
and looked into the small clearing beyond, just in time to see Mr Punch grab
the policeman’s truncheon and hit him over the head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ha, ha, ha that’s the way to do it!” cried
Mr Punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a red and yellow striped kiosk,
together with the brightly painted sign ‘Punch & Judy Show.’ As Number 6
continued to watch, Judy appeared on the scene wearing a blue dress, white
apron, and white cap, and seeing the unconscious policeman began to give Mr
Punch a good bashing with her rolling pin. Telling him he was a very bad boy
and that he should have been watching the baby, the baby who then suddenly
appeared in the jaws of the crocodile! Judy then clobbered the crocodile on the
snout, releasing the baby from its jaws, the crocodile then turning tail and
disappearing from the stage. Number 6 recalled the Punch and Judy puppet shows
one sees on the beach at holiday resorts, although basically the same, they all
varied in some way. Mr Punch sported a goatee beard and wore the traditional
costume of red tunic, knickerbockers, yellow stockings, and brightly coloured
hat with a tassel. Oh yes and he had the hump! Then another figure appeared on
the small stage, another puppet dressed in a dark piped blazer. The puppet’s face
was somehow familiar to him, as though it was someone he should know, with that
high forehead, light brown hair and light blue eyes. Judy placed the baby in
the Prisoner’s arms disappeared from the stage, a baby which bore a close
resemblance to the diminutive butler and man servant to Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 slowly emerged from the bushes and
the squawky voice of Mr Punch asked “Why did you resign?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What?” asked the Prisoner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why did you resign?” Mr Punch again asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why don’t you open the envelope?” asked
the Prisoner, who was now feeding the baby from a bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Envelope?” queried My Punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes the envelope containing the letter”
added the Prisoner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why did you resign?” squawked Mr Punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can’t you read?” he asked, now winding the
baby over his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr Punch, now holding a furled umbrella
shooting stick began repeatedly hitting the Prisoner over the head “Why, why,
why, why did you resign?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">60<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is unfair treatment, and it’s against
the Geneva Convention!” cried the Prisoner, trying to protect the baby.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There is no Geneva Convention here in the
Village, and you don’t exist anymore, because to the outside world you’re dead
and that makes you mine!” Mr Punch squawked loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner fending off the blows dropped
the baby, the baby dressed in black tails, white shirt and black tie, who bowed
politely bowed, turned and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly an over large red telephone began
to bleep, Mr Punch picked it up “Yes sir, everything under control here sir……
assistance sir, no I can manage………. well you brought me back here, it was your
idea……..of course sir, we mustn’t damage the tissue!” and dropping the
telephone went straight back to hitting the Prisoner over the head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the violence stopped “I’ll do a deal
with you Number Six, tell me why you resigned, and I’ll release you” Mr Punch
promised.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Release me, from the Village?” queried the
Prisoner with some doubt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the Prisoner got up, grabbed the
umbrella shooting stick from Mr Punch and held the point to his throat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Enough is enough Mr Punch, why don’t you
resign?” the Prisoner suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re very good, you’re very good at it”
squawked Mr Punch, somewhat nervously at the point of the shooting stick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner tossed away the shooting stick
“You want to make a deal with me, if I tell you what you want to know, you’ll
let me go?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You have my word” said Mr Punch, hand on
heart.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I do not wish to doubt your word, but you
can do that?” asked the prisoner, who after all would be better to deal with
the very devil himself, than Mr Punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of course, I’m Mr Punch, I’m the boss” he
squawked with boldness of pride.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number One’s the boss” he reminded Mr Punch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr Punch took offence and rushing forward
grabbed the Prisoner by the throat “Why did you resign, why, why, why, why.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner fell limp at the hands of Mr
Punch who releasing his strangling grip, now stood over the murdered body of
the Prisoner. From one of the wings of the stage, the head and shoulders of Number
26 the bald headed, bespectacled supervisor “<st1:place w:st="on">Orange</st1:place>
alert, orange alert, all posts, all units, orange alert” he said into his
telephone and disappeared again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the other side of the stage appeared
the white amorphous mass of the Guardian, it rolled along and was upon Mr Punch
in an instant, emitting its blood curdling roar. The sound of Mr Punch’s
squawking screams were terrifying to hear, as he fought against and clawed at
the membrane covering his face, smothering him, but which could not stifle his
screams. The Prisoner put his hands over his ears as he watched Rover engulf Mr
Punch’s face in its </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">membrane,
suffocating him until dead. Rover roared as though in triumph, then rolled and
bounded away leaving the Prisoner standing alone over the dead body of Mr
Punch, as Judy suddenly appeared on the scene.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">61</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll need the body for evidence!” Judy
said coldly “we have many ways and means, but we do not wish to damage you
permanently, are you ready to talk?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner stood looking down at the body
of Mr Punch, Judy raised a hand and pulled the trigger of the gas gun. The Prisoner
coughed and spluttered, fought to get away, but it was already too late, he
collapsed unconscious and the curtains closed on the Punch and Judy show.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was dumbfounded by what he had
seen, what had it all meant, had this show been for his benefit or had he
stumbled upon a simple rehearsal? And that puppet, why had it the face of……rushing
forward he went behind the Punch and Judy kiosk. He threw back the red and
yellow striped canopy in order to confront the Punch and Judy man within. But
it was quite empty, empty save for the puppets, lying on the ground! Stooping
down he picked up the Prisoner puppet and examined it, and for some reason
compared it to the photograph taken from his pocket. There was a likeness between
the two. Was this then a sign that he was still on his quest, looking for
Janet’s fiancé, that he was here, somewhere in the Village? Then something
white caught his attention, it was there on the ground, in the corner of the
canvas kiosk, small, round, and white not more than four inches in diameter, it
was a white sphere. He stooped down to pick it up, then a sound, a sound which
grew louder as the white amorphous mass of the Guardian began to increase in
size before his eyes. He staggered back in fright, and brushed aside the
opening to the kiosk to make good his escape dropping the Prisoner puppet as he
went, the cacophony of mixed sound of roar, bicycle pump, aqualung, and
Gregorian chat ringing in his ears as he ran for his life. The white membranic
thing, it simply rolled out of the Punch and Judy tent and rolled across the
clearing to disappear into the dense undergrowth beyond. As for Number 6, his
running slowed into a trot, and then a walk as he began to catch his breath. If
there was one thing he needed right now, it was a drink, even one of the non
alcoholic variety! And yet there was another surprise to come, running and
tumbling along the path towards him was a figure in a one-piece black and
silver costume, and more, there were others behind him, tumbling, jumping, and
leaping about as they performed their acrobatics, as well as juggling skittles
between them, all at the same time and in matching black and silver costumes. The
leading man threw himself head over heels into the bushes, then leaping out,
rolled over, dusted himself down, then leaping at another figure, caught his
foot in the mans cupped hands and was tossed backwards, </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">landing
on his feet He performed several flick-flacks before coming to a</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"> stop,
whilst the jumping Jugglers continued practicing their act. Number 6 stood in
total amazement as they leapt and jumped about him, with skittles whizzing
about his head and lucky not to be hit. He was convinced that nothing would surprise
him in this place called the Village.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">62</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ally up” one juggler suddenly shouted, and
a girl he had not noticed before in a very fetching gold and black leotard with
frills, suddenly leap up and stood balancing herself on the first juggler’s
shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey wella” the girl shouted as she jumped
from the man’s shoulders to the ground, then performing a couple of cart wheels
she went into series of flick flacks along the sandy path, to disappear around
the corner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stood to the side of the path as
the troop juggled and tumbled acrobatically, their way passed him. The leader
of the troop, a bald-headed young man having his name upon his black leotard ‘Bongo
Bolero’ saluted as he passed by, but nothing more than this as they all
followed the girl around the corner and along the path back to the village.
While Number 6 carried on along the same path, but at his own slow pace. And
yet fate had but one more shock in store for him, perhaps if he hadn’t called
into the general store for that bottle of non-alcoholic whisky……..</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ting a ling a ling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 closed the door behind him and
casually pulled a copy of The Tally Ho from the newspaper rack on the wall. The
tall shopkeeper in his straw boater and blue and white striped apron stood
behind the counter busy serving a young woman in a colourful striped cape and
blue and white hat, so he scanned the newspaper while he waited. ‘Village Day
Celebrations,’ ran the headline, an article giving details of the Village fete to
come, and noting all the exciting attractions. As well as all that a speech was
to be given by Number 2 along with the unveiling of a statue. There was also a special
gardeners section ‘Village In Bloom,’ special horticultural awards were to be
presented to Number’s 184 and 36b for their sterling work in growing new plants
for the flower beds and gardens, as well as making up window boxes and more in
preparations for the great day, that will be Village Day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young lady Number 24 paid for her
basket of groceries, and turning passed Number 6 on her way out. She gave him a
smile, and he found himself smiling back.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ting a ling a ling.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 approached the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes sir and what can I do for you?” asked
the shopkeeper Number 36.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 placed his copy of the Tally Ho
onto the counter “And a bottle of single malt whisky.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">63<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Non alcoholic sir” said the shopkeeper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Certainly not, the hard stuff if you please!”
retorted Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No sir, its all non alcoholic, Gin,
Whisky, Vodka, looks the same, tastes the same, but it wont get you tiddly!”
said the shopkeeper turning and reaching down a bottle from the shelves behind
him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pity!” he murmured under his breath and
studied both the display of classical records and the display poster.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: maroon;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>music makes for a quiet mind<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">music <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>music<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>says <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>begins<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>all<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>where<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>words<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>leave<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 16pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>off<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
shopkeeper put the bottle of single malt whisky on the counter and Number 6
reached into the breast pocket of his blazer for his credit card and handed it
to the shopkeeper and recognizing his face asked “Are you a gardener as well?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“As well as what sir?” asked the shopkeeper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at the man and instantly
thought it was going to be one of those conversations “As well as being a
shopkeeper.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why do you ask sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your number Thirty-Six, we met on the day
of my arrival here, you were working with another gardener.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shopkeeper thought for a moment “Really.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s looks the spit of you, and he had a
Geordie accent just like you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh you’re thinking of my twin brother, Number
Thirty-six b, he’s the gardener and up for an award he is, you can read about
it in the broadsheet. Will there be anything else sir?” asked the shopkeeper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No thank you, not today” he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You wouldn’t like a small note book?” the
shopkeeper suggested “I have a nice little selection here sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what would I do with a small notebook?”
asked Number 6, he was right about the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You could write notes in it” answered the
shopkeeper.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I haven’t got a pencil.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah I have a nice selection of
mechanical pencils.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I saw you looking at the records sir, I
have a nice selection of easy listening music to classical Beethoven, Berlioz, what
would you say to a little Bizet?” asked the shopkeeper picking up the ‘Ll’arlesienne’
suite and handing the record to his customer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 turned the record over in his
hands studying the front <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">and back “No I don’t think so.”</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">64<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s the matter sir, don’t you like
Bizet?” asked the shopkeeper, slipping something quickly under his counter
“that’s the new Davier recording, it’s excellent if I may say so.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s
all a question of taste isn’t it, I prefer Jazz, Charlie Parker, Duke
Ellington, Bix Biderbecke”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t think I’ve got any Bix
Biederbecke!” the shopkeeper told him reluctantly.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah what a pity!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about a map of the Village
then?” asked the shopkeeper<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Got one!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In colour?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes and its leather bound!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But not printed on a tea towel!”
said the shopkeeper holding up the item with pride.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 gave a frown fed up with the
shopkeepers “hard sell” attitude. “No, not today or any other thank you! Just
the whisky and the paper.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Alright sir, no need to be like that, I’m just trying to make a living
you know” the shopkeeper told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve had a
couple of surprises today, and I’m just a little on edge, that’s all. At the
moment all I want to do is go home and have a drink.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s alright sir, I understand. Perhaps
I can interest you in a cuckoo clock” offered the shopkeeper walking round his
counter to the display.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cuckoo clock?” as the customer seemed as
though he would be interested, <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do I look like a man who would be
interested in a Cuckoo clock?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well you never can tell” said the
shopkeeper “I get all sorts of customers come in here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cuckoo” went the clock suddenly and the
shopkeeper eyes bulged out as he placed the clock on the counter and picking up
his customer’s credit card suggested “well look at it this way sir, buy the box
and get a free clock!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For Number 6 the clock had made the optimum
comment, cuckoo seeming to be about right!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shopkeeper clipped the credit card and
handed it back to his customer along with his newspaper. Number 6 picked up his
bottle of whisky, turned and quickly departed the general store.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be seeing you” the shopkeeper saluted with
something of a knowing smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ting a ling a ling.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside in the cobbled square Number 6
tucked his bottle of whisky under his arm and looked at the folded newspaper
for it was not the copy he had taken from the newspaper rack, how could it be
with the headline “No 6. Speaks His Mind,” what’s more there was a </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">picture
accompanying the headline and article, the same picture of the man he had
inside his blazer pocket, the likeness was unmistakable. It loomed up off the page
at him, and he turned back to the door to see the “Closed” sign.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">65</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Open up, I need to speak with you”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shopkeeper looked at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holding up the unfolded copy of the Tally
Ho Number 6 shouted through the door “Where did you get it, please I need to
talk with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shopkeeper said nothing, he made no movement
towards the door, but gave Number 6 a sly wink.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please” Number 6 begged “have you seen
this man, just nod if you have.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shopkeeper made no sign of recognition,
and simply turned his attention to rearranging a display of fresh fruit.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking from the shop he turned his
attention to The Tally Ho newspaper. “No 6. Speaks His Mind” ran the headline
and he read the accompanying article.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The security of the community will be my
primary aim,” said No. 6 in an exclusive interview. The forthright candidate
for the post of No. 2 is determined that the citizens be safeguarded against
all threats to their welfare.” And the article went on to say that No. 6 has
every confidence in his chances, that he admires No. 2 as a man and pays
tribute to his achievements, but the time has come for change. “That it would
be a hard fight, but a clean one. We must put the well being of the community
above everything else, No. 6 declared.” And so the newspaper article went on that
No. 6 did not seek this opportunity to run for our highest office, but he
accepted the call when it came, because it is his duty as a citizen. No. 6’s
platform would be “an opportunity for everyone and freedom for all.” In a true
democracy like ours, every individual has a special responsibility to express
his mind by voting for the right candidate. No. 6 said he believes in absolute
frankness with the electorate. “Cards on the table is my motto” No. 6 <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">told
our reporter “everyone has a choice in this matter, and I know they will vote
for the candidate who gives it to them straight from the shoulder.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So this Number 6 had been standing for
electoral office, but when, the broadsheet was undated. He was left wondering
if he was eventually elected in this true democracy like ours! He sat scanning
the newspaper for anything else of interest, but there was nothing, in fact the
rest of the Tally Ho was complete and utter gobbledygook. Then at last he
slipped the photograph from his inside blazer pocket and studied it alongside
the picture in the Tally Ho, they were identical, and this was another clue in
his quest, irrefutable proof that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i>
was here or had been here at some time or other recently, in The Village. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked up at the Green Dome over
looking the road and square, his next port of call in his quest for answers!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> 68</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his office Number 2 and Number 86 had
been watching Number</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">6 on the large wall screen, who having folded
his newspaper quickly crossed the square, crossed the street and sprang up the
steps to the Green Dome.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He looks like a man with a mission”
commented 86 looking at the screen “and he’s coming straight here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can see that, you had better go, this
could be difficult” said Number 2 preparing himself for the ordeal to come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 86 took her leave up the ramp,
pausing for a moment at the open pair of steel doors she turned “That’s why
you’re sitting in that chair, sir’ then departed out through the steel doorway
and French doors into the foyer beyond.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 mounted the last step onto the
balcony of the Green Dome, standing in the enormous white portico he was about
to tug on the wrought iron bell pull, when the white door opened automatically
and he stormed inside, pushing passed the departing 86 on her way out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well really, some people!” muttered 86 as
she went on her way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was not about to stand on ceremony
as he stormed through the opening steel doors and down the ramp into the office,
the steel door slamming shut behind him as he quickly approached the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2, who seemed unperturbed by this
unwarranted intrusion, remained his calm, calculating self as he studied the
man standing before him, through his black rimmed spectacles.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah Number Six, how good of you to
come calling. Can I offer you anything, tea or coffee?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can forgo the pleasantries, this is
hardly a social call” said Number 6, doing his best to hold his temper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes I can see that, you look quite
agitated my dear fellow, what is it you have there?” Number 2 asked, looking at
the paper in his visitor’s hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 unfolded The Tally Ho and held it
up for Number 2 to see.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 leaned forward out of his black
spherical chair “Ah The Tally Ho, may I? he asked reaching out to take it “where
did you get it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t
you know</i>?” barked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My dear chap there’s no need to be quite
so aggressive you know, and no I don’t know where you got it” Number 2 lied
knowing exactly what this was all about.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where I got it doesn’t matter, I take it
you can read!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, these spectacles work well enough” Number
2 informed his visitor, removing his spectacles and then putting them back on,
read aloud the headline “Number Six speaks his mind, my dear old chap, what
have you been up to now, I don’t seem to recall, which issue is this?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You tell me. It wasn’t me speaking my
mind, the man in the photograph apparently did that, is he still here?” Number
6 asked <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">mellowing his approach.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">69<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 looked closer at the photograph,
knowing full well who it was, but saying “You mean that’s not you, I thought it
was you for a moment!” he grinned sitting back in his chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took back the broadsheet and folded
it “No, that’s not me. True we do look similar, and funnily enough we even
share the same number, but then you saw to that didn’t you, which begs me to
ask what game are you playing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Game Number Six, no game, you arrived here
in the Village, the numeral 6 was vacant and administration simply allocated
that particular number to you. But the irony of that has not passed me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What simply because he and I are…… what
are you, some kind of sick sadist?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 remained calm and calculating,
such had been his training in the diplomatic service “I assure you, that the
matter had absolutely nothing to do with me, you should talk to someone in
administration, perhaps they’ll change it for you.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m talking to someone in
administration!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By the way you didn’t say where you
got the newspaper.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Does it matter?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It does to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“As what happened to my…….predecessor
matters to me. What happened to him, that newspaper article doesn’t sound like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him</i> at all, what did you do to him,
where is he?” Number 6 barked loudly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 withdrew as far as he could back
into his chair “It was before my time, but according to our records he was
elected to the position of Number Two, for a short term anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Short term?” asked Number 6, sternly and
with purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A
term in office is dependent on any particular Number 2’s success rate” answered
Number 2, knowing he couldn’t be more right.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is that how you come to be here, at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his</i> expense?” bellowed Number 6, his
voice echoing around the chamber.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Calm yourself Number Six, any show of
temper will avail you nothing.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“According to your records, you mean
you’ve checked the records?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What else could they do? Soon after he
gained election victory the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">new</i> Number
2 began to incite a revolt. He told the citizens that they were free to go,
that he was in command and that he would immobilise all electronic controls.
You see in a dictatorship everyone votes for a dictator, and that turned out to
be him! He told them to obey him and be free, attempting to force <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his</i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">
</b>kind of freedom upon the good citizens of this community. I ask you, what
would they have done with that kind of freedom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So he was removed from office!” suggested
Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Almost immediately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What did they do to him?” he asked quietly,
almost menacingly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I couldn’t say, it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> before my time” retorted Number 2 leaning forward in his chair
“Look Number Six, the trouble with you is, you </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">have
too much spare time on your hands, too much time to brood on what was and not
what could be. A man of your calibre, with your talents shouldn’t be wasted,
there’s a place for you here.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">70</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What, you’re offering me a job?” he
laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A position within the community” Number 2
replied with a wry smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps I should take the democratic
opportunity afforded to my predecessor and run for office. When are the
elections?” Number 6 demanded to know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sadly for you we abolished the democratic
process. Although I could try and get you a seat on the Town Council” Number 2
offered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You would do that for me?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My dear fellow, as Chairman it would be my
pleasure to have you co-opted onto the Town Council, in time of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And this?” asked number 6, holding up the
issue of The Tally Ho.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is a
thing of the past, you should learn to put it all behind you, before it does
you more harm than good” was Number 2’s advice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s here somewhere, I know it and so do
you. What’s more I intend to find him!” Number 6 said. Turning he stormed back
up the ramp to the steel doors which remained closed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 raised himself out of his chair “keep
this senseless course Number Six, and you may find more than even you bargained
for. Anguish, sorrow, perhaps even self-torture and torment, are you prepared
for the worst?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 turned to face his opponent “They
say prevention is better than cure.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And he who digs a pit will one day lie in
it” returned Number 2 “don’t dig yourself a pit Number Six, you have been
warned. Citizens here obey the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They are sheep!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Indeed, and you are the goat who has come
amongst them. Now you have, things are bound to happen, and when they do, the
citizens <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">will
not tolerate you indefinitely!” Number 2 explained.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You may recall that I am here for
protection, you daren’t let anything happen to me”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Protection from yourself perhaps” Number 2
informed him “but only for the time being. Even I cannot protect the lone wolf
from the citizens, think about it, good day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pair of steel doors opened and Number 6
stormed out into the foyer, the steel doors closing behind him with a loud
clang.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 instantly picked up the yellow
telephone “Control room please.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Control room, supervisor speaking.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Six has just paid me a visit, tell
me what he was doing in the time before he decided to pay me a call?” Number 2
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The supervisor checked with one of the five
observers “He was sitting on a bench in the square reading an issue of the
Tally Ho. Before that he dropped the bottle of whisky he was carrying under his
arm” the supervisor confirmed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">71<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 thought for a moment “And before
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He was in the general store” reported the
supervisor “it was there he bought the bottle of whisky and copy of the
broadsheet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“From the general store, not the Tally Ho
vender?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s right” replied the Supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Have the shopkeeper brought to my office
immediately” Number 2 ordered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two, at once!” the supervisor
responded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the foyer of the Green Dome the
diminutive butler stood watching Number 6 as he crumpled up the issue of The
Tally Ho in his anger throwing it into the grate of the fire place before<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">storming
out onto the balcony, the white door closing gently behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The butler, immaculately dressed in black
tails, walked over to the fire place and picked the crumpled Tally Ho out of
the grate and smoothed the paper out with his hands. Then walking out through
the opening door he approached Number 6 standing at the balustrade. Number 6
turned the see the diminutive butler standing there. The butler bowed and handed
him the newspaper, turned and walked back into the Green Dome, the white door
closed behind him.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">72<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-28146292361632541832022-12-02T22:08:00.000+00:002022-12-02T22:08:29.402+00:00Village Day - Chapter 6<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">6</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Chess Anyone?</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he
morning had begun cloudy and somewhat misty over the surrounding hills and
mountains, not to mention the estuary, and looked set to be slow to clear. Even
though it was still early Number 6 was already up and about, although he woke
with a headache, which he hoped a cold shower would clear…it didn’t! He shaved
and dressed and in the kitchen he washed up his cup and saucer from last night’s
nightcap of hot chocolate. He was wondering what he should prepare himself for breakfast
in order to fortify himself for the rigours of the day, when there came a
sudden fanfare to be followed by an early morning announcement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good morning, good morning, rise and
shine, rise and shine” began the cheery female voice “before today’s programme
of early morning music, here are two announcements. The weather will continue
cloudy with mist lying over the hills, this will soon begin to clear, after
which it will be fine and dry with sunny spells. The painting and poetry
classes are proving to be very popular, and only a few places now remain.
Preparations for the Village Day celebrations are well in hand, Village Day the
day when we celebrate the founding of the Village, and the bringing together of
this our fine community.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s a laugh” he muttered to himself as
he opened the refrigerator. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There will be a carnival and stalls, a
coconut shy, lucky dip, dunk the Village idiot, Punch and Judy, Bongo Bolero
and his jumping Jugglers and not forgetting Popsey the clown.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took butter and a jar of jam from
the refrigerator.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Costumes will be soon be available, either
for collection or by special delivery from the Recreation Hall, please listen
out for further announcements. And now we continue with music.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The music of Herb Alpert and his Tijuana
Brass played Casino Royale as a young maid in a black dress, white lace apron
and sailor’s hat opened the door and entered carrying a breakfast tray. The
Penny Farthing badge pinned to her apron denoted the Number 27.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And how are we this morning?” the maid
enquired, in that flighty manner that could only be hers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We have a headache” snapped Number 6
opening the bread tin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My, my we did get out of bed the wrong
side this morning, didn’t we!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 glared at the maid “I can’t be
expected to speak for you, but I dreamt I was suffering from insomnia!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not another bad dream, your nightmares
seem to be getting worse, this is the third night in a row. You should see a
doctor” the maid suggested, setting the tray upon the kitchen table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Seen one, for all the use they are, he said
it’s the after effects, and </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">all
they seem to want to do is dope me up. Do you know I’ve never seen a night
since I arrived here, all I do is sleep, and it’s one night, not three, you should
learn to count!” said Number 6 selecting two slices of bread from the loaf,
then switching on the coffee percolator.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">48</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you say so, but then what else should
you do at night, but sleep?” the maid asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, and it’s not nightmares either, it’s nightmare
singular and always the same one, well nearly always the same one, and I never
had that until I came here, if I didn’t sleep at night…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You would be out on your feet all day” the
maid smiled,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“there, coffee, full
English” the maid lifted the cover of the plate, two fried eggs, bacon, beans,
sausage, fried bread and mushrooms, and toast.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 had carefully watched the maid, as
she set out each item then asked “What’s all this in aid of?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid smiled “Compliments of Number Two,
he’s looking to help you settle in” holding up the rack of toast under his
nose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So damned cheerful aren’t we……. give you
something for it do they?” he returned. The day had only just begun and already
there was aggression and a certain restlessness in his attitude.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know what you mean, and I didn’t
come here to be insulted!” retorted the maid picking up the tray.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 refrained from saying “Oh where do
you usually go?” instead he picked up the cup and saucer he had just washed up
and set it by the percolator “I don’t suppose you can tell me where this place
is, can you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid shot him a puzzled look “This is
the Village, I thought you knew that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, I know, I’ve been told that ever
since my arrival here. But I asked where this place is?” he asked again, in
that abrupt manner of his.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid chose to ignore his question and
moving toward the door, then turned “Now have your breakfast before it gets
cold, be seeing you” the maid saluted and was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s already cold” Number 6 shouted after
her “and what’s more you can tell Number Two from me, oh what’s the point, he
knows already” besides the maid was long gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned his head upwards to the ceiling he barked
out loudly “I’ve told you before, I don’t want to settle down, I don’t need your
protection, and what’s more I can cook my own breakfast thank you very much, so
there’ll be no need to bother any of the maids in future!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So breakfast, was either a question of
making his own , or warming up the full English brought by the maid. There was
no contest, he tipped the breakfast brought to him into the bin, and instead
toasted two slices of bread, onto which he spread butter and raspberry jam, by
which time the coffee percolator was bubbling away quite nicely. After breakfast
he went out into the Village for his early </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">morning
constitutional. This morning he had a particular task to perform, and as he
glanced out through the kitchen window, he was pleased to see the mist already
starting to lift from the hills.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">49</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 donned his piped blazer, then went
over to his desk, checking first that the hair he placed over the drawer was
actually still in place, it was. He opened the draw and took the telescope out and
placed it safely in his blazer pocket. Then with a final glance out of the
window he walked to the French door, which opened at his approach, somehow he
was finding that difficult to adjust to. It was as though someone somewhere was
watching him, and when he made to leave, pressed a button on a control panel to
open the door for him. But of course he realised that the door, like so many
doors of its type, worked on a sensor, well he supposed it did. If it didn’t.
The French door closed securely behind him with a familiar electronic hum and
click as the door closed with a solid clunk. One day, he vowed, he would beat
the door to the handle before it opened!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the Control Room, the bald headed,
bespectacled supervisor Number 26 smiled quietly to himself as he watched Number
6 on the large wall screen “You’ll have to be quicker than that my friend” then
picking up a blue ‘L’ shaped telephone said into it “get me Number Two.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In his office Number 2 had been working to
clear his desk of the ever growing mountain of paper work, and he had finally
beaten it, now only a handful of files and reports remained. The Yellow ‘L’
shaped telephone upon his desk began to bleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Two here” he said with calm
authority.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Supervisor here, Number Six has just left
his cottage, he has the homemade telescope in his pocket” the supervisor
reported.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And what of it?” Number 2 asked, pouring
himself out a third cup of tea from the silver tea pot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well what do you want me to do about it?”
asked the supervisor, who was only too keen to announce an Orange Alert.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do, what do you mean do?” Number 2 asked
“do nothing” was his instruction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing?” echoed the supervisor “we can’t
allow him to do as he likes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well he hasn’t done anything yet, has he?”
Number 2 asked, putting his feet up on the desk calmly sipping he tea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Number Two” retorted the supervisor,
unable to hide the reluctance in his voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are to take no action against Number
Six, not until you get the yellow alert. However keep him under surveillance.
Whatever Number Six sees through his cleverly made telescope, he will see
there’s nowhere for him to go and the sooner he sees that the better.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was making his way slowly through
the Village, returning one or two greetings given him. Indeed there seemed to
be a </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">great
deal of activity this morning, and so he climbed the three steps onto the top
of the stone bandstand and stood at the balustrade in order to gain an all
round view of the centre of the Village. There to the right was the Piazza with
its pool and fountain around which citizens promenaded. The Admiral sailing a
plastic boat in the </span><st1:place style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";" w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Free</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Sea</st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">, and a chap wheeling
a Penny Farthing bicycle overtaken by another chap riding a tricycle. Below him
was the lawn, the grass of which citizens were invited to walk upon, and yet to
his surprise it was different this morning. There was a large chessboard, made
up of green and white squares was set out upon the lawn. Standing on each square
a citizen stood holding a chess pole which represented the chess pieces. And
yet curiously enough, all the human chess pieces were similarly dressed and
looked quite alike, in colourful clothes, striped capes, and straw boaters. It
made quite the spectacle.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">50</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 left the top of the bandstand and
walking along the road turning right down the steps there and along the cobbled
street, and through a curiously pink portico, which lead through onto the chess
lawn itself, this in order to get closer to the action.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to king’s knight three” announced the
first player.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to queen’s knight three” came the
instant response from the second player.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the chessboard both pawns had moved with
smoothness and precision the two moves called, one square forward.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bishop to King’s Knight two”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Knight to King’s Bishop three”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Knight to King’s Bishop three” called the
first player.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to King four” the instant response.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to King four”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to Queens Bishop four”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each piece upon the board mirrored the
moves called out by the two players with ease and exactness, which meant that
each citizen had to remember the chess piece they represented, and to keep
their minds firmly fixed upon the game. To keep listening out for the moves
called out by the two players, to know their position on the chessboard, to
know the square they should move to and act instantly upon hearing a piece’s
particular move when called out. Difficult enough to the casual observer when
both sides look alike, you simply have to remember which side you are on!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing watching the game Number 6 was
slowly becoming confused. Standing a few feet away was an elderly man in a dark
blue piped blazer and straw boater who was leaning quite heavily upon a walking
stick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pardon me sir” said Number 6, addressing
the man.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why young man, what have you done?” Number
14 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you play chess?” Number 6 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m the defending champion” retorted Number
14 without once taking his eyes and mind off the game.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">51<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me, how do you tell the sides apart?”
Number 6 asked casually.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean how do I tell the blacks from the
whites?” asked Number 14 again in that brusque manner of his.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes” came the reply.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not the first to have asked
me that you know” 14 said without once looking at the man standing next to him.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are we talking about he game?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
chess champion looked at Number 6 for the first time “The chess player on the
left made the first move, so he’s white, after that it doesn’t matter if you
follow the game.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But how does each player know who is
white and who is black, who decides that?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chess champion raised his
eyebrows and turned his attention back to the game “They toss for it before the
game begins!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Castle” called out one of the players.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Rook and King moved smoothly and with
precision.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Knight takes pawn”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The knight move onto the pawn’s square, as
he did two men dressed in baseball caps, checked blazers and white shorts walked
smartly onto the chessboard and escorted the pawn off the board.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to Queen three”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Knight to king’s Bishop three”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why complicate it? Number 6 asked,
watching the pawn have both his chess pole and striped cape removed from his
person.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“To keep your mind alert, it satisfies the
desire for power, the only chance one gets here” the chess champion explained,
turning his mind back to the game “you have to learn to play the game, to
distinguish between the whites and the blacks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you mean?” Number 6 persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bishop to king’s Knight five”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pawn to Queen’s Rook three”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 14 pointed out the game for Number 6
with his walking stick “In chess white always makes the first move, so in this
particular case white is on our left side of the board, and so black the right
side. From the player’s position the pieces facing you are the opponents, and
those with their backs turned to you are therefore on your side.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And if someone standing on the board
should happen to turn the other way?” smirked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now who’s trying to complicate it?”
snapped Number 14, leaning back on his stick.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 knew precisely whose side he was
on, his own, and seeing that the game had already gone beyond its opening
gambit, he went on his way, turning back through the pink portico and along the
cobbled street in the direction of the Town Hall. He did not pass </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">through
the turquoise wrought iron gate, but took the short path to his left, sloping
down and past the pink pavilion, and following the road down the hill towards
the old people’s home. Several citizens he passed bid him either good day or be
seeing you, and he returned their greetings with the regular Village salute and
a smile.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">52</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing at the white balustrade of the lawn
of the old people’s home, Number 6 could see that the tide was out, that
several citizens were already down on the beach, the mist was fast lifting and
it promised to be a warm sunny day. Two girls in swimsuits playing beach ball
waved up at him, and he gave a slight wave of the hand, although you would
never know it. The Admiral and Naval attaché were busy with a plastic
Battleship and Freighter in one of the shallow gullies of water left behind by
the tide, whilst other paddled in the water. Others lounged about in deckchairs,
reading or simply asleep, and so early in the day too! There were several blue
or red and white tents dotted about the beach, probably used for changing, and
more, there was even a red and white kiosk selling anything and everything for
the beach, including black and white or colour postcards of the village! He watched
the view from his perch positioned on the balustrade, from where he had a clear
view right across the estuary and the <st1:place w:st="on">Island</st1:place>
in between. But his position was far too open and public to take advantage of
this homemade telescope here, too many old people sat at tables on the lawn,
too many guardians to report back his activity. So instead he casually walked
on towards the little gate at the bottom of the path, through and along the
path out past the white tower and white cottage at the far end of the quay,
close to where the path divided down to the beach, or up into the woods. He walked
nonchalantly along trying not to attract attention, then choosing a place to
sit upon the rocks of the quayside, he settled himself down, taking form his
pocket his homemade telescope. There were people around, down on the beach and
occasionally walking passed at his back, but as Number 6 sat biding his time,
they seemed not to take the least bit interest in him. So satisfied he slid
open the one draw telescope and put it to his eye. First he focused it on some
of the people on the beach, then across the beach to the far side of the
estuary, the mist covered hills and the house in the distance. To his disappointment,
he could clearly see the house to be quite derelict, the chimney stack had gone
and most of the roof had caved in, caused by the collapsing chimney stack no
doubt. The windows were smashed, the front door hung from one hinge and the
wall around it half collapsed, as the garden inside was overgrown. All which
were signs of years of non occupation and dereliction, if he were to try and
escape, to find sanctuary, it would have to be beyond that house, the question
is, how far beyond? Scanning further round to the right was the wide mouth of
the estuary and the sea beyond, but which sea, which ocean? He could see no silhouette
of boats, no ships on the horizon, no tell tale smoke, no planes in the sky and
no sign of life beyond the village. He scanned <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 207.0pt left 282.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>53<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 207.0pt left 282.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
far side of the estuary, he could see no-one, and not a thing stirred. It was
no distance at all to the far side, one could so easily walk it, he could see
no problem in that, and he wondered if it had not been attempted before. To reach
the far side would be easy enough, but where do you go after that? The hills
were restrictive enough, but the mountains beyond, and what mountain range were
they, and more, was there a pass through them? Scaling them alone was quite out
of the question. No he expunged the thought from his mind, and turning to his
left focused instead upon the island set in the middle of the estuary. Even there
on the island there were signs of past habitation, the remains of an old stone
house and a series of dry stone walls all across the island, but how long ago,
certainly no one could live there now, The Village would not allow it for one
and who would want to for another, only a hermit would dream of living there! The
house was just an empty shell of bare stone walls, there wasn’t even a roof! He
continued to scan across the beach, over the island and further along the far
side of the estuary, but inland. And then he spotted a lone figure far out on
the sand of the estuary, he could hardly believe his eyes, for the figure was
flying a kite! Continuing to watch he estimated that the kite was some two
hundred feet in the air and still rising as the figure continued to play out
the string. But then came the siren blaring out loudly across the sand, as a
white taxi drove down the slipway and onto the beach, sped across the sand, and
splashed through a shallow gully of water, with two figures sat inside, and
heading straight in the direction of the kite flying figure. The figure at
hearing the siren turned to see the taxi speeding towards him and he
frantically began to wind in his kite before they reached him. The figure was
too slow, or the taxi too fast, for one burly man jumped out and was upon the
figure in an instant, wrestling him to the ground and releasing the kite to
blow away with the breeze, before crashing down on the island. As for the
figure, he was taking a beating from the two men in the taxi, who then sat the
half unconscious figure in the back of the taxi and drove off back in the
direction of the Village.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 had maintained watching the events
unwind, unsure what the figure with the kite was trying to achieve, unless it
was simply to try and attract attention, but from whom? There was no boat, no
ship, no plane, the only attention the figure was successful in attracting were
the observers watching!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you looking at?” a voice behind
him suddenly asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 put his telescope down and looked
round to see a woman standing behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman was middle aged, 8 was the red
number on the Penny Farthing badge pinned to her blue swimsuit. She had a
yellow towel draped over her shoulders and a yellow and white hat was perched
on her head, and nothing on her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Someone was flying a kite, that’s all” he told
the woman, slipping the telescope into his blazer pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">54<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t see anyone flying a kite” she said,
shading her eyes against the sun as she gazed across the sand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The figure’s gone now” he told her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well he would be, wouldn’t he?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Would he?” he asked, and wishing this
woman would move on her way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s the sort of thing they don’t like
here, don’t want to attract attention to themselves you see, and don’t want
others doing it for them. Do you mind if I sit down?” the woman asked, sitting
down before any possible reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 shifted his posture “If you must,
but I was just going for a walk….. so if you’ll excuse me” he said about to
rise to his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What were you really doing, you’ve got a
telescope!” said Number 8 with a smile of curiosity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was just sat here minding my own
business, unlike some people I could mention!” he snapped back at her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The possession of a telescope could mean
the breaking of the rules, and should be reported” she informed him “where did
you get it anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought for a moment then replied “Lady
you must be seeing things.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I wasn’t, but you certainly were, can I
see it?” she asked, moving closer beside him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half standing Number 6 resumed his position
upon the rocks, looking at the woman quizzically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 8 was quick to pick up on this “You
can trust me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can I?” he asked, not knowing who he could
trust, besides himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman looked Number 6 in the eye “All I
have to do is call out, the observers will pick it up on the microphones and
that will be that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at the woman still unsure
“Now lady, where would I get a telescope, the local <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Chandlers</st1:place></st1:city> perhaps, along with navigation
charts, sextant and distress flares!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 8 smiled “I like you. So where did
you get it, perhaps you found it, is that it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could see it was no good “I made it, if
you must know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How cleaver of you, can I see?” she asked with
enthusiasm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took the telescope from his pocket
and showed it to Number 8, who was very impressed and said “If you’re thinking
of escaping, if it’s a good plan I could help you with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This took him aback “What makes you think I
have an intention of trying to escape?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Everyone tries to escape when their spirit’s
broken” she told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lady
for your information my spirit is not broken, and even if it were, how could
you possibly help me?” he asked putting the telescope back into his blazer
pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have often helped others with their
escapes” Number 8 informed him eagerly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">55<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Strange, how are you still here, none of
their ideas and escape plans ever worked I take it!” quipped Number 6, turning
to look out across the sand and not at her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They were never any good, but in that way I
could be invaluable to you, at least I could tell you what not to try” she said
trying to please him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 turned to look at her “How do I
know I can trust you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s the risk you’ll have to take!” she
returned sternly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What, like so many before me, I should
coca!” he said rising to his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You already have, you’re forgetting the
telescope!” she said smiling up at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 strode off along the path up into
the woods, then along the cliff path. For the time being he had no intention of
trying to go anywhere, not until he found out what if anything was on the <st1:place w:st="on">Island</st1:place> and the lay of the land on the other side, without
such intelligence any escape attempt was useless. Because to escape from
anywhere one has to know where one is escaping from!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Concealing himself amongst the bushes atop
of the cliffs, Number 6 had a clear view of the open mouth of the estuary,
again he would focus his telescope out to sea and along his side of the
estuary. But then something, or rather someone caught his attention down on the
beach below the cliffs, in the graveyard in fact. Edging forward he could
clearly see three figures below amongst the headstones and crosses. Some of
which tilted this way and that, many of which were old, weather beaten and covered
in green algae. Whilst one or two stood white and upright, like two good teeth
amid so many bad and rotten ones, and serving as a reminder to Number 6 that
where there is life, death is always near at hand and never more so than here
in the Village. One of the three figures, a short stout woman with a black pony
tail, wearing glasses and dressed in a white coat, stood a few paces back with
her arms folded, supervising two men, one of whom was a burly set man, in a red
sweater, the other tall and lean wearing a striped jersey, both busy digging a
deep rectangular hole in the sand with their shovels. There was a black body bag
lying on the sand. When they had finished digging, the tall lean set man was
the first to climb out of the hole, then having helped his colleague out, they
together walked a pace or two picked up the black body bag between them, and
carrying it over to the grave, quite unceremoniously dropped it in with a soft
thud, watched by the woman in the white coat. Picking up their shovels, the
thin lean set man paused to rest on his shovel, lowering his head in something
of an attitude akin to a sign of reverence. The burly man did likewise at
seeing his mate even though neither knew the deceased. This to Number 6’s way
of thinking was extraordinary, to have a graveyard on a beach. He imagined the
shifting sands, and the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">sea
washing up its dead on the beach as the two men below busied themselves filling
in the grave as the woman, possibly a doctor, stood looking on as witness to
the scene.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">56</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the grave was back filled the three
figures walked off along the beach into the cove round the headland. Number 6
got to his feet and back to the path he followed atop of the cliffs, trying to
keep the three figures in sight, but their clear footprints in the sand would eventually
lead him to the foot of the cliffs and into the cave beyond, into which the
three figures had trooped, the one behind the other. </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">Number 6 made his way back along the cliff
path, then down onto the beach, through the graveyard and into the cove beyond
the headland, following the three steps of footprints in the sand, yet there
were three sets of footprints coming from the direction of the cove, two were
deeper than the ones returning and he knew why. Coming from the cove towards
the graveyard the two men between them had been carrying the black body bag!
Once in the cove he continued to follow the footprints, through a pool of
water, then back on the beach towards the cliffs. Then there it was, a narrow
mouth of the cave set into the cliffs, narrow enough to get through, but narrow
enough to be missed by the casual observer. For him there was only one way to
go and that was to follow the footprints into the cave, there was nothing to
suggest that the three figures he had seen had turned upon their steps, so
reasoning would suggest that they were still inside, but for what reason? Easing
himself through the narrow mouth of the cave he moved slowly along the wall of
the cave, not knowing what to expect, or what he might find. Mentally he had prepared
himself for anything, yet not for the solid steel door which now barred his way
a mere ten feet inside the cave! He pushed against the steel door in a vein
attempt to open it. In the dim light he searched the cave wall for a secret
switch, but found none. Thwarted this time he swore to himself that he would be
back, and that he would find a way to open this obstruction. Call it what you
like, a sixth sense, anything, but Number 6 felt that something dark and
terrible lay beyond that steel door, and possibly the answer to the quest he
had undertaken since that day in Prague. Slowly and with some reluctance, he
turned and took his leave of the cave making his way slowly back to the Village
and the confines of his cottage.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -43.7pt; text-align: center;">57</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-67526440872331350942022-12-01T07:59:00.000+00:002022-12-01T07:59:56.274+00:00The Prisoner - Village Day Chapter 5<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 18pt; text-align: center;">5</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Hospital</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he
hospital, a large stone structure which portrayed itself to be a castle with
its high turrets and battlements, but which wasn’t really fooling anyone, is
situated in its own grounds and on the outskirts of the Village. Here in ward
‘A’ Number 6 lies unconscious in a hospital bed, at his bedside sits a hospital
visitor, reading ‘Village Weekly’ as she sits watching the patient.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 slowly opens his eyes, and then
suddenly sits bolt upright.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The middle aged woman puts down her
magazine “Oh you’ve woken up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where am I?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re in the hospital” the woman tells
him with a concerned look “lie back and I’ll fetch a nurse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman toddled along and out of the ward
through the frosted glass double doors at the far end. Throwing back the sheets
Number 6 slowly swung his legs out of bed and rose somewhat unsteadily to his
feet. There were eight beds in the ward, five of which were empty, he
approached the nearest patient to his bed, he was bound head to foot in bandages.
The next patient lay upon his back, a saline drip feed, the needle of which was
in the patient’s left wrist. He lay there sweating and muttering something
under his breath, Number 6 tried to catch what it was he was saying, but then
the double doors at the far end of the ward swung open and the figure of a man,
of medium height, greying hair, grey moustache, probably in his early fifties, dressed
in a white coat walked towards him. He wore a badge denoting the number 45, he was
accompanied by a tall thin severe hatchet faced woman in a black uniform.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What
do you think you’re doing? Get back into bed</i>” the Matron said briskly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why, there’s nothing wrong with me”
retorted Number 6.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A nurse hurried to get the patient
back into his bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think I am the better judge of that
don’t you’ said the doctor “thank you Matron, but it’s time for his medical.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
don’t need a medical!”</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The after effects can be pretty nasty” the
doctor informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What if I refuse?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Refuse by all means, but what harm can it
do, just to make sure” the doctor advised him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh alright” Number 6 replied donning his
blue dressing gown, and followed the doctor out of the ward and along the
corridor to the medical examination room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The corridor was busy with nurses leading
patients slowly by the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">arm,
or carrying fresh linen, or bed pans, as orderlies pushed patients lying on
trolleys, and elderly patients along in pushchairs. Number 6 following the
doctor, paused at a single door and peered through the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">round
observation window. In the red lit room beyond the door were two rows of
patients, men and women, all sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall.
Each patient wore goggles, their legs outstretched, their arms folded and a
nursery rhyme was playing ‘Boys and girls come out to play, the moon doth shine
as bright as day’, each of the patients were moving their feet back and forth
in time with the music of the nursery rhyme.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">34</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Group therapy” the doctor explained standing
behind Number 6 “counteracts monomania fixations.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They walk away, the patient and doctor continue
their way along the corridor and round the corner at the far end. On the way
they passed a poor wretch of a soul, an infantile man being led by the arm by
two male nurses. Dressed in a plain white surgical gown, his head having been
shaved and to which the remnants of surgical tape still attached, not because
they had cut him whilst shaving his head, but used to secure electrodes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I must be firm….. I must be firm….. I must
be firm” muttered the infantile man, over and over again as he was led away
towards that room at the far end of the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once inside the examination room Number 6
is offered a medical chair. The doctor busies himself adjusting the overhead
lighting, takes a stethoscope and listens to the patient’s heartbeat, takes his
pulse, blood pressure, checks his eyesight, weight, height and finally patellae
reflexes. The doctor then steps down to the lower level of the examination
room, and stands at the keyboard feeding the medical details into the computer,
standing waiting as he strokes his chin waiting for the results. The computer
whirred and ground as it calculated the results of the medical details, large
magnetic tape reels turn slowly then quicker, a buzz, a grind and final whir
and the computer produces a print out card which is ejected through a slot on
the control panel, a card which contains the medical diagnosis calculated from
the details fed into the computer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor took the print out card and
studied it, he stroked his chin and ran his fingers through his hair as though
he was having some difficulty interpreting the card he held “There you are,
there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you” the doctor announced.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I could have told <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> that!” the patient stated rising out of the chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ll be free to go in the morning, we’ll
get you some new clothes” the doctor informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about my old ones?” Number 6 demanded,
in an open and aggressive manner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They’ve been put in the incinerator” the
doctor informed him coldly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">35<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You won’t be needing them. I’ll get a
nurse to take you back to your ward” the doctor told him opening the frosted
glass door and stepping out into the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 brushed passed the doctor, passed the
nurse, swerved between patients and orderlies until he finally reached that
room at the end of the corridor. The sight which greeted him through the round
observation window was that of the infantile man sitting in a chair, black
restraints holding him now wearing a dark blue turtle neck shirt and dark
blazer with off-white piping. A number of electrodes were attached to his head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I must be firm…. I must be firm….. I must
be firm” the infantile man muttered over and over again as he peered at the
screen before him. The man’s face became contorted; he screamed and screamed
again “Agh, agh agh.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 struggled with the door handle,
but the door was securely locked against him “What is it, what is he seeing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“His worst nightmare, which has been
electrically produced from the depths of his subconscious” the doctor
explained.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The following morning Number 6 was allowed
to leave the hospital, having been given a new suit of clothes, either that or
they were the old clothes of that patient last night, of piped blazer, navy
blue turtle neck jersey, fawn coloured trousers, a pair of deck shoes, straw boater
and black and white striped umbrella. He caught a glimpse of his reflection,
and he looked as though he was back in the sixth form at his old school, well
apart from the white badge pinned to his left lapel, the black penny farthing
together with the red numeral 6. It was a male nurse in a white coat and
sporting a goatee beard who escorted Number 6 from the hospital. Supplying him
with his card of identity, health and welfare card, credit card, employment
card and a free ride home, indicating the waiting taxi which stood on the
gravelled forecourt. The orderly then swiftly turned his attention to an in
coming patient, aboard a Red Cross trailer towed by a Mini Moke taxi. Number 6
placed the cards he’d been given in his blazer pocket together with the penny
farthing badge which he removed from his lapel, removed his straw boater and
climbed aboard the taxi, sitting beside the female driver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver quickly engaged first gear then
drove off across the gravelled forecourt and along the long winding rhododendron
lined road back towards the village, through the first and then a second </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">entrance
arch, before finally coming to a stop at the stone steps a little way passed the
Green Dome. Number 6 climbed out of the taxi leaving both his umbrella and
straw boater on the back seat.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sir, you forgot……”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Never did like them, keep them as a memento of this occasion” quipped Number
6, and he climbed the steps on his way back home to his cottage of ‘6 private.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
taxi driver put the umbrella and straw boater onto the seat </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">beside
her, thinking to hand them both into lost property! Engaging first gear, releasing
the handbrake the taxi sped off, the driver in search of the next fare.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">36</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Number 2 was sitting in his black spherical
chair behind his desk, watching Number 6 take his free ride home, watched him
climb the steps, walk the path, enter his cottage, and now sat watching him
make himself a refreshing cup of tea, more than that, tea and a ham and cheese
sandwich.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the over large red curved
telephone began to bleep, he picked it up “Number 2 here….. yes sir he had his
medical yesterday…… oh yes sir, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him……… The
Village Day celebrations?............ preparations are going according to plan
and will be ready on time, it should prove to be quite a spectacle, a costume
parade, fancy dress, Punch & Judy, Bongo Bolero and his jumping Jugglers, Tombola,
toffee apples and candy floss stalls, coconut shy, not forgetting of course the
ceremony of the unveiling of the statue, the founder of the Village………… oh yes
sir, completed and quite safe I assure you” said Number 2 with a great deal of
pride with more than just a touch of excitement “perhaps we’ll be seeing you
there sir……. no of course, I quite understand, I wish you could be there too!”
Number 2 was not at all surprised, it was after all merely a token question……….
“Well thank you sir, I’m sure you will.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 was at last free to put the phone
down, anyone would think he couldn’t be trusted to organise the simplest
Village Day celebrations! “Yes, what is it now?” asked Number 2 turning his
attention to the waiting supervisor, a tall young man, with well groomed black
hair, dressed in plain single breasted blazer, olive green polo neck jersey and
grey trousers, the number of his Penny Farthing badge being 25.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You seem very pleased with yourself” the young
supervisor remarked “like the cat that got the cream in fact!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well why not, if things keep going the way
they are I might even be given a second term of office” retorted Number 2 with
a smile “but enough of your insolence, what do you want?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
have the reports you were asking about” said the supervisor taking the files
from under his arm and dumping them unceremoniously upon the desk “are you sure
of Number Six?” asked the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you mean?” asked Number 2 emerging
from behind his desk with an open file in his hand and scanned it through black
rimmed spectacles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In allowing Number 6 so much rope, it
could be dangerous, if he should discover….” began the supervisor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well he won’t” retorted Number 2 with an
air of confidence “give Number Six enough rope and he’ll have hung himself long
before he discovers anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well our mutual friend was removed from
hospital, it didn’t go as </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">well
as planned….” the supervisor began.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">37</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Number 2 looked at him through his spectacles “Tell me something I don’t
know, how is the patient now, I trust the medical team have </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">been
able to stabilise his condition?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Supervisor shot his superior a glance
of annoyance “Yes Number Two, the doctor has him safely ensconced in the black
room.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 had returned to his cottage to
find a maid busy with a feather duster in the lounge, not that the room needed
dusting, because it clearly didn’t having been done just the day before and the
maid knew this. The maid was a bright young thing, her long red hair done up in
a ponytail. The blue dress with white lace apron, topped off with a white
sailor’s hat, was he thought, quite fetching. Her Penny Farthing badge denoted
the Number 9.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you doing here?” asked Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m your personal maid, I’m here to look
after you” offered the maid with a warm welcoming smile “the Labour Exchange
sent me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you a nurse as well then?” Number 6
asked her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid looked startled by this question
“N....no.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do I look as though I need looking after?”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> barked Number 6 angrily “I’m
not ready for the old people’s home just yet!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s not what I meant, it’s just that
I’m your personal maid and……”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And I don’t need a maid, you can get out!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid stood there fingering her feather
duster “Why do you have to be so mean, I’m only doing my job.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Doing what you’re told more like” retorted
Number 6 “why are you trying to be so friendly, you don’t know me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You never know when you might be in need
of a friend” the maid told him, lifting her eyes to his.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He crossed the room to his desk and from
the top drawer he took a photograph and turning back to the maid “And what kind
of friend might that be?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just a friend” smiled the maid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 held up the photograph “Tell me,
were you a friend to him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid looked at the photograph “He’s
almost as handsome as you are; in fact he has a look of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Some would have it that I look a lot like
him, have you seen this man here in this…… Village, perhaps you offered him the
same personal maid service?” Number 6 asked her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, I haven’t seen him, but then I haven’t
been here long, I don’t <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">get
to meet everyone” the maid informed him, lowering her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re sure, or is it that you only
remember those to whom you were assigned?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s not like that, anyway I’d have
remembered.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps you have just conveniently
forgotten!” he replied accusingly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">38<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t think that you can trust me”
said the maid returning to her dusting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t have to do that” he said referring
to the dusting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Its part of my duties” she said smiling<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Even if it doesn’t need doing?” he snapped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It will tomorrow, if not today” smiled the
maid in her flighty manner and flicking away non existing dust.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Keeping an eye on me also part of your
duties is it, you’ve been assigned to me?” he queried brusquely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I haven’t been assigned to anyone, I am
simply doing as I was instructed” returned the maid dusting a bronze statuette
of a soldier “if you are dissatisfied with the service provided……..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Instructions from Number Two no doubt” he grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“From the Labour Exchange” replied the maid
assured him, setting the statuette down on the coffee table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t bother to come back tomorrow, you’ll
not be needed!” snapped Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid looked shocked, then angrily she
whipped round her feather duster and without further words stormed out of the
cottage, through the already opening door.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later that day, for a late lunch, Number 6
made himself a meal of a cheese omelette and non alcoholic red wine, to the
music of Dvorak’s Slavonic Dance playing through the black speaker. At first
the music was a welcome thing, at the very least it broke the otherwise silence
of the cottage. Then there came an announcement, a cheery female voice informing
of the weather forecast “This afternoon will continue fine and dry, but with
the possibility of showers later on in the evening. Ice cream is still on sale,
the flavour of the day is strawberry, and now to return you to music.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did Number 6 care, as Mozart’s Requiem
played, about the weather or what the ice cream flavour of the day is, trivial
rubbish! Even the music, after a time, began to play on his nerves and he stood
staring at the black speaker wondering what he could do about it. There was no
on/off switch that was plain as he turned it round in his hands. Then lifting
it above his head he had the idea of putting it in the refrigerator, thus
soundproofing himself and his cottage against <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">the
continuous music, “Cleverly done” he thought to himself “I bet no-one has
thought of doing that before!” And so it was, feeling pleased with himself with
his small victory, that he donned his piped blazer and went out into the Village,
in order to explore this strange new world of his.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The brass band was playing the William Tell
Overture; such concerts were a regular afternoon event and were well attended
by citizens young and old alike. Citizens who all wore brightly coloured
clothes, colourful striped capes with open striped umbrellas. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">39</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> The café </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">was
doing a marvellous trade, citizens sitting at the outdoor tables enjoying the
warm afternoon sunshine, and just down the road a vendor was busy serving ice
cream from his kiosk to his eager </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">customers,
each customer in turn asking for the flavour of the day.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I…Ice Cream n…Number Six?” asked Number 99
politely and with scoop in hand “the flavour o..of the day i..is straw..b..berry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 shook his head and walked on by,
leaving number 99 to serve a stout woman.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was carrying on with his
exploratory stroll around the Village. He gave the taxi rank a wide berth, his
attention being attracted by the red and blue stagecoach and then by the ‘Free
Information Board’, which was an electronic Map of Your Village, just push a
button to find out. He studied both the map and the bank of black buttons, each
with a white numeral. Curiously there were two number 6’s, plus a 6h, and no
number 7, not even two digit numbers which would contain the digit 7. He
decided to press the number 6, and looking at the map he saw the light
indicating his cottage. Pressing the second number 6 button brought about no
such response on the map, “curious” he thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking on, there was the candy striped
canopied telephone booth ‘Information’ lift and press the sign read, and then
turning a corner and further down the street the ‘Tally Ho’ vendor, the Tally
Ho being the Village news paper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Read all about it” shouted the newspaper
vendor “Number Two set for second term of office, read all about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stood looking at the strange
wooden contraption, with its candy striped canopy and two white rollers which
turned via the operation of a handle by the vendor Number 113b. This then was
the dispensing operation, The Tally Ho newspaper was torn from the bottom
roller and handed to the customer. This strange device reminded him of
something similar, a mangle used by his mother <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">years
ago for the operation of wringing clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That will be two credit units sir” said
the newspaper vendor standing there in his pink piped blazer and straw boater.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 handed over his credit card to
pay. Duly clipped and returned to him, he placed the credit card in the breast
pocket of his blazer, and read the headline ‘No 2 Set For Further Term.’ A two
tone horn sounded behind Number 6 and he stepped smartly to the side of the
road in order let the taxi pass. There was a picture of Number 2 accompanied by
an article about him, praising him for his dedication to his administrative
details. Yet despite the headline, reading between the lines of the article there
seemed to be a question mark hanging over this Chief Administrator’s future. But
what was such Village politics to him, nothing, that’s what! Rolling up the
newspaper, perhaps for later scrutiny he continued upon his stroll round the Village.
Eventually he walked passed the Town Hall and down the road to the Old People’s
Home, where people sat at tables set out upon the lawn enjoying afternoon tea.
As indeed did two tall, gaunt </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">looking
undertakers as they watched the figure of Number 6 cross the lawn and descend
the steps at the balustrade, down onto the quayside.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">40</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a peculiar looking yacht or ketch
at the quayside, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why not take her out?” suggested a voice
from behind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 turned to see an elderly gentleman
dressed in a black and red jersey, blue flannel trousers, deck shoes and a
British Naval officer’s cap “I’m sorry?” Number 6 replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Admiral stepped forward, his cap badge
covered by the white penny farthing badge, with the Number 66 “Got lovely lines
hasn’t she?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 decided to humour the old
gentleman “Yes, indeed Admiral.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s good in any weather, sailed her many
a time” the Admiral announced with pride, and went aboard humming “what shall
we do with the drunken sailor, what shall we do with the drunken sailor, early
in the morning” to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving the Old People’s Home Number 6 took
the path leading towards a white square tower. At the father end a colourful
statue of Lord Admiral Nelson, as he stood in a haughty manner, the French
Tricolour draped over his arm, as if fresh from a victory over the French. Steps
lead up to the squat square tower, and the plain wooden door of the tower which
was solidly locked. Beyond, through a covered walkway was a white cottage,
white as the tower had been, and beyond the path lead along the rocks of the
quay, then forked, either down onto the beach or up into the woods.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were people down on the beach, along
with red and white, blue and white beach tents. A nearby kiosk had everything
for the beach. Girls in swimsuits and bikinis, men in swimming trunks played
beach ball, while others sat sunning themselves in deckchairs, and some paddled
in the pools of water which had been left behind by the out going tide. Everyone
was enjoying themselves, even the Admiral and his flag officer who were messing
about with plastic boats in the water. To the casual observer it seemed just
like it would be at any seaside holiday resort. Number 6 sat himself down upon
some rocks looking out across the great expanse of open sand, wondering what
lay out there. For he could clearly see that the Village was actually set on an
estuary, in the middle of which was a small island, and the far side of the
estuary seemed merely a short walk away and he could see nothing from stopping
him from…….. it was then he recalled the Guardian to mind. Scanning the far
side of the estuary he could clearly see the green hills beyond and wondered
what lay beyond them? He turned his attention to the small island shading his
eyes against the glare of the sun. From what he could see the island was green pasture,
and deserted, but with patterns of dry stone walls, and there seemed to be the
ruins of a small house indicating past occupanc</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">y of long ago. Turning he gave
the island a final glance and went on his way, back towards the Village where
he </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">called
in at the cafe. Sitting at one of the outdoor tables he ordered coffee from an
elderly waiter and unfolded his copy of The Tally Ho and began to make a study
of the single page broadsheet. There was a chess problem at the bottom of the
page, White to play. This position is a variation from the tenth game of a
match between Numbers 157 and 77. How does white finish off? He was giving the
chess problem some considerable thought as the waiter brought his coffee on a
tray and set the cup and saucer, along with cream and sugar down on the table
before the customer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">41</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That will be two units if you please sir.”
said the waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And if I don’t please?” quipped Number 6.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I beg your pardon sir?” replied the
waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t worry about it” he said taking his
credit card from the breast pocket of his blazer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter took the offered card and
clipping it asked “Don’t worry about what sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 examined his credit card before
slipping it back into his blazer pocket “How quaint, they used to clip ration
cards in the exact same way during and after the war.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ration cards sir?” asked the waiter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, you remember ration cards…… tell me
just how long have you been here in this Village?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter glanced about him somewhat
furtively “You must not do that sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do what?” asked Number 6, adding three
lumps of sugar to his coffee and stirring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Enquire, someone may be listening” replied
the waiter glancing about him “you can’t be too careful you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 beckoned the waiter closer “Someone
is listening.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter became startled at this, his
eyes glancing at the customers at the tables “Who sir, who is listening?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am!” Number 6 said taking the photograph
from his inside pocket and showing it to the waiter “have you seen this man?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter took the photograph and studied
it carefully “Yes I remember him, he’s Number Six, or was.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked astounded “Number Six? But
that’s my number!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Really? He would often call here for tea,
just like you, he has the look of you or should that be the other way around?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes that’s as maybe, but when did you last
see him, when did he last call at the café?” Number 6 persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter took one last look at the photograph
and handed it back “You shouldn’t ask questions!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 ignored the waiter’s suggestion “Will
he be here this afternoon, if so I’ll wait for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh I shouldn’t think so, he hasn’t been to
the café not for some time he hasn’t” the waiter informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He must have a cottage, I don’t suppose
you know which one?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waiter thought for a moment “No sir,
but I remember he was like you."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">42<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes you’ve said that already.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No
sir, what I mean is, like you, always asking questions, refusing to wear his
number.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was about to push the waiter for
more information, but the waiter picked up the tray and turning away
disappeared inside the café, leaving him sitting at his table sipping his
coffee.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was just sufficient time that
afternoon to make attending the regular brass band concert worthwhile. Number
6 took the vacant seat next to a middle aged woman wearing a blue trilby hat,
on the lawn close to the bandstand. The woman’s eyes were closed, either
through sleep or she was in fact concentrating upon Dvorak’s Carnival overture
being played, he wasn’t sure which. He glanced down between him and the woman,
and there upon the grass was an open carpet bag. He could see coloured wool and
a pair of knitting needles, a paperback book, a cheese roll and a pair of
tortoiseshell rimmed spectacles. Accidentally on purpose Number 6 dropped his
newspaper, and reaching down to pick it up, he allowed his hand to stray into
the carpet bag. And so with newspaper and spectacles in hand, he rose to his
feet and returned to his cottage of 6 Private, making one call along the way.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A what?” asked a somewhat bemused Number 2
into the telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A roll of masking tape” the shopkeeper
replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And is that all?” asked Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not quite sir, he wanted to know if I sold
cardboard tubes” the shopkeeper said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Cardboard tubes, what would Number Six
want with cardboard tubes?” Number 2 asked, unable as he was to see the
reasoning for this sudden and somewhat trivial report.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve really no idea sir” the
shopkeeper replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you reported this to me because………?” Number
2 enquired.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well one of your predecessors always wanted
any unusual activity by Number Six to be reported directly to him” the
shopkeeper explained “I thought you would want to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 couldn’t believe it, here he was,
trying to make a good impression upon his masters,. and now this twerp with a
needless report on Number 6’s shopping activities. “Well I don’t. Any such
further reports direct them to the appropriate quarter understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two” replied the shopkeeper,
hurt and down in the mouth he replaced the black receiver on the phone.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 meanwhile had made his way back to
his cottage and had already set himself to work. He had taken a toilet roll
from the bathroom and a roll of kitchen paper and unravelled them both, then taking
the inner cardboard tube he sat them both down upon </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">coffee
table next to the roll of masking tape, scissors, and the two pairs of
spectacles. Breaking both pairs of spectacles he selected a </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">round
lens from each pair and checked them for size against the cardboard tubes,
their roundness having proved to be </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">an
almost perfect fit, which was lucky. Then having polished the lenses, set them
to one side whilst he prepared the cardboard tubes themselves, the one fitting
snugly into the other and with a smooth sliding movement. At each end
strengthening strips were added, along with the inserted glass lenses, all of
which were held securely together with masking tape.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">43</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s he up to?” asked Number 86, who was
strangely absorbed by what she was watching on the wall screen in the Control
Room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I did wonder when I saw him unravelling
the toilet roll and kitchen paper” replied the supervisor. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where did he get the two pairs of
spectacles?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“One pair was reported lost, the
other missing, perhaps stolen” said the supervisor continuing to watch the
screen “You know I do believe he’s making himself a telescope” “he’s most
inventive, don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“That’s ridiculous” sneered Number 86 “It’ll never work.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I wouldn’t be so quick to put Number Six
down if I were you. If he thought it wouldn’t work, he wouldn’t be doing it” said
the supervisor.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Shouldn’t we stop him, or at least
report this to Number Two?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He doesn’t want trivial matters
concerning Number Six to be reported directly to him, but to the appropriate
quarter.” <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What proper quarter?” asked 86, an attractive
middle aged woman, with long brunette hair, she wore a dark green jersey, and
dark coloured slacks.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Us!” replied the supervisor with a
wry smile.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>86 stood by the side of the
Supervisor, a tall man wearing a dark blue double-breasted blazer, his black
hair had a receding hairline, “Wherever would he have gotten such an idea for a
homemade telescope in the first place?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly the yellow ‘L’ shaped
telephone on the control panel began to bleep, the supervisor picked it up
“Supervisor here…..yes sir she is” he handed the telephone to Number 86.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>86 took a gulp and spoke into the
telephone “Yes sir.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I want to see you in my office in
five minutes, we have things to discuss.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes sir, straight away.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What were you doing in the Control Room
Eighty-six?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Watching Number Six… he was making a
homemade telescope” she reported.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Colditz!” Number 2 said suddenly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry sir?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A German prisoner of war camp <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Colditz</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Castle</st1:placetype></st1:place> during the second </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">World
War. One of the British prisoner’s made such a telescope to spy on the woman in
nearby apartments. Our friend Number Six is very ingenious, not to mention
tenacious.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">44</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sounds to me that you are in admiration of
him” was Number 86’s observation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 shot 86 a disarming glance “I
admire his ingenuity, such a man of his calibre can be put to good use here, or
elsewhere.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“One day you’ll let him go too far, then
where will you be?” asked 86 sternly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let me worry about that, for now we’ll
leave Number Six to it. He’s doing no harm for the time being. Now tell me, how
are the preparations coming along for the Village Day celebrations?” Number 2
asked changing the subject.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“All the costumes are nearly ready and many
have already been packed for sending out to the citizens, or for collection” 86
reported “the Recreation Hall is all decorated with bunting, balloons and
banners. The special placards you asked for are having the finishing touches
made to them and the ‘Special’ invitations to the Ball are all ready to be
delivered. The ‘Punch and Judy’ man has a special variation on the theme.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A variation?” Number 2 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So I am informed, but whatever the
variation, Number Twelve is keeping it very close to his chest. Not so Bongo
Bolero and his Jumping Jugglers, I’ve seen them rehearsing their act, they have
been at it for days.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And the special Village Day statue?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean the bust” said 86 correcting Number
2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bust, it was supposed to have been a
statue!” Number 2 replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Committee, for reasons of their own,
decided that a bust would be more in keeping with the Village, a bust of the
subject set upon a plinth” replied 86 “it’s almost finished and being kept well
under wraps, and the sculptor has been sworn to secrecy upon the sculpture’s
identity. He’s done a very good job, and the bust is a perfect likeness”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I should think it is a perfect likeness,
otherwise there wouldn’t be much point, would there?” Number 2 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No Number Two” retorted 86 “whilst were on
the subject, what about Number Six?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Leave him to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s bound to be a huge shock for him,
don’t you think?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Shock, yes I suppose it will be” he
replied with a wry smile. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Aren’t you afraid that such a sudden shock
could easily turn Number Six?” 86 suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh I do hope so, that would save me an enormous
amount of time and effort” grinned Number 2, eager with the thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No I mean turn him mentally, you could
lose him” said 86 who was beginning to show signs of concern for the subject.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I had no idea you were also a psychiatrist
Eight-Six!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">45<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know I’m not.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well then. Have you your costume?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes Number Two, Popsey the clown” 86
replied, looking impressed<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">with
the costume or the title.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah yes, Popsey” smirked Number 2 “and you
will be doing ….. what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mingling, laughing, dancing and generally
entertaining the madding crowd. This way I shall be able to keep close to the
action, so to speak” 86 explained “how is your speech coming along?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very well, you will no doubt be surprised
to learn, I intend to keep it brief …….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sure that will please everyone” quipped
86 turning to take her leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“….. and to the point” completed Number 2,
although the truth of the matter was that he had not been instructed to make
any kind of a speech, which puzzled him somewhat, although it was not unusual
for a Top-Hat to officiate at such proceedings.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 86 dressed in blue trilby hat
and colourful striped cape turned on her heel and walked smartly across the
floor and up the ramp towards the pair of opening steel doors.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That evening in ‘6 Private’ Number 6 had completed
the construction of the single draw telescope and was now standing at the
window testing it’s ability to bring any subject closer to him, this by
focusing on a point through the window. Pleased with his handy work he placed
the telescope in the bottom drawer of his desk, then pulling a hair from his
head, licked it and carefully placed it across the top of the drawer, this just
as the French door opened and a maid entered the cottage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spun round “Yes, what do you want?” he
snapped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The maid was not the least bit perturbed by
Number 6’s attitude, and calmly said “I’ve come to make you your night cap
sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Night cap?” queried Number 6 quietly.46</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">“Yes sir” said the maid on her way through
to the kitchen “a night cap of hot chocolate will help you asleep.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Very well” he said quietly, seeing that
this was simply that and nothing more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then from the black speaker an announcement
from the familiar cheery female voice, but in a quieter and soothing tone said
“Curfew time, eight minutes to curfew.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 took off his piped blazer and hung
it on the back of a chair, in the bedroom he undressed, donned his pyjamas and
dressing gown and went into the bathroom. By the time he emerged again the maid
had made his night cap and had placed it upon the bedside table.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Goodnight sir” the maid said, greeting him
on the landing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Goodnight” retorted Number 6, and he went
downstairs to see that </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">the
maid had actually gone. She had and what’s more the French door was soundly
locked against him, as were the ground floor windows.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">46</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally retiring upstairs for the night,
there once again came the quiet, soothing tones of the female voice over the
speaker “Allow us to lull you to sleep with a lullaby, good night everyone,
sleep well.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The soft gentle tones of the lullaby drifted
throughout the cottage, Number 6 picked up the cup and saucer from the bedside
table and sitting on the edge of the bed sniffed the hot chocolate, as he began
to drink he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that happened at night time,
here in the Village. But that is all he could do and not for very long, because
suddenly he began to feel very tired. He took off his dressing gown, laid it
upon the bed and climbed in. It was not long before the combination of the
night cap and the lullaby began to have its full effect as he drifted off into
a most troubled sleep, tossing this way then that, grunting and sometimes
shouting out in his sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometime during the night Number 6 sat bolt
upright, his eyes wide open, sweat pouring from his brow. The cream telephone
by his bed began to bleep, he picked up the receiver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not sleeping well Number Six, is there
anything I can get you?” asked a kindly voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you care?” he snapped into the
mouthpiece.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A doctor could be sent round, I’m sure he
has something to help you sleep” the kindly voice assured him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes I bet he has” he snapped before
slamming down the receiver. He fell back in the bed, his head on the pillow as
sleep once again began to overtake him with the aid of the pulsator hidden in
the overhead light which descended over the face of Number 6, deepening his
sleep, helping to send him back to the troubled sleep and the nightmare from
which he had awoken.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -52.7pt; text-align: center;">47</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-80420773274964713752022-11-28T07:05:00.000+00:002022-11-28T07:05:44.859+00:00Village Day - Chapter 4<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">4<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Protection and
Escape</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he
Prisoner” spun round as the door closed behind him with a familiar electronic
hum and a solid click. The foyer was small but adequate, a round quarter table
with a vase of flowers set upon it. On the walls were paintings of sailing ships,
and to his immediate right a large fire place. A diminutive butler, in black
tails, waistcoat, white shirt and black bow tie and black gloves, had been
standing waiting for the visitor, he bowed politely and led the visitor the
short distance to a pair of French doors, on either side a pair of matching burgundy
leather winged armchairs. The butler opened the doors, showing the way up a
short ramp to a pair of solid looking steel doors, which suddenly opened into a
domed chamber beyond. The butler stood in the opening and holding his arm out
ushered the visitor into the chamber, who paused in the doorway for a moment as
he stared into the circular chamber, at the curved desk and at the figure
sitting in the black spherical chair behind that desk. Taking in the purple
circular wall and the large wall screen to the left of the door, he was greeted
by the dark curly haired bespectacled man who now looked up from the file he
had been reading.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah there you are my dear fellow, do not
hesitate, come in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The butler stepped forward, strode down the
ramp and attended to the breakfast trolley, setting out knives and forks,
plates, cups and saucers upon a table which had risen up through a hole in the
floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Prisoner” then slowly and tentatively
walked down the ramp spinning round sharply as the pair of steel doors slid
shut with a solid clang.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I assure you there’s absolutely nothing to
be nervous about, but I can understand your apprehension at being here, and I
suppose they have taken a bit of a liberty. But we are all friends here as you
will soon come to realise” Number 2 assured his visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Friends I don’t know you” the Prisoner
replied with suspicion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 observed his butler having
completing the setting out the breakfast things “You’ll feel better after
you’ve eaten, what would you like, full English, or continental, pancakes
perhaps. Buttered toast and marmalade with tea or coffee?” Number 2 offered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just coffee’ the Prisoner replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 nodded and the butler filled two
cups from the silver coffee pot, added milk and sugar to one, and the other
plain black which he offered it to his master’s visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner took the cup and stared into
the strong black coffee, while the butler held out the second cup of coffee on
a tray to his master Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank you that will be all” Number 2 told his
manservant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The butler bowed and pushing the breakfast
trolley up the ramp took his leave through the opening steel doors, which
closed behind <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">him
leaving Number 2 alone with his visitor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">27<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s no need to be suspicious.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have every need!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I should think you’re feeling a
little disorientated” said Number 2 stirring his coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know I am. What’s this all about?” the
Prisoner demanded to know.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please help do yourself to breakfast, I
think one should never begin the day on an empty stomach, besides my butler has
gone to so much trouble in preparing your favourite for you” offered Number 2.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner cup in hand walked slowly over
to the round table, glanced at the man sitting behind the desk and lifting the
cover off the dish found a full English bacon, eggs, sausage, baked beans,
grilled tomato, and fried bread. For some reason Number 2 found this amusing
and smiled quietly to himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner replaced the cover helping
himself to three lumps of sugar from the small silver bowl, then turning back
to face the man behind the desk, slowly stirring, drank his coffee, before
putting the empty cup and saucer down upon the desk. Number 2 said nothing, he
simply observed the man from the comfort of his chair, through his black rimmed
spectacles. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now that the pleasantries are over,
perhaps you could answer me a couple of questions?” the Prisoner asked politely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps, but I can’t promise” Number 2
replied between sips of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who are you…. where am I…. and why was I
brought here?” the Prisoner demanded aggressively.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s three questions” returned Number 2
putting his cup down and holding up three fingers of his right hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, and if you can’t answer them, I’ll
find someone who can!” the Prisoner barked across the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am in charge, I am Number Two” the man
behind the desk said, tapping the white penny farthing badge upon the left lapel
of his plain black blazer, indicating the red numeral 2 with an index finger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Get Number One!” the Prisoner growled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve told you, I’m in charge.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner showed Number 2 nothing but
contempt and began to circle round the chamber, pausing just long enough to examine
the free standing Penny Farthing bicycle strangely fitted with two stabilising
wheels either side of the farthing wheel. There was also a tall lava lamp
standing on the floor, but this proved to be two, the one on top of the other,
blue green in colour, the hot wax rising up and floating down in unending
repetition. And the wall screen which depicted the same lavonic movement as inside
the lava lamp, but on a much larger scale.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 remained silent, but kept pace with
the Prisoner, revolving his chair as his visitor walked round him and his desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And
this place?” asked the Prisoner staring at the large wall screen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">28<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is the Village, to be perfectly honest I’m
surprised they bothered to send you here, you’re not at all important to us or
anyone else for that matter” Number 2 informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then why am I here?” asked the Prisoner
turning away from the screen and resuming his pacing of the chamber.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t sound so surprised, you’ve been asking
people some very embarrassing questions” Number 2 informed him finishing his
coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner stopped his pacing, crossed
the floor and stared Number 2 directly in the face “What people?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh please, don’t play dumb with me, it
doesn’t suit you. We know all about you” Number 2 told him opening the file
“especially of your recent activities, since leaving…… where was it now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you know, you don’t need me to tell
you, do you?” the Prisoner said somewhat sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 looked at the page in the file and
at the same time pressing a button on the control panel of his desk “Oh yes…… <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city>!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instantly the image on the wall screen
changed, from lava lamp to a hotel room, more than that, an image of a hotel
room with the Prisoner lying on a bed with the telephone receiver in his hand. Then
the image changed again, to the Prisoner standing by the window looking out of
his hotel room and into the street below. Then again the image changed, this
time the man was holding a hand gun, a revolver, then busy packing a suitcase,
then dashing for the door and out through the door, the screen went black.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You were in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city> for one thing, or should I say one
person….. Karl Kopec. But he had proved to be most elusive, you waited and waited,
but he never turned up. Perhaps you were fed some duff information, or on the
other hand, he might have been too clever even for you. And such an important
man, well he was up until that telephone call, how so quickly he became
forgotten.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner was stunned by what he had been
watching on the screen, and turned to face Number 2 in disbelief, Number 2 simply
sat back in the comfort of his chair, smirking back at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The large wall screen returned to life, the
Prisoner seen on screen handing over his passport to a customs officer and
again in a series of shots taken during his time in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> “Ah, here you are arriving at <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> airport. And again
checking in at your hotel, you made a telephone call, you went out…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The screen carried on with the slide show,
arriving in Buckingham <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Place,
driving off in the Lotus Seven, being followed through London, the meeting with
Sir Charles, then later the meeting with his daughter Janet in Regents Park.
The freedom of the open road…….. then smash and the screen went blank.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You see, there is nothing we don’t know
about you old boy, what you were doing in Prague, why you returned to London so
abruptly….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner glared at the man in the chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">29<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s alright old boy there’s no need for
you to say anything else, you have simply been brought here for you own good,
you need protection!” Number 2 offered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner stormed forward and stared at
Number 2 still sat in his chair “Protection, protection from who, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>?” he shouted angrily.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 remained calm and composed as was his
usual demeanour, always cool and calculating “From yourself my dear fellow!
Once you settle down you’ll find that life here can be quite pleasant.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner was growing quite agitated and
began to pace up and down “Supposing I don’t want to……. settle down?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh you will my dear fellow, given time.
The Village is for life, you have no choice, and there is no escape. Think
about it Number Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What did you call me?” snorted the Prisoner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Number Six, for official purposes everyone
has a number, yours is Number Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am not a number, I am a person” the Prisoner
responded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 2 leaned forward in his chair and
lowered his glasses “You’ve been here before?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prisoner looked about him and then at
the man sitting in the chair “Here, what should I do here? I assure you that I
was never here in my life.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then I must have been thinking of someone
else…… good day Number Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The interview over, the pair of steel doors
opened and Number 6 departed up the ramp and out through the foyer. Number 2
sat back in the warm comfort of his chair, yet a chill ran up his spine as he
thought for a moment, it was as though someone had walked over <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">his
grave. He must have been thinking of someone else…… “Good day Number Six,” the
words echoing and re-echoing as they disturbed a not so distant memory.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 stormed out of Number 2’s office,
the steel doors closing behind him. The butler bowed as he swept passed him through
the foyer, out through the door and portico, onto the balcony into the bright
morning sunshine of the Village.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No escape, well we’ll see about that” he
thought as he stood at the balustrade.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During
his interview with Number 2 the Village itself had come to life, people were
everywhere and everyone was dressed in brightly coloured clothes, piped
blazers, straw boaters and some citizens wore colourful striped capes or
carried colourful striped umbrellas. There was, Number 6 found admitting to
himself, a holiday camp atmosphere about the place. He stormed down the steps
of the Green Dome and in the road a cyclist pedalled passed on her bicycle,
ringing her bell either in warning to pedestrians, or greeting to him. It was
an ordinary looking bicycle, but with the added protection of a candy </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">coloured
canopy which gave it a touch of the unusual. And then a well dressed gentleman
in deerstalker hat, tweed dog coat and plus sixes walked passed pushing a
squeaking Penny Farthing bicycle.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">30</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An open topped taxi then pulled up sharply
“Where to sir?” the oriental girl asked with a cheery smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked at the young girl, who
couldn’t be more than in her mid twenties, and wondered what a girl like her
was doing here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 climbed into the front passenger
seat “Take me to the nearest town.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I couldn’t do that, we’re only the local
service” the taxi driver informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Local you say, then you’ll know the way
out of here!” quipped Number 6, with a determined look in his eye.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
taxi drove forward down the street, taking the scenic route around The Village.
Number 6 sat looking out at the Village as the taxi wound it’s way along the
roads and streets which he himself had driven earlier that morning, and they
were getting precisely nowhere!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look can you tell me if we’re ever going
to leave the confines of this place?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl simply smiled at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is a strange job for a girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Being a taxi driver you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes. I suppose you get all kinds of fares”
Number 6 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi continued on its journey, passed
the café, round the corner passed the ice cream parlour and down the hill.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m kept busy if that’s what you mean” the
girl replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tell me, have you ever given a fare to a
man looking similar to me, about six feet tall, light brown hair, blue eyes and
possibly wearing a<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">suit
similar to mine?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi driver looked at her fare “Dressed
like you, you mean a new arrival?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“New arrival?” Number 6 queried.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well no one dresses like that here in the
Village, so you must be new here” the girl explained.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well have you seen anyone looking like
me?” he persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi sped passed the Town Hall sounding
its two tone horn, warning pedestrians of its approach.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Looking for this man are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I had started out doing so, now I’m
beginning to think that my search has led me here, or seen me brought here. So
I wondered if the same had happened to the man I’m looking for, and perhaps you
had seen someone of that description that’s all” he explained.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi reached the bottom of the hill and
turned round for the journey back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can’t expect me to remember everyone
sir” the taxi driver told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The taxi took the right fork and passed the
pink pavilion, from which the Village brass band were emerging playing the
Radetski </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">March.
The taxi slowed for the procession to pass as the brass band slowly made its
way towards the lawn and the bandstand beyond. Then moving on, the taxi went up
the cobbled street, turning right at the top and into the cobbled square, a
short distance from where Number 6 had begun his ride.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">31</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are we doing here?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can take you anywhere you like;
just as long as you arrive back where you started” she told him “I did tell you
we’re only the local service!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 climbed out of the taxi in
frustration, well he might have known really.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The fare is two units” the taxi driver
told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Units?” Number 6 queried.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Credit units, never mind pay me next time,
be seeing you” the girl saluted with thumb and index finger of her left hand,
and then drove off looking for her next fare.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 was left standing in the cobbled
square wondering what his next move should be, when a man walked passed holding
up an open umbrella.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You expect rain?” Number 6 asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Showers later!” the man replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 6 looked up into the clear blue sky,
showers later, ridiculous! Then turning towards the General Stores he found it
closed. He stood there thinking for a moment, then stormed off down the road,
bumping into a couple of pedestrians as he went. Flanking his left was a stone
wall and the top of the bandstand, on his right a </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">rocky
tor rose high above him. The road turned to the left, on the opposite side was
a pair of wrought iron gates, through them the garden of a very impressive pink
and white mansion, a miniature Chatsworth one might almost say. To his
immediate right were stone steps leading upwards, this for the prisoner was
enough, he quickly scrambled up the steps, through an archway and into the
gravelled clearing at the back of a set of terraced cottages, beyond which lay
the woods. Crossing the gravelled clearing the prisoner ran into the woods and
along the twisting, winding path. Now and again he would pause and glance over
his shoulder, and listened, just in case he had been seen and was being
followed. He need not have worried, there was no one behind him and no sound of
any such pursuers, yet he was under close surveillance, although he did not know
it. Leaving the path, Number 6 forced his way through undergrowth and bushes
alike, and from which he was about to emerge, but ducked back just in time as a
taxi passed by along the road. Then turning another way he quickly ran through
two lines of stone busts mounted on tall stone plinths, Voltaire, Darwin,
Archimedes, Socrates, Brunell and Gariboldi. The bust of Voltaire began to turn
upon its plinth and in the direction of the escaping prisoner. For mounted in
Voltaire’s left </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">eye,
was an electronic surveillance camera.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Observing the man to be some distance away
from the Village, it </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">was the supervisor in the
control room who advised Number 2 of the Prisoner’s approach to the ‘Outer
Zone’, and it was that very same supervisor who authorised the ‘Orange Alert.’</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">32</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Orange alert, orange alert” the Supervisor
ordered into the ‘L’ shaped telephone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From somewhere there came a blood curdling
roar, both terrifying and unearthly, a combination of Gregorian chant, the sound
of a bicycle pump, and the roar of something. Number 6 instantly dropped to his
knees, such were his reflexes, and as he turned he saw the white membranic mass
of the Guardian bounding towards him. Standing up, and realising instinctively
that running was not an option, he prepared to stand his ground and confront this
white balloon looking thing, yet as he did so the Guardian was upon him,
knocking him to the ground. And as he scrambled to his feet again, was knocked
back down, it was upon him again, covering its prey’s face with its membrane,
against which the fingers of its victim clawed and struggled. The Prisoner
screamed and screamed again as he gasped for air, his lungs burning, his heart
pounding, pounding fit to burst, as his struggles slowly ebbed away, the Guardian
suffocating its prey into unconsciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Guardian stood quivering by the
unconscious body lying on the woodland ground, as the siren of the white </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">ambulance, towing behind it a
white canopied Red Cross trailer, drew nearer and nearer along the track leading
into the woods. Finally arriving on scene two medics and a nurse clambered out
of the white Mini Moke ambulance, the nurse carrying a medical bag, to attend
to the patient, the medics taking a stretcher from the trailer, upon which they
lifted the unconscious body as the nurse prepared a hypodermic syringe of amber
coloured liquid, pushed up the patient’s right sleeve and injected the drug
into his arm.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Guardian rolled away, either to return
to its patrolling duties, or to be deactivated and returned to its containment
area somewhere out at sea deep below the waves.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: center 99.0pt 297.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ambulance with the patient placed
securely in the Red Cross trailer sped along the track through the woods where
it met with the road leading to the hospital on the outskirts of the Village, a
huge stone building which had once portrayed itself to be a castle.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;">33</p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-56743766088354236202022-11-25T07:21:00.001+00:002022-11-25T08:54:09.767+00:00The Prisoner - Village Day - Chapter 3<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">3<br />
The Arrival</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he
un-named man began to regain consciousness. Opening his eyes he realised that
he was lying on a couch staring up at the ceiling with the blue and white light
shade suspended above his head. Slowly he eased himself up and swung his legs
round so that his feet were on the carpet, he felt shaky, unsteady and
confused. For here he was in the comfort of a room he neither knew nor
recognised, certainly it was not the familiar, and spacious home of his
converted warehouse. Certainly, something didn’t feel right at all, because the
last thing he remembered was being behind the wheel of the Lotus Seven,
enjoying the freedom of the open road. Yet here he was, with no idea of where
he is, how he came to be here, or why. He slowly rose to his feet and went over
to the window, pulling back the curtains he looked out upon the unfamiliar view
beyond. Not that of the docklands, with ships on the <st1:place w:st="on">Tyne</st1:place>,
but one of tall trees, bushes and shrubs and the water and hills beyond. He
spun round in a panic and dashing across the room flung open the French door
and stepped outside onto the paved patio, his eyes darting everywhere, trying
to take everything in at once. The pink and white, red and blue cottages, huge
green dome that over shadowed the cobbled yard, the narrow archway which led
through to a large gravelled area and to the woods beyond. There was a round
outlook just off the cobbled yard. The scene it produced was identical to the
one he had seen through the window, yet below the outlook was a tarmac road,
one end of which disappeared into an archway at the base of a building, whilst
the road itself curved through another arch at the far end.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man turned away, crossed the lookout
and passed through a turquoise gate, along a gravelled path and up four steps
onto the balcony of the green domed building. Leaning on the stone balustrade
he could see over the road below which reappeared on the other side of the
archway and carried on down the slope. There was a cobbled square below with colourful
candy coloured buildings on three sides, white and with dark stained weather
boarding, oh yes and a blue and red statue of a man holding a scroll in his
left hand, with the right hand raised, standing on a balcony. Over the roofs of
the candy coloured building towered a tall tree, and more, a bell tower which
as far as he could see from this vantage point, was easily the tallest
structure and a far better vantage point from where he could see all about him,
and gain his bearings at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned to the steps which led him down
to the road and the square the other side. He saw a black and white striped
pole with a candy striped canopy, beneath which was the blue sign which read in
white lettering ‘General Store.’ He paused to look in the bay window which
displayed all manner of tinned provisions, along with a selection of fancy
goods and records. But it was the red labels of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">tinned
goods “Village Foods” this together with the canopied Penny Farthing logo which
grabbed his attention. Leaving the General Store behind, the man crossed the
corner of the cobbled square and through a turquoise gate, up the steps and
path towards the bell tower. Finding more steps he climbed them to the door of
the bell tower and found it stoutly locked against him, he put his shoulder to
the door, but it would not yield. In frustration he turned back on his steps,
the quiet was absolute, there was not a sound to be heard, save for the gentle
rustle of the trees in the breeze and the call of birds. But then as he stood
upon a grassy bank looking around at the candy coloured buildings, working in
the flower borders he saw two figures busy tending the flower beds. He quickly
dashed back across the square, passed the General Stores and down the road, down
a set of steps he ran, to his right a set of cobbled steps led onto a stone
structure with several columns. And then more steps leading down onto a lawn
where a sign invited him to ‘walk on the grass’, across the lawn and up yet
more steps onto the piazza, with its fountain and shallow pool, “free sea” as
the sign indicated below its candy striped canopy set upon a black and white
striped pole where the two gardeners were on their knees busy planting new bedding
plants. Both seemed happy in their work and neither seemed aware of his
approach until he accidentally kicked a tray of plants.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">21</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Watch out sir, don’t damage the plants”
said one gardener.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sorry” he replied looking down at the tray
of petunias.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both gardeners stood up, hand fork and trowel
in their hands, both wearing dove grey overalls and deck shoes. One wore a pair
of steel rimmed spectacles, and the other a matching dove grey cap, curiously
more than that, each wore pinned to their overalls a white badge with a black Penny
Farthing bicycle together with a canopy and a red numeral in the penny wheel,
one 36b and the other 184.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You
alright?” asked Number 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Looks lost doesn’t he” said Number 184 to
his colleague.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man looked at the gardeners and then
round at the Village about him “I’m slightly confused, I don’t know where I am.
This place, it looks Italianate.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was right, he doesn’t know where he is…..”
said Number 184.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s saying nothing, neither do you!”
quipped 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>184 shot 36b a glance of annoyance then
continued “He’s a new arrival, spot ‘em a mile off I can.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah, a new arrival” sniggered 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where am I, what is this place?” he asked,
but doubting that he would get a straight answer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Village” answered 184.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Doesn’t it have a name?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Number 184 looked at the man quizzically “A
name, of course it’s got a name, everything has a name.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man was showing inward signs of
annoyance with this pair of gardeners “What is it then?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Village” responded 36b.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking at Number 36b with disdain, he knew
he had to find a way out of there, and to the nearest town “Can you show me the
way to the bus top?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No buses come through here mister” replied
Number 184 with a knowing smile.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is there a railway station?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">22</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two gardeners looked at each other “No
trains, no railway station” they answered in unison.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was being thwarted with every answer, and
so was not over confident when he asked “Where can I hire a car?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No car hire, only taxis” they informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean I can get a taxi from here?” the
man asked delightedly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh yes, you can get a taxi alright, local
service only, but they’ll get you where you want to go” 36b confirmed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man was delighted as 36b pointed out
the way with his trowel in hand “Along the piazza, up the steps and left
through the arch there. Walk along the road passed the café and the taxi rank
is on your right, can’t miss it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two gardeners watched the man storm off
along the piazza, then turning to one another with something of a knowing
smile, they went merrily back to their work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man bounded up the steps and through
the archway of a stone wall into the road beyond. He stood there for a moment
gathering his bearings, then set off along the road, passed the café where a
waitress was just setting out the tables on a black and white tiled patio, of
which a gardener, the exact image of Number 36b was busying hosing down. The
gardener looked at the Prisoner and gave him a knowing wink. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man surprised by this moved
briskly on and just around the corner from the café was the taxi rank, where a
white Mini Moke taxi with a orange and white striped canopy stood waiting for
its driver. Looking over and around the vehicle he noticed the key in the
ignition, so seeing no one about he climbed aboard. Turning the ignition key
firing up the engine, engaged first gear and drove off from the taxi rank, passed
the sign indicating the Labour Exchange, and through a tall yellow archway and
away along the narrow tree lined road. The road turned right and over a stone
bridge, then carried on meandering its way quite aimlessly through the trees,
then out into the open passed a large castle before turning right, winding its
way down between the blue and white rhododendrons which lined the road. It
wasn’t long before he found himself driving back along that road, back into the
village. Passed several buildings, round through the first entrance arch,
through the second entrance archway and passed the cobbled square and the
General Store, the green domed building, and down the road, round the corner at
the bottom of the hill and passed the café, with its canopy covered tables and
white wrought iron seats, all set out ready for the day’s customers, and </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">finally
coming to a stop near the taxi rank, from which he had set out! Surely he had
missed a turning somewhere, so off the taxi went again on the exact same trip
but the other way! On his way back into the Village he saw the two gardeners
ahead, one pushing a wheelbarrow, and the other riding a lawnmower. They gave
him a cheery wave as he drove passed into the square, through an archway and
into a cobbled square. There was a young man wearing a striped blazer and straw
boater sat on a bench, the Moke stopped.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">23</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pardon me, but could you direct me to the
nearest town, it’s stupid I know, but I can’t seem to find a road out of here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little man peered through his thick
black rimmed glasses at the man sitting in the taxi, and stooped a little to
see the face underneath the canopy. He spoke in some indeterminate language, some
incomprehensible gibberish.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you speak English?” he asked slowly and
clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dibb” Number 3 replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A road, where is there a road, a main
road. I can’t find my way out of here” the man persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little man raised a hand and pointed
this way and that with the following instructions “Bossfaday, kankadoy,
bossforshore, mankadore.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now utterly and completely confused the man
bid his farewell and started the engine of the taxi “Thank you, thank you, I’ll
find my own way” he waved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bashatta’ said the little man, as he
watched the taxi disappear down a slope between the Round House and the General
Store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shopkeeper was cleaning the glass panes
of the bay window of his shop<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good morning Number Nineteen, open for
business?” asked Number 3 in perfect English.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Give me a moment and I’ll be right with
you sir” said 19 ringing out his chamois leather.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile the Mini-Moke turned left down a
cobbled path, ahead of him was a statue of Hercules on a large plinth, the man
drove the vehicle round the statue then sharp left coming to a dead-end pulling
on the handbrake switching off the engine and abandoning the vehicle where it
was parked. He walked across the lawn, up steps and through a small portico and
up the cobbled road which he had so recently driven both up and down, the stone
lion growling at him from his position upon his stone plinth. It was not
difficult to find his cottage, across the street, up the steps, through the
gate, along the gravelled path and he was there. The only difference was, that
now outside the French door stood a sign on a black and white striped pole and
hung beneath a candy striped canopy ‘6 private’. The man gave it a cursory
glance as he walked passed and through the now automatically opening French
door into the lounge beyond, the French door closing behind him with an
electronic hum as the door secured itself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">24<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All alone in his cottage, he saw nothing
for it but to take in his new surroundings. True the cottage was as unfamiliar
as the Village outside, yet the furniture, fixtures and fittings were those of
his own home, his converted warehouse. His desk, table lamps, two leather armchairs
and sofa, the two large bookcases containing his modest library of horror,
ghost and tales of terror and the macabre, and his copy of the ‘Danger Man
Omnibus’ lying on the glass topped coffee table. His paintings of sailing ships
hung upon the walls, along with prints of steam locomotives and traction
engines. And something else, Gus his large soft toy Orang-utan, who sat by the
phone in the far corner of the room, strangely dressed in striped jersey, brown
trousers and straw boater. It was then he spotted a mistake, for above the
mantle piece were two crossed foils, weapons he thought, and made to grab one
of the foils, but both were solidly fixed in position prohibiting their
removal. No ‘they’ had made a mistake! <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kitchen was fully equipped and
stocked with both fresh and tinned provisions, cheese, milk, butter and cooked
meat in the fridge, tinned ‘Village foods’ in the wall cupboard. Upstairs was
the bedroom, single bed, chest of draws and a wardrobe, both of these were
devoid of clothes of any kind. And the bathroom was simply the bathroom, bath,
toilet, shower, hand basin and wall cupboard which contained the usual
toiletries, all of which was knew, and still sealed in their paper wrappings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Returning downstairs to the lounge, he
scanned the room for a second time, his record collection of classical music,
record player, military statuettes all were in place, then his attention was
suddenly drawn to his desk, upon which was a small white card, it read ‘Welcome
to your home from home.’ Someone was obviously having a laugh, ‘home from home’
indeed, this was nothing like his home! Making a search of the desk he found it
to be void of anything, save for a brown leather bound ‘Map of Your Village’,
he unfolded the map which was in colour, and depicted the Village, the
mountains, the woods, the sea, the beach, but nothing to give away exactly the
location of this village. Refolding the map, he replaced it in the drawer and
slammed it shut. Then he recalled the secret drawer he had built into the desk,
there in was something in case of emergencies. Opening the top left drawer he
felt inside for the catch, but there was no catch, nor was there a secret drawer……this
was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> his desk! Then he checked his
pockets and felt the photograph, he took it out, glanced at it and placed it in
the desk for safe keeping. Other than the photograph his suit pockets were
empty, wallet, passport, even his loose change all gone. He began to feel like
a prisoner, confined, disorientated, but with questions. Where is this, who had
done this thing to him? Trying the French door he found it now secured against
him, as too were the windows. He began pacing back and forth like some caged
animal, the anger growing inside him. There were two items not familiar to him
in the room, lava lamps, as he paced this way and that he stared ever deeper <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">25<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">into
the one in the small niche in the wall. It was lit, and globules and long
streaks of wax or what he took to be wax, floated to the top and then descended
to the bottom. It served no purpose what so ever, yet curiously there was
something about it, something malevolent, as though the wax inside was every
bit a prisoner as he was inside his cottage. There was also a black silver
edged speaker set upon the mantle piece which began to play music. He picked it
up and looked for the on/off switch, there wasn’t one, nor was there an
electrical lead, in fact there were no external connections or wiring of any
kind, and it was while he was wondering how the device worked that the cream
telephone on the corner table where Gus was sitting began to bleep, and by its
tone somewhat impatiently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He crossed the room and lifted the receiver
to his ear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good morning, I hope you enjoyed your
short excursion this morning” a voice greeted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who is this?” he demanded brusquely.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Quite a picturesque place really, don’t
you think?” asked the voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sure it’s quite charming when you get
to know it” he replied “where am I, who are you and what am I doing here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I thought as neighbours we should get to
know each other, join me for breakfast, Number Two, the Green Dome” said the
voice, and before he could say more the line went dead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Replacing the receiver he hesitated for a
second before crossing to the French door, which now opened automatically for
him, allowing his passage out onto the patio beyond, over which the Green Dome
cast its shadow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making his way through the gate and along
the short gravelled path, he wondered about the man he was about to meet.
Certainly the voice had sounded both charming and polite, and he had been right
about this Italianate Village, it was picturesque, that much was certain, and
peaceful in its atmosphere. Yet as he climbed the steps onto the balcony of the
Green Dome, there was something at the back of his mind which told him that all
was not as it seemed. And what of this man he was about to meet? And so it was
with a look of concern that he turned to face the door of the Green Dome, a
brass numeral 2 upon it, and a black wrought iron bell pull to its right which
he tugged, and from somewhere a bell tolled and with it the door opened automatically
allowing his way over the threshold and into the foyer beyond.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">26<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-58172354405062841912022-11-21T07:58:00.000+00:002022-11-21T07:58:42.160+00:00Village Day - Chapter 2<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">2<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">An Accident
Occurs!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">A </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">black London taxi turned the corner into
Buckingham Place finally coming to a stop behind a dark green Lotus Seve parked
at the kerb outside the house of number 1.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a perfectly ordinary looking house,
but one of the larger ones on that side of the street, just one of many such houses
to be found in the city of Westminster. Ground floor, basement and three upper
floors, with a total of nineteen front windows, with window boxes at two ground
floor windows either side of the front door above which was a white portico,
and black spiked railings ran along the front of the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having paid the taxi driver his fare, the
man dressed in a two piece grey suit and black shirt, stood on the pavement
looking this way and that, and at the house. Curiously it was one of only two
such houses in <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Buckingham Place</st1:address></st1:street>
to have grey looking shutters at the windows. He stared at the windows which
stared back at him, empty, like black eyeless sockets, yet someone had been
watering the two window boxes. His attention was then captured by the green,
yellow nosed Lotus Seven parked at the kerbside. KAR 120C was the car’s
registration number. He recognised the car instantly knowing it to be the owner’s
pride and joy. After all he had built it with his own hands, and prided himself
that he knew every nut, bolt and cog. Yet he had resented slightly the fact
that he himself had not been allowed behind the wheel of the car. KAR 120C
looked to be something of an enigma, true the house itself had no garage, and
true it was often seen parked outside number 1 Buckingham Place, but why was it
parked here if the owner appeared to be away, especially parked on a single
yellow line? The hood was down, the car looked as though it was ready for its
driver to appear from out of the house. It was clear the Lotus had not been
parked there for long. Its paint work gleaming in the sunlight, as though it
had only just this morning been polished. Perhaps Janet had had the car looked
after, no, that wasn’t Janet’s style at all, she knew nothing about cars and
cared even less about them. Standing at the side of the car he put a hand on
the bonnet, it was cold. It was then that he noticed the three parking tickets
upon the windscreen, all dated for that month, those together with a police
warning notice. He removed the parking tickets, each carrying the statuary
penalty of £2, payable to the city of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Westminster
Council</st1:place></st1:city>, <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Wilton
Road</st1:address></st1:street>. The police warning notice stated that unless
the vehicle was removed within 28 days this car would be towed away and
impounded, held in a secure car park for 3 months, and if not collected in that
time and the statutory fine of £50 paid, this car would be either sold or
destroyed. Curiously there was no date upon the police notice, he screwed it up,
together with the three parking tickets, and tossed them onto the passenger
seat of the car. Then walking round the front</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">of
the car, crossed the pavement and mounted the three steps leading up to the
door of the house. He tried the door, then with clenched fist pounded upon it,
but there was no-one there to answer his knocking.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">7</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turning his back on the house with his
attention back to the Lotus, he descended the steps, crossing the pavement he
crouched down at the rear near side wheel and from under the wheel arch
collected a small black box, which contained a spare ignition key. This he
tossed in the air in a gleeful manner, a broad grin upon his face as he caught
the key and walked round the back of the car, climbed in, sliding behind the
steering wheel, inserting the ignition key, turning it and firing up the
engine. He pressed down upon the accelerator gunning the engine, the sound
roaring between the two rows of houses of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Buckingham Place</st1:address></st1:street>. The engine sounded fine
and it felt good to be behind the wooden steering wheel which he gripped gently
but firmly in his hands. Did it still overheat in traffic, he wondered, well he
was about to find out, as he pressed down on the clutch, engaged first gear and
released the handbrake. Then pressing down on the accelerator and releasing the
clutch, the Lotus Seven moved away from the kerb and turned left out of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Buckingham Place</st1:address></st1:street>,
merging with the busy <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>
traffic.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He telephoned Janet Portland earlier that
morning and arranged to meet her in Queen Mary’s Gardens in Regents Park.
Parking the Lotus on Park Road, the man checked his watch, he was early, it was
better like that sometimes, and looked cautiously both up and down Park Road
for any old familiar faces, before making his way into Regents Park. It was a
pleasant enough afternoon, people were enjoying themselves, boys playing
football using their pullovers for goal posts, whilst another was flying his
kite with his father or uncle or someone, other people lying on the grass
reading, or having a picnic or simply walking the dog. Uniformed nannies
pushing babies in their prams, and walking towards him as he approached the
boating lake, crossing over Clarence Bridge an old salt dressed in naval cap,
bushy moustache, double breasted blazer and grey flannel trousers. He was
carrying a large grey painted battleship which was still dripping with water. At
the lake side he might have purchased a bag of bread crumbs from a vendor in
order to feed the ducks, whilst watching those messing about in boats upon the
lake, but there was no time for that kind of nonsense, and he quickly made his
way along paths to Queen Mary’s Gardens. He found Janet Portland waiting for
him, she had been waiting for several minutes, she was early! At five feet two
inches Janet’s figure was hardly slight, nor could he say plump, dressed in a
light green sleeveless dress, with matching shoes, a pill-box hat and matching
handbag. Her hairstyle fashionable as it was neat, in a debutante bob!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Janet saw the man approaching, she hesitated,
she was nervous, and looked about her as though she had expected to have been
followed. She saw no-one she recognized, save for the man now a</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">few
feet away.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">8</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s good to see you Janet” he told her,
yet she looked tired and drawn, something which she had tried to hide beneath
her make up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can’t tell you how good it is to see
you, I’ve been out of my mind with worry” Janet told him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This he could see in the lines of her face
and relieved no doubt to see him, “let’s walk shall we” he suggested offering
his arm which Janet gladly took.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why did we have to meet here?” she asked,
trying to be nonchalant, but not making a very good job of it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well its public and out in the open, and
besides I didn’t want to meet with your father Sir Charles. Best he doesn’t
know I’m back just yet” the man explained as he guided Janet by his arm, his
eyes carefully taking in everything about them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You will help me, wont you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I will do all that I can, all that is
within my power to do, that is all I can promise and all that anyone can do. He
could be simply working, don’t you think, unable to contact you. You know the
kind of work he does for your father, certainly it should come as no surprise
to you that he may not be able to contact you for a year, perhaps longer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet looked at the man whose arm she
suddenly released “Oh don’t you start! You’re a great help, of course I knew that
working for my father the way he did.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then your father……”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
told him that he knew where he is” Janet began to explain “all this time that
he has known and he’s let me go through this hell. That he’s sent him on a
mission and he can’t get in touch with me, my <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">fiancé.
My father told me that he honestly doesn’t know if he can get in touch with me,
that he hasn’t sent him on a mission. When I asked him, he said that I must
realize that he is telling me more than I should,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that he shouldn’t even tell me that!
Apparently even my father doesn’t know where he is, he told me that he has no
idea. And when I told him that he must know someone who does, all he said was,
there again I can’t help you! It’s awful, I don’t know whether he’s telling the
truth or not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s Sir Charles for you, never could
give a straightforward answer to a straightforward question, mind you he’ll not
exactly welcome me back with open arms, and there’s the department…….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But you’ll do what you can, I mean you
will be able to find him?” Janet pleaded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If he’s able to be found, if he wants to
be found, of course I will.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet looked at the man sternly “What do
you mean if he wants to be found?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They walked on “When did you last see your
fiancé?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet looked at him with a tearful eye and
fingered her engagement ring “It’s been over a year now, well there was that
time when……” and there came a far away look in Janet’s eye.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Janet……. except for that time when…..” he
prompted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">9<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The far away look in her eyes disappeared
“Well it was strange really, it seems stupid now, I couldn’t explain it then
and cannot explain it now, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but at the
time it was like, well like losing him all over again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean he came back?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, well in a way….. at the time I
thought…… There was this man you see, he said he was a friend, it all happened
a few days before my birthday. I was walking down <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Buckingham Place</st1:address></st1:street> and saw his car parked
out his house, I thought he must be back, and couldn’t wait to see him. My
heart was pounding as I rushed up the steps and knocked on the door, and then
the surprise of having the door opened by a man who I had never seen before. I
asked if he was with him, and this man told me that he was, so I brushed passed
him into the hallway and called out for my darling, then went about the house
looking for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This man, what was he like?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perfectly ordinary, I asked him who he
was, how he knew my name, what he was doing there and how he got hold of his
car. He told me that my fiancé was here, when it was perfectly clear that he
wasn’t! He said he was a friend and when I asked where he was, my fiancé, and why
he left without a word to me he came up with some story about my fiancé seeing
me last night, and told him that he had done so, that he had had dinner with me
after the fitting for my dress of yellow silk. But I hadn’t seen him the
previous night, that had been a year before, at the time I took him to the
final fitting……. I haven’t seen him since.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He led Janet to a nearby bench and sat her
down “So he made a mistake about the date.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And the year’ Janet added “he couldn’t
have seen him, even if he had he couldn’t have made that mistake. And then this
man, who was acting very strangely admitted that he must have got it wrong. I
asked him what he was doing there and how he got in. But he talked about the
kind of work he did, and the possibility that he, my fiancé, may not be able to
get in touch for a year, or even longer, well you know that. But then he told
me that he may have a message for me soon. I asked him when and he told me that
he would bring it to my birthday party.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And did he?” he asked sitting next to her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, that was the strange thing, he knew
things……..” And then that far away look in her eyes returned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What was the message he had for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet looked at the man beside her “Simply
a caress of a cheek, a gentle kiss to my cheeks and nose, then he embraced me,
this stranger, and shared a long and passionate kiss, until he let me go…. but
it wasn’t him you see, it was my fiancé, only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> could have held and kissed me in that way,……. This stranger
asked me who else could have given me that message, and I had to admit, not
only to him, but to myself, and said………nobody but you. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him</i>, his </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">mind
in another man’s body. He explained to me all that had happened to him since
his disappearance, his abduction, to a place called the village. They took away
his identity and worse, it was incredible, unbelievable, and yet. He told me
there was no-one left he could trust anymore, but that he needed my faith.”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">10</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t understand?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No neither did I. He asked me for
something which he had left with me in case of trouble, a receipt of some
kind.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You gave it to him?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you haven’t seen him since?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“………No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two of them sat in silence, Janet
composing herself, he thinking how little he had to go on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry” she said suddenly “I forgot to
ask how you are. How do you live, I haven’t seen anything of you, not since….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I live from day to day, travelling the
world, after all a man with my skills is never out of work, if one knows where
to find it, and someone is always hiring new help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And my father doesn’t know you are back
yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He didn’t, but I’m not so sure about now”
the man told him, recognising and old and familiar face two benches down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet turned to look “You mean the Nanny,
could she be one of my father’s people?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No but he is, the man wearing the grubby raincoat,
sitting on the bench over there pretending to read the newspaper….. Potter, now
he has seen me I have no doubt that your father knows I’m back. Potter would
fall over himself in the rush to give Sir Charles Portland that piece of
unwanted news.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet reached into her handbag and produced
a photograph of her fiancé, and handed it to the man who was about to stand.
Merely giving it a cursory glance he slipped it into his jacket pocket. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have to leave you here, best that we do
not leave together’ he told her rising on his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ll let me know when you find him?” she
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It could take some time, my resources are
limited” he told her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you going to see my father?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s on my list, but perhaps I’ll be
seeing him sooner rather than later” he said glancing at the man called Potter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look, on second thoughts” helping Janet to
her feet “let me get you a taxi home, walk briskly now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet taken by the arm was moved briskly
along the path and then across the well cut grass and through a gate onto the
outer circle of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Regents</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> and finally the man
hailed a taxi on <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Park Road</st1:address></st1:street>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
black <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>
taxi pulled over to where the couple were standing “Where to guv?” asked the
driver.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Eton
Square</st1:address></st1:street>, <st1:place w:st="on">Belgravia</st1:place>”
the man said opening the door and bundling Janet inside “stay at home and wait
for my call.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">11<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet gave him a worried glance “If
anything should happen to you, that man Potter….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man took a small card from his wallet
and wrote a number upon it and handed it to her “If you don’t hear from me,
ring that number and ask for Cedric, he’ll know what to do” he closed the door
and watched the taxi pull away, merging with the Park Road traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet watched the man through the rear
window as the taxi pulled away, watching him go back through the gate and into <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Regents</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>, and then he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter had been keeping the couple under the
closest possible surveillance from the cover of nearby bushes. He was wondering
just which of them to follow, when the taxi pulling away from the kerb had made
his mind up for him. She was probably going home anyway he thought, it was then
that he felt a hand upon his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, well, if it isn’t the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Regents</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> prowler, happy in your work
Potter?” the man said pulling him roughly out of the bushes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter, a man in his late thirties, well
built and of medium height, a man who showed little or no imagination or
aptitude for the job, turned swiftly round.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I thought it was you, but then I
thought no, he’d never dare return here, not after….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man now had Potter by the throat “Spying
on me, weren’t you Potter, not very good at it are you Potter, you should have
come over and joined us, I pointed you out to Miss Portland.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter was finding it increasingly
difficult to breath “Not…. spying…. on… you” he spluttered. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man felt reluctant to release his vice
like grip on Potter’s throat, but did so “Who were you spying on, if not me. Or
are you some kind of peeing Tom?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter bent double, feeling his throat as
he coughed and barked, gasping for air “No…. one…cough…. that you… cough….
would know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t give me that, I saw you following Miss
Portland, you sat on that bench over there in your grubby raincoat, pretending
to read that well thumbed newspaper of yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Its part of my disguise” Potter retorted
with pride.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well it’s not a very good one. On whose
orders were you following Miss Portland, the Colonel’s?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter remained silent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you don’t tell me, that charge of the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Regents</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> prowler……..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What charge?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well I ask you, a grubby little man like
you, wearing a grubby raincoat lurking here in the bushes….…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Alright, alright, it was Sir Charles
Portland, if you must know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What contact do you have with Sir
Charles?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“None, as well you know, the Colonel passed
the assignment on to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">12<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not a top priority job then” the man
quipped with a wry smile “and Sir Charles, does he know I’m back?” the man
demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Shouldn’t think so, I was going to
telephone the office the first chance I got” Potter replied “why have you come
back?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man helped Potter to his feet who then began
to straighten his hair and raincoat, for what it was worth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Know what you’re going to do Potter, your
going to keep quiet about our little meeting” the man suggested strongly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And in doing so you’ll possibly be helping
an old colleague of yours” the man went on to suggest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I wouldn’t help you, not if…….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not me, another old colleague, and for
your information Miss Portland has gone home, I suggest you go there and keep
the house under surveillance, there are some bushes in the square there, you
should feel very much at home in. But just one more thing Potter” the man then
reached into his jacket pocket for the photograph Janet had given him and held
it under Potter’s nose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The head and shoulders photograph was of a
man in his late thirties, with light brown hair and light blue eyes, Potter
recognised him instantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where is he, ZM seventy-three where is he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I, I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not good enough!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I heard he stormed into the office one
morning” Potter began “ranting and raving about something. He was in a right
angry mood, slammed down his letter of resignation on the desk and stormed out.
No one has seen or heard of him since. Some people thought he’d sold out, or gone
over to the other side.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This remark seemed to outrage the man as he
once again gripped Potter by the throat “Now mark me Potter and mark me well, you
are going to tell me what you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter nodded “I’ve told you, he resigned
and no one has seen or heard of him since that morning, and that was over a
year ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What about the Colonel and Sir Charles,
what have they done about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter shrugged his shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When you next see the Colonel, tell him
I’m back and that I am looking for answers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Potter was much relieved when the man
suddenly up and walked away, he scurried off in the opposite direction towards
the nearest telephone box.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The green yellow nosed Lotus Seven made its
way through the busy <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>
traffic, all the time the driver with one eye in the rear view mirror. But even
then he failed to take any notice of the occasional glimpse of a black hearse. Along
<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Portland Place</st1:address></st1:street>
and <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Regents Street</st1:address></st1:street>, </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">round
Trafalgar Square, passed the Palace of Westminster before turning right into
Abingdon street, and another right, down the ramp into the underground car park
whilst the black hearse turned round and parked, just a few feet from the
entrance to the car park.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">13</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roar of the Ford Cosworth engine was
loud and distinctive as the Lotus sped down the ramp and into the underground
car park, as it came to a halt at the yellow barrier and ticket dispenser. Taking
the automatically dispensed ticket, and seeing the barrier raise itself, the
driver pressed on the accelerator and the Lotus moved forward with a roar which
echoed loudly around the car park, being unable as it was to escape its
confines. With the Lotus parked the driver got out and headed for the pair of
double doors WAY OUT and pushed them open stepping through into a dimly lit
corridor which he marched sprightly along, his face lit by the occasional
overhead light. <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having left the car park the man made
his way along <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Whitehall</st1:place></st1:city>
and to a particular building. Once inside he made for an office he once knew very
well. Pulling open the double doors he calmly entered that office and
approached the desk, behind which sat a bald-headed man wearing black rimmed
spectacles who stopped writing and slowly looked up from the paperwork on his
desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You still here then?” the man asked
leaning over the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man looked up blankly at the man
staring down at him.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sir Charles Portland was already in a
meeting when the man was shown into an elaborately decorated and furnished
office, sat as he was behind his solid oak desk. He was a man in his fifties
with a head of distinguished white hair, wearing his usual attire of dark
jacket, grey waistcoat and trousers, white shirt and blue striped tie, oh yes
and being a keen Rosarian, he always wore a red rose in his button hole. He looked
at the man framed in the doorway, and the two men standing behind him in the
corridor “I’m sorry gentlemen” he said turning his attention back to his three
colleagues “perhaps we can continue this, this afternoon, shall we say at ten past
two.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The three men collected their files, papers
and briefcases and took their leave as the man was escorted into the room and
now stood before Sir Charles Portland, who waited patiently for his colleagues
to depart.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I had hoped that our paths would never
cross again.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m only too pleased to have been able to
disappoint you Sir Charles” the man quipped “I see nothing has changed, you
still enjoy a lavish life style, with all the creature comforts that your
position can afford.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sir Charles Portland’s office was more of
an elaborate study than a working office, with its plaster columns and busts, military
paintings of Cook, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Wellington</st1:place></st1:city>,
Gordon, and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Marlborough</st1:place></st1:city>.
Book-lined walls, plush carpeting, comfortable armchairs and not forgetting
that well stocked drinks cabinet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it you think I can do for you?”
Sir Charles asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">14<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s what I liked about you, straight to
the point” the man took the photograph from his jacket pocket and held it out
for Sir Charles to see “where is he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sir Charles gave the picture a cursory
glance “No doubt my daughter has put you up to this. I can tell you what I told
her, that I honestly don’t know where he is, and I haven’t sent him on a
mission, and I told my daughter more than I should. So having spoken to her you
now know as much as she does. Now if you will excuse me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
hasn’t been seen for over a year. If you don’t know where he is, then surely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you </i>know someone who does, and don’t try
and palm me off like you did Janet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Getting irate will not help the situation
in any way.” began Sir Charles “he stormed into the office, shouting his mouth
off, slamming down his letter of resignation and stormed out again. And now
I’ve told <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> more than I should.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You haven’t told me anything I haven’t
heard before. Resigned, why should he resign? He would never…..he was loyal, he
enjoyed his work, you of all men should know that. He was going to marry your
daughter. Why should he have given all that up? But then again perhaps he was becoming
tired of being used to clear the mess other people had left behind!” the man
retorted forcefully “besides that doesn’t account for why he disappeared!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That kind of thing was down to the
General, you know the way he and his department operates” Sir Charles told him
“anyway it was all rather sudden and unexpected, one day he resigned and the
next there he was, gone” the after effects of his future son-in-laws actions
still left a bitter taste in the mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You haven’t told Janet that her fiancé has
resigned from the department, have you?” the man asked sternly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What I do or do not tell my daughter is of
no concern to you, just as his current whereabouts are of no concern to me or
that of my department” retorted Sir Charles calmly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Possibly not to you personally Sir
Charles, but ought to be to your department, I should think his whereabouts are
most important, all that knowledge inside his head. That must be of great value
to one side or the other, wouldn’t you say? No-one is permitted to resign, well
they can of course, but they are kept on a very long leash, more often than not
given a menial job of some kind for a few quid a week. Put out into the cold,
sometimes to be brought back into the warm. But your department went and lost him,
or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he</i> lost them!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“ZM seventy-three had resigned from a top
secret and highly confidential position” Sir Charles began to explain “his
whole future lay before him and he threw it away with one selfish action. I was
the one who had to pick up the pieces, both professionally and privately, I was
the one left to clean up the mess he left behind…. I lost a future son-in-law! Apparently
I should have seen it coming, and if I had perhaps the action of having a good
man walk out might have been averted, and now I have his capricious and mulish brother
to deal with.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">15<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He came back, didn’t Janet tell
you?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You mean a man turned up one day
claiming to be ZM seventy-three.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Colonel!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know about that do you? I don’t
know who he was, never seen him before?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He told Janet everything, she must
have told you, she told me about his abduction to the village, what village
might that be?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have no idea what you are talking about!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think you do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He has gone the same way as you, take care
that you do not take the same path as he” Sir Charles warned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Then you do know.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unseen Sir Charles pressed a hidden
button under his desk. The pair of doors opened and two men in dark suits
stepped into the office. At a nod from Sir Charles the two men took the man
securely by the arms and escorted him out of the office, and ejected him from
the building.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sir Charles picked up the receiver of the
red telephone upon his desk “He’s been here and is now leaving. He cannot be
allowed to pursue this matter further, I leave you to resolve this situation
and to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion best suited to both departments.
My daughter is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i> concern, she can do
no harm, so keep your men away from her. Is that understood?” replacing the
receiver he turned his attention to the papers on his desk, giving the matter
no further thought.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite Sir Charles warning, our friend had
no option but to pursue the matter, he called on some old familiar faces in the
department. He visited many of his old haunts, asking questions here, demanding
answers there. It was like hitting his head against a brick wall, people put
the shutters up. It was only to be expected, he had become an outcast of the department.
People do not forget, old friends and ex-colleagues melt away. His last chance
was the Colonel, and that meant a trip out into the country, calling in on the
‘Hope & Anchor’ public house along the way.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so it was that he found himself
enjoying the pleasures of the open roads of Hertfordshire. The roar of the
Cosworth engine, the wind on his chilled face, set in a grimace. The
green–yellow nosed Lotus Seven sped along the hedge lined country roads,
braking for tight bends, then putting his foot down hard on the accelerator for
straight road ahead, then the driver expertly steering the Lotus through a
series of ‘S’ bends before coming to a halt at a ‘T’ junction, where the Lotus
turned left at the signpost towards ‘Hazelwood’ 2 ½ miles.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in the car park of ‘The Hope &
Anchor’ public house that the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">Lotus
finally came to a stop, the driver climbing out and walked </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">smartly
inside a large white building with a thatched roof. The public bar was occupied
with the usual clientele, the gin and tonic brigade, a courting couple in a booth
and a regimental looking gentleman with a bushy moustache reading ‘The Times’
newspaper. A hat stand stood in the corner and upon the oak panelled walls hung
paintings of the local hunt. The bar was made from solid oak and behind it
stood a barmaid with dark hair and wearing a tight fitting, low cut flowery
dress. He leant on the bar and took a ten shilling note from a brown leather
wallet and placed it upon the bar.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">16</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes sir, what would you like?” the barmaid
asked him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A pint of your best bitter please Doris”
he replied with a warm smile, as he watched the barmaid get a glass and pull
his pint from a Watney Mann pump.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doris, a not unattractive brunette
somewhere in her mid thirties, cut a trim figure, with a large bust, which she
enjoyed showing off to her customers {well it improved the tips she received}
and put the pint filled glass down on the bar and picked up the ten shilling
note.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you know my name sir, I don’t think
I’ve seen you in here before.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“From a mutual friend, he used to drink
here from time to time” the man informed her, and took a photograph from his
inside jacket pocket and placed it on the bar under <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place>’s
nose.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doris gave the photograph a cursory glance,
then turned to the till and rang up two shillings and sixpence, then closing
the till turned back to her customer placing his change on the bar and the
photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man sipped his pint, picking up the
change left the photograph on the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is he the mutual friend?” <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> asked glancing down at the photograph again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t you recognise him?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes he used to come here quite often, or
at least he used to” <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> told him, picking
up the photograph.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Used to?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He hasn’t been in for sometime, must be over
a year now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man continued to sip his pint “And you
haven’t seen him in all that time?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I would have remembered if I had, quite
handsome isn’t he?” <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> smiled handing back
the photograph “come to think of it, you look a lot like him, related are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You must see and hear a great deal
standing behind the bar.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not the law are you?”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, not any more.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why are you looking for him, what’s
he done?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man took a long draught of his beer and
put the quarter half filled glass down on the bar and the photograph back into
his pocket <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">17<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s disappeared and I’m looking for
him that’s all, in fact he disappeared without a trace. He might have been
thinking of going away, on holiday. I don’t suppose he told you anything did he?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why should he do that?” asked <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> suddenly on the defensive.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well some men prefer to confide in a
barmaid, rather than their loved ones. Besides drink loosens a man’s tongue.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Not that one sir, that much I can tell
you” <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> replied.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I just wondered if he ever said anything
in passing?” he said pressing her for an answer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place>
shook her head “He gave me the impression that he was the kind of man who kept
himself to himself, didn’t ask other people about their business and expected
them not to ask about his.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man fell silent for a second, as though
remembering “Yes he could be like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps he found himself another drinking
hole. You could try the ‘George & Angel’ down the road” <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place>
suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man picked up his glass draining it,
and to <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> there came a far away look in his
eye “The ‘George & Angel’, I used to drink there!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Same again sir?” <st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place>
asked him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man stared into the empty glass, the
froth sliding down the inside and placed it upon the bar “No thanks Doris, I’m
driving, besides I have a call to make on an old colleague and I don’t think
I’m going to be made very welcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re not in any kind of trouble are you?”
<st1:place w:st="on">Doris</st1:place> asked, looking concerned for her
customer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, but someone’s going to be!” and
unsmilingly the man walked briskly out of the pub and into the car park.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doris picked up the empty glass off the
bar, and watched a man wearing a grubby raincoat fold up the newspaper he had
been reading, get up from the corner table and follow the man outside, but
thinking nothing further of it, turned to serve another customer at the bar “G
& T is it sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside the ‘Hope & Anchor’ our friend
climbed into the Lotus, turned the ignition key firing up the engine. Engaging
reverse gear he backed round and then drove out of the car park and then sped
off at speed along the narrow road.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man in the grubby raincoat, stepped
into the car park and stood watching until the green-yellow nosed Lotus was out
of sight. From a pocket he produced a walkie-talkie, pulled out the aerial and
pressed the red button “Potter here, he’s left the Hope & Anchor, he’s on
his way to see the Colonel….don’t worry, I’ve seen to it that he doesn’t
arrive.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There wasn’t another car on the road, it
was a beautiful summer’s day and he was enjoying the drive along the B road, so
much so that he put his foot down just that little bit harder on the
accelerator. The Lotus Seven sped ever faster along the long winding road, and
with </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">the
great ease of an expert driver. The freedom of the open road, there is nothing
quite like it in an open topped sports car, it’s always fresh and exhilarating,
the wind in your hair. The needle of the speedometer was north of seventy and
pushing eighty. The trees, hedges and green </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">pastures
flashed by and beyond the sweeping bend the final straight before Hazelwood,
the loud bang of a sudden burst tyre, a blow out! The driver fought to maintain
some control of the Lotus as it swerved across the road, straight towards a
telegraph pole. The impact was unavoidable, even with the driver’s foot on the
brake. The front end of the Lotus was completely crushed and buckled, the hood a
sheet of twisted and contorted metal, with the driver slumped over the wooden
steering wheel, blood trickling from an open head wound.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">18</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing stirred along that long and
deserted road, save for the wind as it whistled in the over head telegraph
wires and the mooing of cattle in the pasture as they stared at the crumpled
car wreck. The man stirred himself and tried to sit upright, but the tightness
of his chest and his trapped legs, together with the confined space he sat in,
restricted any kind of movement. His vision was blurred, and what he could make
out through a thin veil of blood, was going round and round, and the pain in
his head was comparable to a hammer striking an anvil. Suddenly there came the
noise, far and in the distance, yet all the time growing louder by the second,
the noise of a two tone siren. Again he tried to stir himself, to lift himself
up to see what it was that was coming, but the pain forced him to remain slumped
over the steering wheel, blackness slowly engulfed him, and he slipped
peacefully into unconsciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The distant siren was getting louder as the
white ambulance sped along the road towards the scene of the accident, its blue
light flashing, until at last it came to a halt in the road beside the crashed
car. Two ambulance man quickly clambered out, the one to attend the unconscious
driver, and the second opening up the back to collect a stretcher for the
patient who was carefully eased out of the car wreck and onto the said
stretcher. Then covered with a blanket, an oxygen mask applied over the patient’s
nose and mouth, and carried on the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. One
ambulance man stayed in the back of the vehicle, while his colleague climbed
into the cab and drove away along that long deserted country lane, siren
blaring and blue light flashing far into the distance.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Drifting in and out of consciousness the
patient became aware of movemet, or rather being moved, pushed on a trolley to
be exact. The pain he had felt in the car crash was now replaced with a feeling
of numbness throughout his entire body. He tried to move, but could not, not
even his head from side to side, and all he could do was lie on his back. Through
his still blurred vision, he could make out the pale intermittent overhead
lights and the shadowy figure who continued to push him along on the trolley,
down a long corridor of the hospital.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A second shadowy figure hurried at his
side, keeping pace with the </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">trolley
as it was quickly pushed along by the male orderly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">19</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">Then
came a disembodied voice which wavered, echoed. A female voice which seemed
most concerned about him<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is he still alive, I can’t find a pulse,
is he still alive, I can’t find a pulse, is he still alive, alive, alive,
alive?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through a pair of double doors the trolley
was pushed. The patient could see only the dim ceiling over head as he was
lifted off the trolley and onto the operating table around which other shadowy
figures gathered, each wearing green surgical gowns and face masks. The patient
tried to speak, lips moved but no sound was uttered. Then a sharp pain in the
numbness of his body, and the finger of unconsciousness beckoned him, as
blackness engulfed him once more.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: -43.7pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">20<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-87020219680437752622022-11-16T07:19:00.000+00:002022-11-16T07:19:51.207+00:00The Prisoner - Village Day - Chapter 1<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnmO100LUXiZl8g724nxGeiUPB4U9ZlS05vlRmtwUtBYwkxcUnxAEgjKWqkZqn_VmQXqPYtfD3UfPYb7LQRv_Dl89845w44OYGB2A17Ajndwy3bw1qkY53VIKF0J9UNGma_NdfULEmX-xOl2M0c4WT_rDhB8_bYYP9Gn0QlNEMLZFHYvZ0GXJxjzlPw/s557/VILLAGE%20DAY%20COVER%20ILLUSTRATION.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="365" height="688" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnmO100LUXiZl8g724nxGeiUPB4U9ZlS05vlRmtwUtBYwkxcUnxAEgjKWqkZqn_VmQXqPYtfD3UfPYb7LQRv_Dl89845w44OYGB2A17Ajndwy3bw1qkY53VIKF0J9UNGma_NdfULEmX-xOl2M0c4WT_rDhB8_bYYP9Gn0QlNEMLZFHYvZ0GXJxjzlPw/w452-h688/VILLAGE%20DAY%20COVER%20ILLUSTRATION.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">The right of David Stimpson to be identified</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">as the author of this work has been asserted by</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">him in accordance with copyright, Design and</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">patent act 1988.</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">All rights are reserved. No part of this publication</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">may be produced in any form or by means – graphic,</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, without</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">the prior permission, in writing, of the publisher.</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';">The Prisoner – A New No.2’ is published under the banner of “Fan Fiction” which means the promotion of ‘the Prisoner’ from which no money will be earned.</span><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-spacerun: 'yes';"><br /></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">1<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">The Beginning</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22pt;">P</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">rague</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> had become a dangerous place,
his cover as a seed and fertiliser salesman had not been one hundred percent,
plus he was unsure of two members of the espionage ring, set up by one of
Military Intelligence’s counter agents, and the information which they had
supplied turned out to be bogus. The meeting at Petrin Hill had not gone as
planned, he had barely escaped with his life!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As part of his cover he had attended the
agricultural trade exhibition as one of the British Trade Delegation, and as a
matter of course anyone new to the city of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city> sooner or later attracted the
attention of the secret police. Questions asked, his passport and papers
checked, at one point he had been interviewed by Colonel Ivan Berkov himself
who was head of the secret police. They have to be careful he had said, only
the other day a man was fished out of the river who turned out to be a spy. “But
of course you are with the British Trade Delegation, so we welcome you to
Prague, and I hope you have a pleasant stay in our beautiful city.
Czechoslovakia needs trade deals with other countries.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colonel Ivan Berkov, a clever man and as
such men go, a dangerous one to fall foul of, and his men of the secret police
were everywhere and on every street corner, evade one and another was further
along by a lamp post reading a newspaper, or across at the café, in their dark
raincoats and wide brimmed hats.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today had been worse, a day when he felt
that all of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city>’s
eyes were upon him, a day of dangers and disappointment. The danger of being
pulled in by the secret police and disappointment due to the non appearance of
his target…… Karl Kopec. He had waited at the café for well over an hour, this
had drawn the attention of both the café proprietor and the secret police. Why
was he there? Who was he waiting for? Let me see your papers, what is your name?
How long do you intend remaining in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city>?
The questions going round and round in his head until he finally stood up from
his table, leaving the café, and having given up on any chance of contact as a
bad job he returned to his hotel, the hotel Miramar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His room was both functional and adequate,
and as he closed the door behind him he turned the key in the lock and crossing
the room looked out of the window into the street below, at the parked black
car opposite, and of the man in a wide brimmed hat and dark raincoat stepping
out of the telephone kiosk and towards the parked car, there to report to the
well set man in military uniform sitting in the back seat…. Colonel Ivan Berkov.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frank Peterson, well that was the name he
had been using for the past week, a tall man, with light brown hair and hazel
eyes, a man who had long become used to living by his wits, having developed a</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">sixth
sense where danger is concerned, a professional who is </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">considered
to be one of the best agents in the field. Taking a silver cigarette case from
the inside pocket of his jacket he lit the cigarette with his lighter and at
the same time took a photograph of the man sitting in the back of the black car
parked in the street. Then drawing deeply on his cigarette closed the lens
cover of the cigarette lighter and replaced it in his pocket. Standing at the
window he continued to watch the street below until at last the black car drew
away from the kerbside, leaving a man in dark raincoat and wide brimmed hat
standing alone by the telephone kiosk reading his newspaper. Peterson walked
away from the window and paced the room wondering what his next move was to be.
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and removing the jacket of his
charcoal grey suit and unbuttoning his black polo shirt, reclined upon the bed.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">1</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From out of his briefcase he took a blue
cardboard file, on the front of which were two words - Karl Kopec. The file was
thin with the least of all information upon the subject, and the only
photograph was five years old and would by now be completely out of date. Well
no one from the west had seen Kopec in all those five years, and it had been
only on rumour and speculation by one of the members of an espionage ring that
had seen him sent here by the Colonel. Having studied again the file and
photograph of the aging, grey haired man, Peterson lit another cigarette, the
tobacco tasted good. As for his next move, he had absolutely no idea, save for
contacting members of the ring again, but that would be both fool hardy and
dangerous, what with Colonel Berkov bearing in on him and his every move
watched by those men of the secret police. But then isn’t that why he did what
he did, because of the danger, well it certainly wasn’t for the money! It was
at this point that the telephone upon the bedside table suddenly began to ring,
which put him on his guard, at least it wasn’t a knock on the door in the
middle of the night. Reaching over he picked up the receiver and slowly put it
to his ear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mister Peterson?” asked the hotel operator
in broken English.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have a call for you from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>” the operator
informed him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson was puzzled, who would be calling
him here from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>,
unless it was Amalgamated Phosphates, but the voice on the other end was not
that of the Colonel, but one he knew very well indeed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Janet, how did you manage to call me here,
this is not a good time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s John, he’s gone missing” Janet
suddenly blurted out “I’ve asked father about it, but he tells me that even he
doesn’t know where he is, He’s not sent him on a mission or anything, trouble
is I don’t know whether to believe him or not……..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well that’s your father for you, never
could give a straight answer to anything” Peterson quipped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s been gone a year and then just
before my birthday party this man turned up, living in John’s house, he had
even lent him his </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">car…..”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Janet this is not the time, how did you find me anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Danvers</st1:place></st1:city>,
he told me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He should have known better, and so should
you if it comes to that. Look you know John, the kind of work he does, like me
he can be gone for months and a year would not be out of the question.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a sudden click on the line.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t know which way to turn and have no
one else to turn to, please help me Da…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson stopped Janet from giving his real
name away over the open line, he was sure someone was listening in on his phone
conversation, probably recording it as well “Look Janet I’m working myself, and
in a very big deal in fertiliser, you could say I’m up to my neck in it. I have
one more meeting at the trade delegation and if all goes well I will be back in
<st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>
in a few days. I’ll look you up when I get back, you can tell me all about it
then.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">2</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson replaced the receiver and stubbed
out his cigarette. Janet Portland had seemed very distressed, so his brother
had gone missing. It had been about a year since he had last seen John and
wondered if his disappearance had had anything to do with his decision to
resign. He got up off the bed and crossed to the window. Outside it was
beginning to get dark and below in the street the man by the telephone kiosk was
being relieved by an identical looking man in wide brimmed hat and dark
raincoat. His sixth sense was telling him that danger was just around the
corner, that it was time to go while the going was good, before it was too
late, perhaps it had been too late for John!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picking up the telephone receiver “Reception,
this is mister Peterson in room eighteen, prepare my bill for me would you and
I want you to book me a seat on the next flight to London, yes London.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You
are leaving us so soon mister Peterson, is there some problem?” asked the desk receptionist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes I’m afraid so, the telephone call I
received a few moments ago was to recall me to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>, business you know” that was a lie, he
knew it, the receptionist knew it and so too did the man in the wide brimmed
hat listening in on the call.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The receptionist looked at the man standing
over her, eyes peering from beneath the brim of his hat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll put you through to the manager sir.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were two clicks on the
telephone.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hello mister Peterson, its Brodnic,
the hotel manager. I’m sorry to hear you have to leave so suddenly………… yes I
have your passport…….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man in the wide brimmed hat handed him
the black British passport.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“……….. I shall have your bill prepared
immediately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson put the receiver down and swung
his legs round, raised </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">himself
off the bed, and taking his brown suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe he
began to pack. The blue Kopec file he closed, and with it the chance of
collecting the other half of the four hundred, and dropped it into the suitcase
along with his clothes and the Smith and Wesson 38 revolver which he had previously
taped to the bottom of a drawer of the dressing table. His plane was due to
leave for </span><st1:city style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">
at two that afternoon, and from </span><st1:city style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Paris</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">
he would catch a flight to </span><st1:city style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">
airport. Or perhaps a train to </span><st1:city style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Calais</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">,
from there a ferry to </span><st1:city style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dover</st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">.
He paid his outstanding bill and collected his passport from reception.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif";">3</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I take it that you had a pleasant stay mister
Peterson” said the dark haired receptionist who smiled at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes very much” he returned with a knowing
grin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You will be sorry to be leaving, no?” the
receptionist asked stamping his hotel receipt and depositing his money into the
cash register.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, oh I mean yes’ Peterson grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And you have made many useful contacts?”
asked the receptionist smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson was put on the alert “Contacts?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, agriculture, no?’ prompted the
receptionist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson looked relieved and hoped it did not
show on his face, although he felt it had as he waited at the reception desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is there anything else Mister Peterson?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My passport” Peterson smiled holding out
his hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your passport? Oh the gentleman standing
behind you has it” pointed the receptionist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson turned round to see the tall, well
framed figure of Colonel Ivan Berkov thumbing through the British passport that
he was holding “So you are leaving us mister…. Peterson, what a pity you cannot
stay longer.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps I shall return one day.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And when you do you shall be made
very welcome.” Colonel Burkov closed the passport and offered it to the man
standing before him “Perhaps next time you will return with a passport in your
real name. I’m prepared to allow you to leave….this time, for now the game is
over. She must mean a great deal to you, for you to go back to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> so quickly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I said the time for games is now over, why
do you persist, we know all about you, Amalgamated Phosphates and this secretary
who telephones you for help, or is she more than a secretary to you, a lover
perhaps, certainly she was most distressed on the telephone” said Colonel
Berkov “and now you are on you way to render her assistance, and as you English
say, at the drop of a hat.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She is an old friend….”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Certainly a very good one to take you
flying back to <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>
so quickly” the Colonel returned as he stared back at his adversary.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">4<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It is often the way of things, besides my
work is concluded, there is nothing holding me here” he said with feeling, a
little nervous under the Colonel’s continued stare.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson slipped his passport inside his
jacket pocket “I have my overcoat and suitcase to collect from my room.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No you do not, they have been searched and
placed in my car which has in turn been placed at your disposal, my driver will
take you to the airport” and with a click of Colonel Berkov’s fingers two armed
guards approached Peterson and stood either side of him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson grinned, but at the same time was
somewhat relieved “Why do I get the impression that you can’t wait to see the
back of me?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I assure you that we consider you a most
important British visitor to our city and so being I have offered you the use
of my car, I would be neglecting my duty not to do so.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Berkov’s words sounded sincere, yet there
was an underlying menace, he had heard of Colonel’s methods.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are not coming Colonel?” he asked
halfway out of the hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are too kind, perhaps to see you
safely on your way.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drive through the relatively empty
streets of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city>
was for the most part, a quiet one until the Colonel said one word “Kopec!”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instinctively Peterson knew the game
was not over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are an excellent agent, one of your
company’s best I should think.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Agent?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colonel Berkov saw the sweat on his
passenger’s brow “An agent of your company, oh you would say a representative
of Amalgamated Phosphates. But will they appreciate your leaving the trade
exhibition so soon I wonder?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am a free agent, I come and go as I
please…..”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Only as I allow you to mister Peterson. You
must be highly thought of to be in such a position, such a man as yourself
would fetch a high price on the open market” Berkov grinned, knowing that he
was going to let this man go, but that one day he would be back, Kopec was
assurance of that.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally arriving at the airport the black
car came to a stop outside the terminal. The driver and one armed guard stepped
out of the car, the guard opening the car door, whilst the driver collected his
overcoat and suitcase from the trunk of the car, then flanked the passenger as he
stood upon the pavement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver and armed guard got back into
the car just as a radio message came through for the Colonel. A moment later
the driver honked the car horn, Peterson about to enter the airport terminal
stopped, and turned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh I have news for you of a mutual
acquaintance” the Colonel shouted from the car “Karl Kopec.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson tried to maintain his poker face.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">5<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have just been informed that my men have
picked him up, he’s at Police headquarters. I understand he is being made very
comfortable. I thought you would like to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Never heard of this man” Peterson lied.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh come now, Kopec is the reason for
your being in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city>.
Did you think we did not know? Do you take us for fools? We have had all of
your activities watched since your arrival. Now get on your plane while I’m
feeing charitable, and mister Peterson, do not let me see you in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Prague</st1:place></st1:city> ever again!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now the game was over, and he had
lost……..this time!</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 1.3pt; tab-stops: 306.75pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">6<o:p></o:p></span></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-17672810965888619882022-11-13T10:04:00.000+00:002022-11-13T10:04:17.866+00:00The Tally Ho<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 72pt; line-height: 115%;">The Tally Ho<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Death
Is An Escape!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by our own reporter<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JjLWPwBmIxS1swUB4WLiTgnEDg9fMoclhMRc21aFZ61HR7rPT4t68ifu8Y987Iooj1hNn7s61DjjUvJM1LQKp59FfWY7o4dMKWlMz46sj__WDcpAwACgTunyOnyfbAERSUrTXzs-vtblXdL3A1gikMfy_NvKvibIy-L0Smrivuq2eO3OsJmOXEtcXA/s345/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_13816_.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="315" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JjLWPwBmIxS1swUB4WLiTgnEDg9fMoclhMRc21aFZ61HR7rPT4t68ifu8Y987Iooj1hNn7s61DjjUvJM1LQKp59FfWY7o4dMKWlMz46sj__WDcpAwACgTunyOnyfbAERSUrTXzs-vtblXdL3A1gikMfy_NvKvibIy-L0Smrivuq2eO3OsJmOXEtcXA/s320/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_13816_.jpeg" width="292" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">D</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">eath is an escape, at least that’s what No.58 once thought “To hope to die, there’s
nothing else.” He actually told No.6 that “One day I’ll die and beat you all.”
I’m not sure that No.58 was thinking about dying of old age, so he may have
thought that one day they would go too far and cause his death, or he may have
been suggesting his own suicide. Suicide seems to be a common complaint in the
village. There was Cobb who leapt to his death through an open hospital window.
Of course a funeral was held for Cobb, and he was buried in the village
cemetery on the beach. The question must be asked, what was a hospital window
on the first floor doing being left open? And the lesson was not learned,
because there is the case of No.73. Life in the village didn’t suit her at all,
she was very happy at one day waking up in what she thought was her own home,
only to find she was in the village. It must have really played on her mind,
because she could not settle, so this reporter was told. It makes you wonder
why she was brought here in the first place. There are a lot of unhappy people
living in the village, and when the spirit is broken certain people attempt to
escape, while others take a different way out. And so because of No.73’s
unhappiness, her desperation drove her to try and take her own life by slashing
her wrists with a kitchen knife. Had it not been for the quick thinking of
No.251, her personal maid, No.73 would have ended up lying in a coffin in her
grave, and not in a comfortable bed in a private room in the hospital! Had
there been time she would have undergone a psychiatric assessment, and
depending on the results she might have remained at the hospital for her own
good. However this reporter was told that No.2 intervened, as he wanted to
carry out an interrogation of No.73, wanting to know why No.73 attempted
suicide. And the reason why she had been brought to the village? It would seem
that No.73 was one of those people who knew too little, but even then it was
enough to have her brought here! They couldn’t find her husband you see, and so
they had No.73 brought to the village because they thought she could tell them
where he is. But all she could say was that he was over there, somewhere there.
But that wasn’t enough for No.2, and it was his threatening interrogation
technique which drove No.73 to leap out of her bed and through the open
hospital window to her death. According to an eyewitness No.2 may have
threatened No.73 but he did not actually lay hands on her. Yes she was afraid,
frightened by what No.2 was physically going to do to her. But what the
eyewitness saw, as he and another medical orderly tried to restrain No.6, who
suddenly came bursting into the room, was the moment No.73 saw No.6 come
bursting into the room she leapt out of the bed and jumped out through the open
window to her death. This reporter managed to interview No.6, I asked him what
he was doing bursting into the hospital room like that? He told me that he was
just passing by {passing by where, the old folks home?} when he heard a scream
{you heard a scream at that distance and through stone walls} through an open
window {so you heard a scream what did you think was happening} I thought
someone was in danger of their life {You got to the hospital very quickly} as I
said I was passing by {you just happened to be passing by}. So I went to the
woman’s aid {so you burst into the room as medical orderlies tried to restrain
you, did you know No.73?} No I had never seen her before {and even then it was
ever so briefly, did 73 know you?} Not as far as I’m aware {then how do you
account for the fact that the moment YOU burst into the room she leapt out of
bed and hurled herself to her death through the open window?} I can’t. {Tell me
No.6, why did you go to the window and look down at the ground where the body
lay?} I was just making sure I suppose! {After Cobb you mean, well you need a
body for a funeral!}<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-26304288642249436412022-11-10T22:09:00.000+00:002022-11-10T22:09:40.719+00:00A Village Publication!<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: -68.1pt; margin-right: -72.75pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 48.0pt;">Tally Ho Journal</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.2pt;"><span style="font-size: 18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6Du4_GSnFbu2rSbwIK76cn8nyQa7iSnqyrIDzxinBKmgEFTZIE2nxfb-SgGf1YCp-cXIL0xFLiGXKJMbCXosIuJyAVWVdaw15B86VJ0szZXZITjUCvaeHBwbC2fVMSodNcNbcJVPu9HVi3FGAGT6Spsy-I2d0-zIaLu9EytYdGnjCzdUsuqsQIqPIA/s556/PDVD_003.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="429" height="697" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6Du4_GSnFbu2rSbwIK76cn8nyQa7iSnqyrIDzxinBKmgEFTZIE2nxfb-SgGf1YCp-cXIL0xFLiGXKJMbCXosIuJyAVWVdaw15B86VJ0szZXZITjUCvaeHBwbC2fVMSodNcNbcJVPu9HVi3FGAGT6Spsy-I2d0-zIaLu9EytYdGnjCzdUsuqsQIqPIA/w538-h697/PDVD_003.BMP" width="538" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 4.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">he Village
is a place where people turn up……well they don’t simply turn up, they are either
abducted because people who work in a certain job or environment have certain
information inside their head that needs to either be extracted, or protected.
And then there are the interim No.2’s, each one assigned to the village for one
purpose or another. One can only imagine from where each of them in turn has
been seconded, possibly within the Civil Service, and in one or two cases their
selection can be questionable, or dubious to say the least!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there are those who came to
work in the village of their own free will, such as the Professor and his wife,
and those recruited through Labour Exchanges, as well as employment bureaus.
Specialized people, electricians, scientists, technicians, painters,
decorators, craftsmen, gardeners, plumbers, administrators and all the others
who were brought in to run the village behind the scenes. Me? I remember the
day when I was brought here, I was taken to the Labour Exchange, I asked the
manager why I was here? He told me to get a job, then looking at my file and
told me that I would be put to work on The Tally Ho. I was surprised; I thought
I would be doing something important. The manager told me each of us are put to
the tasks of our profession, you’re a journalist he said, so you can work in
the offices of the village broadsheet The Tally Ho, they said, reporting on
everyday life in the village, commenting on social matters, on important
events, carrying out opinion polls. But first you will begin with Tally Ho
Journal, they said.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1E-zyVBXVhfzUH7gf7FAJ0_1meb1L5RnwzFsLHOA00-lJuYoR188LKOQ-32nbvmN5JkKMNMHMVW67k7h9fYT7jJxcr8M-FTM28bZfsjhH3boH-sjfe_XMOeBDiQ6-cWreiapqxErclc1bjAdj2S5QPgKJNeuE9Yu308G_ZKOR3ELXgwB6bR_EeHKrMw/s568/PDVD_162.BMP" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1E-zyVBXVhfzUH7gf7FAJ0_1meb1L5RnwzFsLHOA00-lJuYoR188LKOQ-32nbvmN5JkKMNMHMVW67k7h9fYT7jJxcr8M-FTM28bZfsjhH3boH-sjfe_XMOeBDiQ6-cWreiapqxErclc1bjAdj2S5QPgKJNeuE9Yu308G_ZKOR3ELXgwB6bR_EeHKrMw/s320/PDVD_162.BMP" width="284" /></a></div> As a matter of fact there is
something I can write about straight away, a strange occurrence which I and a
number of citizens witnessed. It took place in the Piazza, everyone was
enjoying themselves promenading around the pool and fountain, when all of a
sudden this thing appeared, a round white sphere made of membrane. Someone told
me it was the Guardian. Do you know I do believe this village is full of
eccentrics, what with the old Admiral sailing plastic boats in the Free Sea, I
mean to say, what’s the Free Sea all about? Anyway there was this dinghy in the
Free Sea and a chap dressed for Henley regatta sitting in a dinghy being pulled
along on a rope by another chap. Suddenly everyone was ordered to “Be still” by
Number 2, and suddenly everyone was frozen to the spot, well almost everyone.
There was this young man in sun glasses and striped jersey who wasn’t trying to
run away, he was just dodging about, simply not being “still” I suppose. And I
guess it was for that reason why the Guardian was set upon him. It was awful to
see that thing smothering that young man’s face and suffocating him to death,
or at the very least into unconsciousness! And the queerest thing of all, the
Guardian is capable of making sounds, either a blood curdling roar, or
something like a Gregorian chant, crossed with a noise of a bicycle pump,
crossed again with someone breathing through an aqualung. No, that’s not the
queerest thing, the queerest thing was that as the Guardian moved away,
presumably resuming its patrol and leaving the body lying in the Piazza,
everyone there was suddenly able to move again, and simply went on promenading
in the Piazza just as though nothing had happened. In time an ambulance arrived
and two medics carried the body away on a stretcher.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True the village is a picturesque
place, where people are permitted to enjoy themselves and at times in a most
peculiar way, such as scrambling about the deck of what I can only describe as
a folly, the stoneboat, clambering about her rigging. While others spend time
relaxing, sunbathing, swimming in the public <st1:place w:st="on">Lido</st1:place>.
There’s even a regular brass band concert, and croquet played on the village green.
And if you don’t feel like cooking breakfast, and you’re not eligible for
certain privileges, like having your breakfast delivered by a personal maid,
then you can always have breakfast at the café, and enjoy afternoon tea on the
lawn of the Old People’s Home. Everyone is catered for, for as long as you
live, you are then gracefully retired into the Old People’s Home! And yet there
is a dark underside to the village if the use of that amorphous membrane thing
called the Guardian is anything to go by. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And was that a demonstration? Because there
was this chap in a charcoal grey suit, who was obviously a new arrival here, so
the demonstration, if that was, was possibly for this chap’s benefit as if to
say if you step out of line look what will happen to you! And of course there
is another way of looking at it, the powerful manipulative ability No.2
demonstrates over the citizens of this community. “Be still” he ordered and not
one person moved, only that poor young man, who was so badly used that day.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suggested to the editor that I might carry
out some investigative journalism; after all that is what I used to do in my
former life, and that I might write a piece on No.2. He told me not to worry
about No.2, as any such No.2 has never been here long enough for anyone to get
a handle on him! Other than that I am free to write about any aspect of village
life, and perhaps a few features on less prominent figures in the village. I
understand there is a couple here who took ages to settle down, and that now
they wouldn’t leave for the world……..I wonder why that was?<o:p></o:p><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-74399207356653519512022-11-08T13:13:00.000+00:002022-11-08T13:13:42.375+00:00The Tally Ho<p> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", "serif"; font-size: 72pt;">The Tally Ho</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Security
of the Citizens <br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by our own reporter<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Snl9rXSQ2FiaZ_dOLI6u2D3CDcUyuwxONrYooPIvOQxyrKS5EgSEGBhEluadxRNga5GZK3Zbo1X6dnMNtR8C577yjN6WDohYtkGCVF01yMLTK-_Hkn9qfT81yogAIwblOypORtLZK-2rnWmTqw7Y-V6L3DVEfSEoFPfWNW_W_ihpCdt4xePhWV8j2w/s261/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_131234_.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="196" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Snl9rXSQ2FiaZ_dOLI6u2D3CDcUyuwxONrYooPIvOQxyrKS5EgSEGBhEluadxRNga5GZK3Zbo1X6dnMNtR8C577yjN6WDohYtkGCVF01yMLTK-_Hkn9qfT81yogAIwblOypORtLZK-2rnWmTqw7Y-V6L3DVEfSEoFPfWNW_W_ihpCdt4xePhWV8j2w/s1600/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_131234_.jpeg" width="196" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">“T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">he
security of the citizens will be my primary objective” the new interim told
this community in a recent television announcement. It would appear that this
No2 is going to make the most of the media during his term in office, no matter
how long that might be. Certainly this former No.6 newly elected to the
position of Chief Administrator has had a complete change of heart, a man who
previously prided himself on non co-operation, causing mischief whenever
possible, and generally poking his nose into business which was none of his
concern. Not to mention attempting escapes whenever the opportunity presented
itself. It would appear that this former No.6 is now a reformed character,
making such promises as the citizens who can enjoy themselves, that they can
partake in the most hazardous sports {I think he means Kosho there} but there
is a price, and he considers that price cheap. All he wants is for them to give
us information, once they’ve done that they are eligible for promotion, to
other spheres, suggesting that he will fulfil their desire, where do you want
to go, that he can fulfil your dreams! Also he pledged to tighten up on village
security, as for his external policy it would seem village exports will operate
in every corner of the globe. And yet this reporter wasn’t aware that the
village actually produced anything! True it has cornered the market in
information, information, information and that can come at a hefty price for
someone, as it can be an expensive commodity. The change in attitude of this
former prisoner makes this reporter wonder if he has undergone some form of
therapy treatment, or mind conditioning. It is possible that he knows exactly
what he’s doing, playing the game, giving the administration what it wants, to
quietly work through his term in office. But what happens once that term is
over? Would he simply be allowed to leave the village? Not with the information
he has about the village, I should think that highly unlikely because there’s
no guarantee he wouldn’t go running back to those ex-colleagues of his and
start blabbing his mouth off. Not that that ever did him any good before.
Because he should know it by now, that it was those so called ex-colleagues who
had the now new interim No.2 in the village in the first place! It is always
possible that No.2 might attempt to bring about changes to the village
administration from within the system, perhaps he intends to tighten up
security, and I should have thought the security of the citizens would be the
last thing on his mind. But perhaps he had the idea of taking care of them. Ah
but he soon came to his senses, and it wasn’t long before No.6 was feeling much
more like his old self, and soon he was giving orders to evacuate the village,
telling citizens that they were free, free, free to go. For a few critical
moments he was in command, and attempted to immobilize all electronic controls.
But No.6 will never learn, the order was not to damage the tissue, well it did
get bruised a bit, but as an ex-No.2 he must have felt fortunate not have been
co-opted onto the town council, otherwise he might well have found himself
standing at a lectern amongst all those other brainwashed imbeciles! For this
newly elected interim No.2 his term in office was over before it had hardly
begun, which makes it the shortest in village history! However we thank him for
his dedication to the community, for taking up the challenge, and for his
valiant attempt to stand up to the rigours of electoral office. He gave No.2 a
run for his money, and his was the popular vote despite being treated with
suspicion by members of the electorate outside the Town Hall once the election
had been decided. But really it was merely a question of manipulation of not
only the opposing candidate, but the community as a whole. The village is what
is termed a “rotten borough” in which there is but one sitting town council
member no matter for whom the citizens vote. As No.6 said, “The old regime
forever, and the old Number 2 forever.” The question remains, was the election
a genuine one, or merely manipulation of the Prisoner in order to get him to
talk? Because if we are to take the election at face value there does come a
time when elections in the village are done away with, and No.2 no longer has
any opposition, although the administration is an effective one. After all as
No.2 once said “Its an irritation we’ve dispensed with. Even at its best free
democracy is remarkably inefficient!”<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-48085828029355397572022-11-05T22:12:00.003+00:002022-11-05T22:12:54.266+00:00Prisoner Fan Fiction coming soon!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Gd_Bd1Np0duG9IMtiGTHdCC6M9n6UoCeW6rFcw0wuxuNBEIfWvW2UgNPLAoDj08P39S-dqsECjaM619D5RJdu4EZuEMLH7yCKeP8lwDgkhfBpk6TFAxczKzel5UpIfep59zieQb-E_Ni7uBv3-O2oAGNw2VIWEbQXXZ2pnO1Etd87lgmqcIsqyfDeQ/s557/VILLAGE%20DAY%20COVER%20ILLUSTRATION.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="365" height="588" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Gd_Bd1Np0duG9IMtiGTHdCC6M9n6UoCeW6rFcw0wuxuNBEIfWvW2UgNPLAoDj08P39S-dqsECjaM619D5RJdu4EZuEMLH7yCKeP8lwDgkhfBpk6TFAxczKzel5UpIfep59zieQb-E_Ni7uBv3-O2oAGNw2VIWEbQXXZ2pnO1Etd87lgmqcIsqyfDeQ/w386-h588/VILLAGE%20DAY%20COVER%20ILLUSTRATION.jpg" width="386" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">“V</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">illage
</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">D</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">ay
is the day when the entire community celebrates both the founding, and the founder
of the Village!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To lose
a fiancé may be regarded as a misfortune, to lose a fiancé twice looks like
carelessness! But to whom could Janet Portland turn, not to her father but
perhaps</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> to
another.......<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man arrives back in London and is
assigned to track down Janet Portland’s fiancé </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">who has been
lost for over a year. The trail leads him to be abducted to the Village, where
despite No.2, the search continues. The Village is a small enough place, how
difficult could it be to find one man? But there is a shock in store as</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";"> the new</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
No.6 discovers that his brother is not the man he thought him to be!<br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than that, this is the book of
the film {with a few added embellishments} produced in 1998-99, and some fans
of the Prisoner, should they care to read this novella, will be able to
interact with the characters, seeing as they were in the film!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">To
be published a chapter per week over 17 weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">'Fan Fiction' meaning no money will be earned through the publihing of this novella.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Be seeing you</span></p><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-88206289133454546412022-11-05T22:10:00.002+00:002022-11-05T22:10:53.134+00:00The Tally Ho<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 72pt; line-height: 115%;">The Tally Ho <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">The General Stores – Under New Management!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by our own reporter</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRD-3IaqMNsHPSw3fhqo64GSYg_aZ6TH_uS3oI_n7eAOYIslI5PLlhia7mmam9jICEtcbiBmIX9mGZ-99sUeBeu4IN30cLuCyPc5LnAtkEXF7p49olshIXih5-h1cF17f6LS9LdvXzl_xPmdBlnRKdQqb4bfA_IRqSJl8yMUzNcyrZxT_lsItxdIKwg/s288/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_122845_.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="255" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRD-3IaqMNsHPSw3fhqo64GSYg_aZ6TH_uS3oI_n7eAOYIslI5PLlhia7mmam9jICEtcbiBmIX9mGZ-99sUeBeu4IN30cLuCyPc5LnAtkEXF7p49olshIXih5-h1cF17f6LS9LdvXzl_xPmdBlnRKdQqb4bfA_IRqSJl8yMUzNcyrZxT_lsItxdIKwg/s1600/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_122845_.jpeg" width="255" /></a></div><br /> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">T</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">he
General Store has been placed under new management, No.19, or was it 56 has
been replaced. It would appear a recent audit of the Store’s books has shown a
number of discrepancies in the accounts, in brief it appears the shopkeeper has
been “cooking” the books! No.2 said that this is an administrative error the
fact that the Store’s books had never been checked before! No.112 has now been
given the position of shopkeeper, and has already implemented a number of
improvements to the village shop, a number of “special imports” now stock the
shelves. Various LP records are now for sale, which any prospective buyer can
listen to in the newly installed record booth. For those budding photographers
there is now a selection of cameras and photographic equipment which can be
purchased as well as 3 pounds of King Edward potatoes, Brussels sprouts,
oranges, pineapples, and for the table, and imported blue and white Cornish
ware, along with Portmeirion pottery. A 1940’s till is also a new addition to
the shop. I asked the shopkeeper No.112 why there was a need for the till when
the village is a cashless community which runs on credit? “Well sir, every time
I clip a customer’s credit card I have to keep the clippings somewhere, so what
better till could there be for what is supposed to be an olde worlde, typically
English corner shop?” I found I could not argue with the man. So I asked the
shopkeeper for 20 cigarettes. “Cigarettes sir?” “Yes, I’ll take 20 woodbine, oh
and a box of matches.” “I’m sorry sir, but we don’t sell cigarettes.” “You do
there’s a cigarette machine next to the door” I said turning to look. “There
used to be sir, but I had it removed.” “Since when?” “Since the no smoking
policy in the village sir.” “I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous, a no
smoking policy. I’ll see Number 2 about this!” Ting ling a ling. I stood
outside the shop for a few moments, took out a packet of woodbines from my
pocket and a box of matches and lit a cigarette, a passer-by gave me such a queer
accusing look, but my mind was on the previous shopkeeper who couldn’t make up
his mind what his number was. A question buzzed around inside my mind, with the
village being a cashless community, how could the shopkeeper No.19 or 56 have
been found to be “cooking” the books, and so removed from his position because
of fraud? There was no possible way he could have skimmed cash off the top,
there being no cash to skim, unless he was philching goods, but then to what
end? The shopkeeper isn’t the only citizen not to be seen recently, there’s
No.14 the ex-Count, the painter No.42, and No.58. I have asked around, but
no-one could say they have seen any of them; no-one leaves the village, and the
only funeral recently was that of No.73. So where are they? It’s as though they
have been wiped off the chessboard, as if they never existed! What’s more there
are no more games of chess using people as chess pieces!<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9036104775563265647.post-58674598357427529092022-11-03T14:49:00.000+00:002022-11-03T14:49:04.393+00:00The Tally Ho<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 72.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Tally Ho <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Blue Zone In The Post!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>by our own
reporter<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNce52oh7mpxxC1HyfHRGrU4-gBPRSxOjLTYm-kftioxsQB3Usl1_0gOX8eC5oXqE3UKrez3_YyxxKg6tqr-bgzp_Gj0OJeNDyKdJys_WVKt_2KbHl14_P9_X6FbU8VQs6era0v_2xbki41qAeMqLkITQcb8fV-XG3wXwfPeHeDothrOsI-iiS0ndrg/s279/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_12247_.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="232" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNce52oh7mpxxC1HyfHRGrU4-gBPRSxOjLTYm-kftioxsQB3Usl1_0gOX8eC5oXqE3UKrez3_YyxxKg6tqr-bgzp_Gj0OJeNDyKdJys_WVKt_2KbHl14_P9_X6FbU8VQs6era0v_2xbki41qAeMqLkITQcb8fV-XG3wXwfPeHeDothrOsI-iiS0ndrg/w252-h303/Web%20capture_21-9-2022_12247_.jpeg" width="252" /></a></div>“S<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif";">ign
your number here Number Six.” What’s this? a registered letter sent to No.6?
No, it is an invitation to the ball, special delivery and must be signed for!
Why does the village postman wear a Royal Mail peaked cap? In doing so he fits
in with two other citizens, the eccentric No.66 who wears a British naval
officer’s cap and described by No.2 as an exAdmiral. How did he become an
ex-Admiral? Did he simply resign? Perhaps he was caught giving away secret
naval plans to another country, the Russians for example. And yet, why is No.66
allowed to wear that British Royal Naval cap an indication of his former
employment? It’s the same with No.54 the General apparently once of the British
Army, although we do not know the regiment, wears a British General’s cap. It
makes one wonder what it was that had the General brought to the village?
However if we are to accept that the Admiral was once of the British Royal
Navy, and the General of the British Army, then perhaps the village postman
once worked for the British Royal Mail, and being his previous occupation is
allowed to wear the peaked cap, but not the rest of his uniform! It might be
that the village postman was brought to the village to be the village postman!
We see the village postman pushing a Penny Farthing bicycle up to the door of
‘6 Private,’ push the Penny Farthing yes, ride it on his postal round would
seem unlikely. But during the Victorian period British Royal Mail postmen rode
Penny Farthing bicycles, so perhaps that is the reason why the postman is seen
with a Penny Farthing bicycle. Now we come to this new “Blue Zone” in the post,
what’s that all about? Who bothers to write to anyone in the village? Well some
citizens must write to others, otherwise there would be no need for a postman,
and no new Blue Zone in the post! At the kiosk copies of The Tally Ho and
confectionary are sold, along with picture postcards of the village but not the
traditional saucy comical postcards. Who in the village would buy picturesque
postcards of the village, let alone send such a postcard to someone living in
the village. One could hardly send someone the usual seaside holiday greeting
“Wish you were here,” because they are here already! So this postman, how does
he actually deliver the post? I only ask because as far as I can see none of
the cottage doors are actually fitted with a letter box! Perhaps the postman
has to knock on every cottage door and wait for the door to be opened in order
for a citizen’s post to be delivered, in the same way he delivers No.6’s
invitation to Carnival! And there’s another question, before the advent of the
new blue post box, how did citizens post their letters and postcards to one
another? Because up until then this reporter has never seen a post box in the
village! What’s more there is no village post office! When it comes to the possibility
that certain people are bought to the village simply to carry on their
occupation, like the postman, the watchmaker, the reporter who writes for The
Tally Ho, perhaps it’s the same with the milkman who wears a peaked cap and
blue and white striped apron. We may not see the milkman because he works early
hours delivering the citizens milk before they are up and about. Proof of this
is seen on the doorstep of ‘6 Private’ when No.6 has put out the empty milk
bottle on his doorstep at night ready for collection the nest morning when his
milk is delivered. And of course when it comes to wearing hats, the
administrative officials of administration all wear Top Hats, and that included
No.2 and his assistant No.12 when they were members of the board of education.
And should have included No.2 as Chairman of the town council! So you know what
they say, if you want to get ahead get a hat<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>David Stimpsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196038086564981619noreply@blogger.com0