Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

'But this is not so,' cried Butter, scratching tufts of thick black hair.

'Lad, that's four…sentences you've started…with the word "But".' Prometheus wiped his hands down his face in frustration. 'Now please…listen t'me! Cornelius is sick, we need-'

'Crazy! Yes, that is it,' said Butter. He stared at the floor, as if that might provide him with some answers. 'I am crazy. Mad as Hatter! There is no talking Prometheus. The time in that metal prison has addled my senses!'

Prometheus tore off his thick woollen coat, untied his scarf, and placed them both over Quaint's body. 'We don't have…time for this, man! Cornelius needs…help! And fast! Don't ye see? Where's the, ah…the Madame?'

'Madame Destine? Madame not here,' mouthed Butter robotically.

'Yeah, I guessed that. Damn it,' cursed Prometheus. 'Gettin' nowhere. Like talkin'…to a bloody parrot. Butter…for…God's sake, man…snap out of it! I…need your…help here.'

'Prometheus,' whispered Butter, entranced. 'Needs…my help?'

'Cornelius is…damn near frozen, Butter, y'get me? His whole body's…in shock-luckily for him, or else…he'd prob'ly be dead.'

'Dead!' snapped Butter, stomping his foot upon the ground. 'But not dead?'

Prometheus shook his head. 'This is madness…We need t'warm him up…and we need t'do it now!' The giant clamped his bushy mouth onto Quaint's, holding his friend's nose with his hand. He breathed warm breath into the still lungs, and then quickly swapped the hand to his chest to pump the heart. It had now been at least five minutes since Quaint had drawn a full breath, and time was of the essence. Again, Prometheus breathed and pumped and breathed and pumped, and again there was no response from Quaint. Prometheus massaged his heart in a rhythmic motion unrelentingly, as Butter's fragile mind slowly came around to the prospect that maybe it wasn't quite so addled after all.

With a sudden cough, followed by a gasp for air, Cornelius Quaint sat bolt upright on the table, with Prometheus supporting his back. He coughed again, a dry, hoarse cough, and he clawed madly at his throat. His forehead was speckled with perspiration.

'Wuh…Wuh…Where…?' he wheezed.

Butter rushed to his side, snapped out of his confused state. 'Boss, lie still. You are quite safe…and look,' he exclaimed. 'Prometheus is here!'

Quaint craned his neck to see the huge form by his side, rubbing away at his back.

'Prom? Is…is it really you?' he whispered.

'Aye, mate, but…lay still and rest.'

Quaint responded to the giant's words with a furrowed brow. 'But…you can talk?'

'That is what I said…he speaks!' said Butter. 'But-'

'But-' began Quaint. 'But you can't-'

'Oh, this…this is just grand. Now…it's infectious!' said Prometheus, shaking his head. 'Will ye both…please stop saying "But"? Just…ah…just take it easy, Cornelius. I'll tell ye all…once I c'n…grasp th'words meself!'

Quaint rubbed at his neck, casting aside Prometheus's thick coat. 'Forget that! I can recuperate later, man. It's damn good to see you again, my friend, but we don't have time for a reunion right now. We need to get back to the…to the…to the train,' Quaint tried to stand, his legs buckling like those of a newborn foal. He strained, and stared into Prometheus's large brown eyes. 'Prometheus, my good man, do me a favour will you?'

'Anythin',' the Irishman replied.

'Catch me.'

Quaint's eyes rolled to the top of his head, his legs totally gave out beneath him and he slumped limply into Prometheus's open arms. He was unconscious once more and, within moments, snoring loudly. Prometheus clutched Quaint's sleeping form to his warm chest.

'Some welcome home party this turned out t'be,' said Prometheus.

Half-an-hour later, Cornelius Quaint re-entered the world of the living and came round again. His mouth was dry, and he stared intently at the huge figure in front of him. As if this was the first time they were seeing him, Quaint's eyes took in every detail of the strongman. His hands reached out, and clasped Prometheus's jacket tightly to prove to himself that he was no mirage.

'Christ, Prometheus, it really is you!' Quaint said, desperately trying to restore saliva to his mouth and dry lips.

'In the flesh, Cornelius.'

'I thought we'd lost you for good, my friend.'

'I was lost…an' bits of me still are I think,' Prometheus said awkwardly. 'From…th'look o'those bodies over there…we should move on. Someone's sure…t'come back and check on ye…and they'll…expect ye t'be dead. Where can we go? The train?'

'Not just yet, there'll be Peelers all over it,' said Quaint. 'Butter, how about the boat we came here in? Is it large enough for all three of us?'

'It is doubtful, boss,' said Butter. 'But I agree…I have no wish to remain here long myself.' The Inuit stared at the bodies littering the warehouse floor, and his mind wandered briefly back to the battle, and the lives he had been forced to take.

Quaint stared at his pocket-watch. 'Let's try and make it to Hyde Park and to shelter as quick as we can; the circus is as good a place as any to hide out.'

'Christ!' cursed Prometheus, as he scratched at his bald head. 'Wish I could just…get these damn…words out, man. Surely…th'circus will…be the first place the police…will think of looking.'

'Or the last place, depending how smart they are. We'll have to take the side roads to avoid bumping into anyone. There's no better hiding place than in plain sight,' said Quaint, sizing up Prometheus and Butter. 'But look at the two of you…an Eskimo and a giant. I doubt that I could be travelling with anyone more conspicuous!'

Prometheus mouthed silently, and smacked the side of his head as if trying to jar the right words into his mouth. 'Mebbe we should…split up, like? Three targets're harder t'find…than one, right?'

'Well, you can forget that,' snapped Quaint. 'I've only just found you…I'm not about to risk losing you again. We need to get word to Destine at the railway station that you're safe, and let her know what's happening.'

'Perhaps I go, boss?' offered Butter. 'Boat not hold us all, but I alone? Yes! It shall be not a problem. I go back to station and tell the Madame we found Prometheus.'

'Actually…'twas me that found the two o' ye!' said Prometheus.

'And just in the nick of time, apparently,' said Quaint. 'Butter, if you're sure you want to go alone, then by all means, but we don't want any unwanted attention. Just tell Destine to continue as normal. No need to drag her half-way across town tonight. Tell her to leave a skeleton crew onboard the train, and bring her out to the park first thing in the morning.'

Butter nodded dutifully. 'It shall be done, boss.'

'And Butter?' asked Quaint, watching the Inuit spin on his heels. 'Those men mentioned me by name, remember? So it's a safe bet someone wants me dead. We don't know who our enemies are, but they surely know us. Be on your guard.'

'Thank you, boss, I will,' said Butter with a bow, and he skipped out of the warehouse towards the rowing boat.

Prometheus and Quaint watched as Butter pulled hard on the boat's oars, rowing away into the enveloping fog of the night. Within seconds, the misty shroud had swallowed him and he was no longer visible. Prometheus turned to Quaint, and slapped a huge hand on his friend's back.

'He's…a plucky little thing, isn't he?' said Prometheus with a tug on his bristles. 'A proper…little lep…lep…lepre-'

'Leprechaun?' offered Quaint.

'Yeah…that's the word. Sorry, Cornelius…a bit rusty.' Prometheus kicked at a wooden post on the wharf in frustration at the disjointedness between his brain and his mouth. Although he knew exactly what he wanted to say, and it was waiting there patiently on his lips, he was finding it immeasurably hard to communicate it. He had been mute for so long. The words teased him, floating from his grasp before he could vocalise them, like trying to catch a butterfly without a net. So much so that each sentence was constructed in such a way that it sounded like a completely random series of words strung together by accident. The haphazard inflections were all over the place, marred even more by his melodic Irish accent.