John Connolly - The Creeps - A Samuel Johnson Tale

Samuel picked up something in Nurd’s tone.

“But not a big chance,” said Samuel, and he managed a smile.

“Not really,” said Nurd, “but that’s better than no chance at all.”

Maria joined them.

“What are you two whispering about?” she said, but even as she spoke Lucy bustled forward and plonked herself between Maria and Samuel. Lucy might have been a little shallow, and very self-obsessed, but she was nobody’s fool. She might not have liked Samuel as much as she once thought she did, and she certainly didn’t understand him, but there was no way that she was going to let anyone else take him from her.

“He’s my boyfriend!” she said.

“Er, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” said Samuel, although it struck him that this probably wasn’t the ideal time to bring it up. Then again, if the universe did come to an end, he didn’t want to spend his final moments stuck in a doomed relationship with Lucy Highmore.

“ Excuse me?” said Lucy.

Nurd took a discreet step back. It is said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Nurd had spent a long time in Hell, and he knew just how furious it was. If scorning Lucy Highmore was going to be worse than Hell, then Nurd didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of whatever happened next. He managed to put Constable Peel and two dwarfs between him and the argument.

“Hey, wait a minute—” said Constable Peel, who might have been dim at times but could see where this was going.

“You’re a policeman,” said Nurd. “You have a duty to protect.”

He kept a tight hold of Constable Peel’s shoulders, just in case the policeman got any ideas about seeking cover for himself.

“Look, it’s just not working out between us,” said Samuel. “It’s not you, it’s me.” 63

“How dare you!” said Lucy. “You’re saying that it is me!”

“No, I’m not,” said Samuel. “At least, I don’t think that I am. Hang on, I might be.”

“But nobody has ever broken up with me before,” said Lucy. “I do the breaking up. I even have a speech about how we can still be friends, and how you must be brave, and all that nonsense.”

“Right,” said Samuel, and his mouth began working before his brain could catch up. “Well, we can still be friends, and I suppose you have to be brave—”

Any further musings he might have had on the future of his dealings with Lucy Highmore were brought to a sudden end by the impact of her right shoe against Samuel’s left knee.

“Oooooooh!” said Lucy. “Well, I’m glad I’m not going out with you anymore! You’re strange, you’re too short, and your shoes sometimes don’t match. And by the way, this has been the worst date of my life!”

She turned to face Maria.

“You Jezebel!”  64she said. “If you like him that much then you can just have him, and I hope he makes you as happy as he made me.”

She stomped away, then stomped back again.

“Just in case you didn’t understand what I meant,” she told Maria, “I was implying that he didn’t make me happy at all, and I hope you’re just as unhappy with him as I was.”

“I knew that,” said Maria. “And I do like him. I think I may love him, actually.”

“Bully for you,” said Lucy. “I don’t want an invitation to the wedding.”

She stomped away for the second time, and stood beside Nurd and Constable Peel with her arms folded, simmering like a pot on a warm stove.

“What are you two looking at?” she said.

“Nothing,” said Nurd.

“Me neither,” said Constable Peel. “I’m just minding my own business.”

“Just keep it that way,” said Lucy. “Oh, men!”

Samuel, meanwhile, was staring at Maria with the confused expression of a man who has just learned that day is, in fact, night, and the moon is made of cheese after all.

“What?” he said, as he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Maria, then added: “You’re an idiot.”

“What?” said Samuel—again.

“For a smart boy,” said Angry to Jolly, who had been watching the entertainment and enjoying it immensely, “he really is surprisingly stupid sometimes.”

“Look, I like you,” said Maria. “A lot. I’ve always liked you. A lot. Do you understand?”

“What?” said Samuel, for a third time.

Maria kissed Samuel gently on the lips.

“There,” she said.

“Ah,” said Samuel.

“The light dawns,” said Angry.

“It’s like watching a caveman discover fire,” said Jolly.

“Now,” said Maria, “to return to the original question: what were you and Nurd whispering about?”

Samuel could taste Maria on his lips. His head was swimming. It was such a shame that he was either going to be killed or the Multiverse was about to come to an end, because he realized he had always loved Maria. He definitely didn’t want to die now, and he rather hoped that the Multiverse might be saved without his death being part of the bargain, but then he also understood that there really is no sacrifice, and no bravery, unless there is something to be lost.

He put his hand against Maria’s cheek.

“Nurd and I are going to offer ourselves to Mrs. Abernathy in order to save the Multiverse,” he said.

“Over my dead body,” said Maria.

“That,” said a voice lubricated by poisons, “can probably be arranged. Oh, and ho-ho-ho.”

62. The word vertigo is frequently used, incorrectly, to describe the fear of heights, but vertigo is a spinning sensation felt when someone is actually standing still. The correct term for a fear of heights is acrophobia . Good grief, I sound like that grammarian bloke Dominique Bouhours, and he was really annoying. Sorry.

63. Please see footnote 16 in Chapter Five, and then substitute “me” for “you,” and “you” for “me” in the sentence above.

64. This is quite an insult, but only really works on a girl who has tried to steal another girl’s boyfriend. If you’re a bloke and you call someone a Jezebel, you’ll just be looked at oddly.

XXXV

In Which We End on a Cliffhanger

SAMUEL AND MARIA HAD seen photographs of Hilary Mould, but had obviously never imagined meeting him in the flesh, not that they had lost a lot of sleep over it. Even in life Hilary Mould had not been a very handsome man. He had fish eyes, a misshapen nose, and a chin so weak that a small child could have taken it in a fight. What little hair he had stuck up at odd angles from his head like clumps of bristles on an old, worn paintbrush, and his ears stood out at right angles from his head like car doors that had been jammed open. He was also so pale and sickly that he resembled a corpse that had recently been dug up and then forgotten about.

In a way, this should have meant that actual death was unlikely to make him any less appealing than he already was, but anyone hoping that might be the case would have been sorely disappointed. Hilary Mould now looked worse than ever, and his name seemed to suit him even more than it had in life since he was literally moldy: something unpleasant and green was growing on what was left of his face, and he appeared to be at least 30 percent down in the finger department. His skin had retreated from his fingernails, making them appear disturbingly long, and it was possible to see the tendons working through the holes in his cheeks as his jaws moved. His big eyes had turned entirely black, and wisps of darkness hung like smoke around his lips as he spoke. The fact that he was dressed as Father Christmas did not help matters.

“Mr. Grimly, I presume?” said Sergeant Rowan. “Or do you prefer Mould?”

“You may call me Mister Mould,” said Hilary Mould. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this day. Now—”