Shell Shocked (The Cosmic Carapace, #1) (17 page)

Mrs Strang however, didn’t bat an eyelid at the question.

“Funny you should say that," she said in a matter of fact voice. “I’d decided I’d better have a word with my little group about that anyway, but now I know my Norbert is involved.” She marched out of the door and into the little street.

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T
he working women of Alexandria were a breed unto themselves. They had found themselves born into the metaphorical gutter of life (many were even born into an actual non-metaphorical gutter), but rather than gazing at the stars, they stared at the gutter. Hard. And they thought to themselves,
Well, it’s not much, but it’s ours. So it better be the cleanest bloody bit of gutter this side of Droop Street or our Kevin is going to feel the pointy bit of my rolling pin.
In Alexandria, women knew their place. Which was just above everyone else, preferably with a weapon. Long periods of hard work, and even longer periods of iron fisted delegation had ensured that their body’s were strong and tough, and their minds were made of steel.

Their real strength though was not as individuals. It was as a single, giant, wrathful organism which struck fear into the heart of every organisation, committee, political group, business, and on one memorable occasion a manufacturer of fake, rubber comedy breasts, who irked them. The group became the subject of horror stories for fathers to tell their sons at bedtime (but only after frantic checks to ensure the lady of the house was not in earshot). It was the subject of dark, whispered conversations in the corners of taverns (usually when the landlady had gone into the cellar to change a barrel). It was even rumoured the Queen herself was a member. And so the three words which made up their name became feared and revered throughout the land, everyone knew of The Women's Institute.

Spencer had watched as Norbert’s mother had waddled across the street to another squat door and knocked. A dumpy woman who was so remarkably like Mrs Strang, that when the door opened for a second he thought a mirror had been put across. There was some brief, muffled conversation before the woman in the door gave a firm nod and scuttled off down the street. Mrs Strang sidled back to him grinning. An image which made Spencer feel uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“I reckon we’ve just got time before, to stick the kettle on and make us all a lovely cup of tea," she said, and bustled past him back into the house.

“Before what?" Spencer called after her, following into the small cramped kitchen where the others were still hunched over a map of the palace discussing their plans. Spencer noticed that Albert was particularly animated. He had the look of a man who had finally found something in the world that he had been looking for for a long time.

“Before they all get ‘ere obviously. I don’t know what I’d do if one of my boys ‘ad gone off and disgraced our family like that. Rita was so embarrased she didn’t know where to look when I told her that ‘er Simon had gone off. My Norbert wouldn’t do ‘nuffin like that. ‘Ee’s a good boy is our Norbert." The dirty copper kettle began to whistle on top of the blackened stove, Norbert's mother picked up the kettle and began to pour out tea into, to Spencer’s surprise, fine china tea cups which she seemed to have made appear from nowhere. Spencer noted that she didn’t use oven gloves to remove the kettle, who’s handle must have reached an incredible heat. He glanced at her hands and saw solid, hardened fingers protruding from a palm that could easily crush a walnut and possibly a skull.

“Take these out would you love, and tell ‘em there’ll be more on the way in a minute."

She handed Spencer a tray metal tray that had a sickeningly cute depiction of kittens playing with a ball of wool. Spencer felt his feet obeying before his mind had caught up and he made his way back outside to a scene very different from the one he had left just moments ago. Groups of women were scattered around the little cul de sac chatting, there must have been at least twenty of them in groups of three, four and five, and more were coming. There was a steady stream of ladies entering at the far end arriving and joining groups or making new ones.The noise level was rising and several of the nearest women were now making their way to Spencer, their eyes gleaming at the sight of the tea.

“Thank you young man," said one huge lady who looked like she quite possibly wrestled bears for fun, as she took a cup. One large finger jamming into the delicate handle and filling it entirely. The rest of the cups vanished with various ‘thank yous' and ‘Ooh just what the doctor ordereds'. Spencer returned to the kitchen where a fresh batch of cups were laid out ready to go. He noticed that the finer cups had run out and there were one or two mugs dotted in to the group now.

Three more trips and the narrow street was now full of people. The noise of hundreds of squawking conversations was deafening as it echoed around the buildings which leaned over the gathering crowd, bouncing their words back at them. Spencer had been joined by the others outside the Strang’s house, all of them were watching in silent awe. Mrs Strang came out of her small door with a large copper pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other and proceeded to bring them together with such force that the pot was denting inwards with each blow. Almost at once the crowd grew silent and turned to look at her as she climbed up onto a small ledge that protruded from under the kitchen window, raising her a good head or two above the crowd.

“Right. Can everyone ‘ere me alright?" she bellowed across the gathered mass in front of her.

The was a chorus of replies from all over.

“Ooh yes thanks Mrs Strang."

“Lovely and clear here Mrs Strang!"

As the clamour died down it became apparent that someone was talking amongst themselves towards the middle of the group. Spencer felt the silence somehow become deeper. People were edging apart at the front as Mrs Strang’s gaze bore into them. A path opened like a wound into the crowd, splitting back until it reached two young women. One of the girls was facing away from the front of the crowd, loudly whispering into the other's ear and was clearly oblivious to the stares that were facing them from all sides. The other girl was not. She had a look of abject terror on her face, her eyes widening and filling with tears as she looked up at Mrs Strang whose eyes were burning so fiercely you could probably have made toast in front of them given a sufficiently long fork.

“Elsie Partridge!" Mrs Strang bellowed. The girl who had been talking stopped and spun round like she had been stung. It was only as she turned that the full horror of the situation dawned on her. The was a pause so pregnant, it felt like triplets would tumble out of it at any given moment.

Mrs Strang eventually broke the silence.

“So then Elsie. Did your Ian get his ointment I sent over for that nasty rash ‘ee ‘ad?"

“Er... yes... thanks," replied Elsie in a pained voice. It occurred to Spencer that it looked like Elsie was developing a nasty rash. She was certainly squirming and fidgeting enough.

“Good. Well you tell ‘im not to go climbing in any more bushes doing gawd knows what then eh?"

“Yes. I mean... No! Oh! I mean..." Elsie spluttered back.

“Yeah, I dare say you do! Well anyways, back to why we’re ‘ere." The crowd closed back again as if commanded by some secret signal Spencer had missed. Elsie vanished into its midst, much to her relief. Spencer had the feeling there had been another conversation going on which he hadn’t heard. One that had taken place just underneath the one with the actual words in it.

“I think most of you ‘ave ‘eard what’s been ‘appening. Now we ain’t no strangers to doing what needs to be done to put food on the table, and if that means sometimes relieving those buggers that have more than their fair share of their burden, then so be it. But I ain’t for running around pretending to be in charge of the bloody place, or for turning on those what gave you a start in life. Now I ‘eard a lot of lads from round ‘ere ‘ave got ‘emselves mixed up in all this business." Mrs Strang paused and looked intently around at the crowd, some of whom were shuffling uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Now, when some of our own goes astray and starts thinkin’ they can swan about like Lord Muck, what is it we do? We bloody well take ‘em down a peg or two. Now I want the word put out that all these buggers better well be at home like good lads having a nice meal what is cooked by their loving mother ‘oo only wants the best for ‘em. Alright?"

There was an immediate sing-song chorus of ‘Yes Mrs Strang’ putting Spencer in mind of a class of school children, despite the average age of the crowd being old enough to have forgotten school entirely.

“Right, well off you go then," Norbert’s mother finished and dismounted the ledge. The crowd began to move off slowly, funnelling out of the little close chattering in whispers as they left.

“Those of ‘em ‘oo knows what’s good for ‘em will back home by midnight no doubt. I’m just glad our Norbert wasn’t silly enough to get mixed up in all this business," she said, and marched back indoors.

“Right," sighed Spencer. “We better start getting things ready. Do you know what you need yet Albert?"

Albert had looked like had been in a trance. He was staring at a large pad of paper in his hands and had been scribbling on it furiously throughout Mrs Strang's speech.

“Yes!" Albert shouted excitedly, suddenly looking animated. “It should be no problem at all! I’ve made a list of things here. Of course I don’t know this place in the same way I know my own, but if I could ask these two lovely ladies to accompany me I'm sure they could help me find the right way?" He was looking at the twins and beaming a smile that Spencer thought looked slightly unhinged, but which seemed to have a rather more happy effect on the two young women who giggled and went into a huddle.

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“A
nd you’re sure?” Spencer was talking to Nebwett and the twins who were surrounded by bits of paper, all of it used in furious scribblings.

“I think so Mr Blake, we won’t know ‘til we try it though.” Normally Spencer wouldn’t have trusted someone like Nebwett, or Norbert for that matter as far as he could throw them. Which, now he thought about it and their size, was probably a decent distance. He did however believe in Nebwett’s ability with technology. For starters, he had managed to make a working copy of a Vibobbler, which was no mean feat bearing in mind nobody seemed entirely sure how the thing worked. He had had a fast and in depth conversation with Spangler where Spencer only caught a few words he recognised such as string theory and wavelengths, the rest appeared to be gibberish.

Afterwards he had sat with the twins, the Vibobbler he had used to come to this world in front of them, and scribbled furiously as they talked.

“And this will take three of us you think?”

“I think so Mr Blake. One at each end and then one in the middle to turn the handle. I call it the ‘Double Ended Vibobbler’. The twins exploded with laughter. Spencer was determined he wouldn’t give in and join them, but the effort of keeping a straight face made his jaw ache.

“Right, good name,” he replied to a confused Nebwett who was looking at the twins like they were aliens.

“I’d like to be the one turning the handle if that’s ok Mr Blake?”

Suddenly Spencer didn’t need any help to stop laughing.

“Are you sure Nebwett? We don’t know what will happen when we do this, where we’ll end up, or even if we’ll make it at all.”

Nebwett pulled himself to his full height (which was less impressive than it sounds), puffed out his chest and threw his shoulders back.

“I know Mr Blake, and I am ready to do what needs to be done to save everyone. From what I've learnt ‘ere, and what I know about these ‘fings, this will get a whole load worse if don’t I do something.”

“Right, good. Well done.” Spencer was taken back by the passion of the little man. “You better get on then.” He left them to it and walked outside to where Albert and Colin were grappling with a large metal box which stood on a small cart against the wall of the Strang’s house. He was shifting it about, lining it up so the weight was distributed evenly.