The Enthusiastic Amateur: Chapter One

Part Two.

   Quaint awoke (with a cracking headache) an undefined lapse of time later and surveyed his predicament. And what a predicament it was! One perilous situation was bad enough, but he seemed to be saddled with at least four of them.

     He could feel cold metal pinching the skin around both wrists.

1.     Manacles

Something was hooked to his back.

2.     Chain

His whole body was constricted.

3.     Straitjacket

His chest was freezing cold.

4. Ice

And it was also very wet.

5. Correction: Water

     Furthermore his vision was blurred, and at first he put it down to the fact that he’d been clobbered on the back of the head, but as he blinked the blur away he realised that he was looking through glass covered with green mould, it was as if he inside a gigantic fish tank in desperate need of a clean. Taking all individual factors into consideration and totalling them up into a reasonable summary of his situation, Quaint concluded that he was bound by manacles with his arms behind his back and a straitjacket was clamping said arms firmly in place whilst he was suspended by a chain and up to his waist in a massive glass tank full of freezing cold water.

     On the whole, things looked bleak.

     He didn’t ponder how exactly he had got into this sticky situation; the only thing that mattered was getting out of it. Thankfully, he had studied escapology under one of the best in the business and little things like manacles, chains, straitjackets and tanks of freezing cold water were of no consequence. Using skills perfected over decades of application, Quaint waited for the manacles to slip free of his wrists.

     And he waited.

     And he waited for a bit more.

     And then he began cursing, his voice echoing off the walls of the glass tank as he demanded to know why the iron was not obeying his commands. And then a thought struck him. There was only one reason why he was unable to free himself. Only someone with the required degree of skill could possibly have secured him in a position from which there was no escape.

     ‘Sorry to keep you hanging around, Mr Quaint,’ called a voice from down below. Quaint recognised it immediately – after all, it had been heckling him all night. It was the thin man with the clipped moustache from the front row. ‘Thank you for coming. I know you’re probably a very busy man. No doubt you’ve already taken stock of your situation and come to the conclusion that escape is impossible?’

     ‘In my experience, impossible is all relative,’ said Quaint. ‘So you must be Quentin Claremont, I presume?’

     ‘The very same,’ said Claremont, with a bow. ‘Do you like my little contraption? I thought seeing as you were gracious enough to accept my invite, it was only polite of me to orchestrate a worthy test of your abilities. As I said, I’m in the conjuring trade myself…and as I also said, it is impossible to escape from my trap.’

     ‘We’ll see,’ muttered Quaint. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of effort just to prove a point, I’ll say that for you.’

     ‘Actually, Mr Quaint, the only point I intend to prove is your death.’

     ‘Better men than you have tried,’ Quaint said, truthfully. ‘So, what do you want?’

     ‘Want?’ enquired Claremont. ‘Why, I would have thought that was perfectly obvious! Despite what I said in my note, I do actually rate you as a performer – and that’s the reason why you’re here. No doubt you heard about Hans Aberguise, the German conjuror? Ah, such a terrible tragedy. Someone tampered with his guillotine before his act, and he ended up with his head in a basket. Shame. And what about Monsieur Claude de Corsair? He used to be one of the finest sword-swallowers in France before someone coated his tools of the trade with black pepper. One fatal sneeze later and he ended up shoving a blade right through his brain. He’s dead now too, of course.’

     Quaint rolled his eyes. ‘Look, whilst this is all very fascinating, is it going to take much longer? It’s just that I’d sort of like to jump straight to the point where I bust out of this trap and then get to work on busting you.’

     Claremont permitted a sly smile to grace his thin lips. ‘The point is, Mr Quaint, that I’ve been trying to make my mark on the conjuring circuit, yet have found myself faced with plenty of competition…and so now I’m eliminating it…one by one.’

     Quaint struggled against the manacles, feeling the rough edges cut into his flesh.

     ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ taunted Claremont. ‘It will only speed things up…and by ‘things’ I really mean ‘your imminent and inevitable death’.’ The thin man took a glance up the length of the chain that was attached to Quaint’s back. ‘You see that post that the chain is fixed to? It’s been sawed through, so too much wriggling about on your part and it’ll snap, which would be bad news for you seeing as it’s the only thing keeping you from sinking. Additionally, the material that your straitjacket is manufactured from has a tremendous capacity to soak up water. In other words, the longer you hang there, the heavier you’re going to get. It looks like how much time you’ve got left to live depends entirely on how long you can hold your breath. Goodbye, Mr Quaint. I hope you die with dignity.’

     Quentin Claremont pulled a lever attached to the wooden post and the chain began to move, slowly dipping Cornelius Quaint deeper into the water…

Will Cornelius manage to survive?

Find out right here on Monday 27^th February 2012 !!!

To help Cornelius escape head on over to his Facebook page for a chance to win a free copy of the latest Cornelius Quaint adventure, The Lazarus Curse!