Part Two.
A short time
later, Quentin Claremont drew back the large doors of the warehouse expecting
to see a Cornelius Quaint-shaped object dead at the bottom of the glass tank.
He
was to be disappointed, and not a little bit confused.
‘That can’t be…’ he whispered, taking a step inside.
Hearing a strange sound beneath his feet, he looked down to see a small
puddle of water. And then another, and then another, leading all the way to the
tank. He scowled at the puddles, certain that they had not been there earlier.
And then the penny dropped. They weren’t puddles, they were footprints. And
they were not leading to the tank, but leading from it. Claremont was transfixed with the prints, following them
like a hound with a scent, to a shadowed corner of the warehouse. With his feet
glued firmly to the spot, he craned his neck, trying to peer through the gloom.
A fist flew out of the shadows and struck his nose. Seeing stars, he staggered
back and collapsed onto his backside on the cold stone floor.
Cornelius Quaint, his clothes sopping wet and sealed tight against his
bones, stepped out of the darkness and towered over him.
‘Bravo, Mr Quaint,’ said Claremont. A trickle of blood ran from his
nostril into his mouth and onto his lips. ‘You managed to get free.’
‘From your inescapable death-trap, you mean?’ said Quaint. ‘Obviously.’
‘And
now I suppose you’re g-g-going to k-k-kill me?’
‘Ordinarily, I would certainly consider it,’ replied Quaint. ‘But I
think I can come up with something a bit more creative than that.’
‘You…you mean you’re not going
to kill me?’ asked Claremont.
‘Not me personally, no,’ said
Quaint. ‘Your little stunt here tonight has given me an idea. If I recall the
words in your invitation correctly, you said that you
saw nothing in my stage-act, and I quote: “above
the level of an enthusiastic amateur”. Ring any bells?’
Quentin Claremont squirmed. ‘Are you sure
I said that?’
‘Do you want me to jog your memory?’
Quaint tensed his fists.
‘No! No, I believe you!’
‘And all of this,’ Quaint pointed over to
the glass tank full of water, ‘was designed to see if I could live up to my
boasts. But you see, that’s where you went wrong.’
‘Wrong?’ asked Claremont. ‘Wrong how?’
Quaint bared his teeth. ‘They’re not
boasts. I really am as good as I say I am.’
‘Evidently so,’ whimpered Claremont. ‘And
I’m pleased that you were able to pass my little test. I wasn’t really going to
let you drown, you know. That’s why I’m here, you see? I came back to set you
free! It was all just a little joke between professional showmen, nothing
more.’
Quaint snatched hold Claremont’s jacket.
‘A joke? It’s a bit more than that!
But you’re right. We are both showmen, and that’s why I’m going to show you a
little professional courtesy. If you’re such a damn good magician I’m going to
give you a chance to prove it in front of an audience that’s far more
unforgiving than I am. Get up.’
Claremont winced as he was dragged to his
feet. ‘But…where are we going?’
‘Why, Quentin, you should be excited!’
cheered Quaint. ‘I’m taking you to the circus.’
*
That evening, Dr Marvello’s Travelling
Circus was open for business as usual once more. Just off-stage, Quaint and
Prometheus watched as Quentin Claremont performed his magic act in front of a
crowded audience. Quaint had wound up them all up beforehand, telling them that
never before would they witness conjuring skills such as the ones that
Claremont was about to perform. That he was truly the most original showman in
the land, and that his performance would leave them speechless. As he breezed
off-stage after building up a level of anticipation that he knew full well
would not be met, Quaint had whispered into Claremont’s ear:
‘One word of advice, Quentin…be spectacular…or what my strongman is going to do to you
after the show will be the least of your problems. Prometheus will only break
your kneecaps…that audience will rip you to shreds.’
And true enough, that was exactly what the
audience did – verbally, if not physically. Quentin Claremont’s so-called
‘magic act’ comprised of performing the sublimely obvious and the frequently
overused. Doves disappearing from under silver platters, bunches of flowers
appearing out of thin air, he even stooped as low as to perform the
never-ending handkerchief trick. The audience had seen enough, and then the heckling
began in earnest. Grown men, old women, even the children were joining in. When
Claremont refused to budge, the audience resorted to throwing bits of food and
rubbish at him. A shoe came flying from the crowd at one point and smacked him
in the head. He was visibly shaken and ever so pale. All his bravado, all his
boasts and all his threats were absent now. He was a broken man.
‘It’s getting worse.’ Quaint groaned as he
peered around the curtain. ‘Another minute and they’ll be up out of their seats
baying for his blood. I almost feel sorry for him.’
Prometheus frowned. ‘Sorry? Didn’t he try to kill you?’
‘Well, yes…but I’m used to that,’ replied
Quaint, offhandedly. ‘At least he went to all the trouble of setting up the
tank, the manacles, the chains and the straitjacket. Not many that have tried
to kill me over the years have been that thorough, let me tell you.’
Prometheus shook his head. ‘You amaze me
sometimes, boss. Do you know that?’
Quaint grinned. ‘I amaze everyone, Prom.
It’s my job, remember?’
Although we have come
to the end of this particular tale, folks, there are plenty more Quaint adventures in the pipeline,
including the final part in the first arc, The Romulus Equation due out one
way or another very soon. It’s been fun having you guys around these past few
weeks and I shall miss your company, so do keep in touch via the Cornelius Quaint Facebook page or by tweeting @CorneliusQuaint, or failing that, you can
always tweet: @DarrenCraske or email him at corneliusquaint@hotmail.com.
A great big thank you to all those who read along, entered the
weekly quiz, tweeted and re-tweeted, allowed me hijack their blogs to help push
the release of The Lazarus Curse, or those who just read the first few
chapters and then lost interest – each and every one of you has earned my
sincerest thanks.
Don’t forget there’s still one last chance
to win a very special Cornelius Quaint prize bonanza if you answer the question
over on the Cornelius Quaint Facebook page right now! Keep an eye on @CorneliusQuaint’s
tweets on Friday 23rd March to see if YOU madam! or even YOU sir!
are the lucky winner.
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