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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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11-02-11 12M p8 |
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Fat Bottom Fairies by Phil Colgate |
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When three student fairies, Blossom, Golden Thread and Twiglet broke the fairy’s Golden Rule they were cast out from the Conch into the abyss and lost the use of their wings. To regain that use and their place back in the Conch they would have to survive many Lands against many dark and fearsome foes. All sent at the behest of the treacherous Black Fairy. Charming and intriguing characters such as Digger, an Australian mole, Monsieur Michelin, a three star chef rabbit, Deacon, leader of the Canary Wharf rats, and Noel, a thespian pike who constantly utters lines from films and plays, fight the dark foes sent against them in their bid to help the fairies. These dark and dangerous foes include Cutter Worms, Tripods, and armies of flying stag beetles who use huge pincers to snip the heads off anything and everything. Then there’s Cumulus who traps the fairies in a cloud and rains whirlwinds, searing sun and huge hailstones against them. And ranks of cudgel carrying imps who manifest in the great room of a dilapidated mansion and slowly advance on Twiglet as she sits terrified, strapped to a chair. But the most devious of all is Carbunkle, a bloated and puss-ridden frog thousands of years old who raises an army of 3,000 vicious eels and releases Genghis, a demonic giant conger and leader of the eels, to launch an attack in the final conflict. Even the Black Fairy herself makes an appearance to fight the fairies directly.
Two huge black moggies were sitting waiting, blocking their exit. When they saw him they stood and one licked its lips. Deacon thought about turning round and running but he knew it would be no good. He’d seen these cats in action from afar. They were fast and they were quick climbers. They’d probably catch him and the fairies halfway up a pallet wall and tear them to shreds. “Well, well Bernie, our lucky day.” said the cat on the left to the cat on the right as he eyed the terrified rat. “Which piece do you want?” Bernie cocked his head as he thought about it. “Well, it all looks pretty good Mickey, dunnit? Nice and lean, not too old. Difficult to decide what cut to go fer. But on balance I fink it ‘as to be the belly. Yeah, a nice cut of belly, all those tasty tubes and stuff. ow about you?” Mickey didn’t need to think about his answer, he always went for the same cut. He replied in the same thick east end accent as Bernie, his constant partner in crime. “You know me Bern, never could resist a nice bit of art. Do ‘im with one long cut. You get the guts and I get the ticker, all bloody and still beatin’. Luvvly.” “Sounds good to me Mick.” “Right, you old ‘im and I’ll slice ‘im.” Mickey started to move forward menacingly, rolling his shoulders, when Blossom screamed at him. “Stop! What do you think you’re doing?” “What d’yer fink I’m doing luv- getin’ me dinner.” “Don’t luv me you beast. You’re not ferral, you’re a home cat. You get fed regularly. Probably, you’ve already been fed tonight. You don’t have to do this. Just walk on by.” “Sorry doll, no can do.” “Why not?” Mickey turned and grinned at Bernie, then turned back again. “Why not? Because the Black Fairy sent us, that’s why not. And once we’ve ad ‘im for dinner, we’re ‘aving you three fer dessert. Now both cats started slowly moving forward. Deacon backed away but then his behind hit the brick wall and he couldn’t back up any more. He started to shake. Mickey smirked. Intimidation was fun. More fun that the actual kill. “Don’t worry mate. Won’t take long.” “NO, NOT LONG AT ALL.” The voice had a heavy American twang and it belonged to the slip of a cat that had jumped down from the bricks, barring Mickey and Bernie’s way. He wasn’t an east-end moggy. He wasn’t a moggy at all but a full blown pedigree Siamese. His face was chiselled and his fur was close cropped grey with patches of black around the small ears. His eyes were a devastating pastel blue. In size there was no contest. Mickey and Bernie were bigger, much bigger. And there were two of them. But there was something in this cat’s demeanour, his self “Don’t fink you understand the situation ‘ere pal. There are two of us. And we’re bigger and nastier. Jus’ turn around and run on home to mummy’s little lap. There’s a good fellah.” He looked at Mickey and laughed. The Siamese spoke again and this time the accent could definitely be defined as New York, probably The Bronx. “See, I don’t think it’s nice you laughing. I understand you’re just jesting, but my friends here, they think you’re laughing at them. Of course, if you fellahs just want to turn around and go away. Suddenly Bernie and Mickey weren’t laughing. They started moving forward again, swishing their tails in anger and unsheathed their claws ready for action. They were good fighting claws, about an inch in length. The Siamese responded by unsheathing his claws. They were at least one and three quarter inches long and glinted in the sun as they were held up. They were totally out of proportion to his body and were the biggest claws Mickey and Bernie had ever seen. They stopped in their tracks, deciding what to do next. The American voice came cool and strong. “I know what you’re thinking, what damage can they do? Well these here are Magnum claws and one swipe can take your heads clean off. Of course I could miss but can you take that chance? You have to ask yourself do you feel lucky. Well do you punk?” “Who are yer? What’s yer name?” “You can call me Harry.” Bernie leaned into Mickey and whispered into his ear, his stomach for the fight visibly waning. “He’s that geezer everyone’s talkin about. Roughed up Bennie in an alleyway last week over a few rotten scraps of McDonalds. And two weeks before that he put the Benzo brothers from Millwall in vet hospital. Cut to ribbons they were and they’re hard boys. Brucie Benzo had to be neutered as a result. Severely damaged his wotsit.” “Pride.” “That as well.” “Where’s he come from?” “From around here. One of those posh blocks. Looks like a wimp but fights dirtier than anyone I know. And those magnums, we don’t stand a chance.” “Isn’t he the tom that did that bloke in a restaurant?” “Yeah, story has it he sat waiting and meowing for a slice of monkfish or someink. The geezer wouldn’t give ‘im any. So he runs up his body and pees in his face. Then drops to the table and pees in his plate. I tell you Mickey, this Harry bloke or whatever his real name is aint afraid of no-one. Not even fat greedy bankers.” Mickey looked back at Harry and gave him his best hard man look. Harry returned it in kind. They stood like that for several moments, the difference between war and peace just a hair’s breadth. Deacon swallowed and looked very nervous as he watched the standoff, knowing his life was at stake. Then a sudden gust of wind blew a muddied sandwich bag along the aisle of bricks. It rose and fell with the wind, and as it came over Harry’s shoulder the wind subsided and the bag started floating gently down. Without taking his eyes from Mickey, the Magnum claws lashed out and the bag was instantly in two. It was enough. Mickey and Bernie started edging backwards. “Okay pal, ‘ave it your way- this time.” snarled Mickey, trying to save face. “But we’ll be seeing you around, you can count on it.” “Go ahead, make my day.” When they had backed off several metres, the defeated cats turned and walked off, again rolling their shoulders. “Who does ‘e fink ‘e is?” said Bernie just loud enough for their tormentor to hear, “Clint bloomin’ Eastwood” The fairies audibly sighed with relief. “C’mon,” said Harry “let’s get you out of here before their yellow streak disappears. Can you climb the bricks?” Deacon was still shaking but he nodded. “Okay, follow me. We need to get you to the river. Cats don’t like water.” |