Boar, Conspiracies and Missing Limbs

The name of the book was Medieval Wild Boar Hunting Technique by someone named Francis Frimler, published 1942. Lady Bumbridge thumbed through the dusty pages and admired the lavish illustrations, especially those involving the skinning and butchering of the beasts. The book was one of many on offer to the clientele of Hair Hitler, as a distraction to be utilised while getting one’s hair cut or styled. Although brothers Grant and Shane Hitler took great pains to rotate and augment the selection of titles, it was clearly more for their own enjoyment than that of their customers. Yes, for most people a visit to Hair Hitler was just as much about non-stop gossip laden conversation with the brothers, as it was about a good hairstyle. Nevertheless Lady Bumbridge was an exception. She always took great interest in the books, often taking notes and occasionally even borrowing a volume.

“I'm telling you Clyte, this Blues thing is really getting on my tits,” said Grant as he ran a comb through Lady B’s wet hair. “People turning blue and dying right and left. It's so...”

“...messy,” continued Shane, shaking his head in disgust while arranging curlers on Fatima Cheezhoff’s head. “And they say it’s sexually transmitted. Bugger me.” One thing you had to get used to with the Hitlers, was that they tended to finish each other’s sentences. Identical twins, born and reared right here in Pantiles Market, they shared the same tastes and sexual preferences, dressed alike and were very difficult to tell apart. But Lady Bumbridge had no problem differentiating the twins. She’d watched them grow up, having been great friends with their mother, Catriona, right up to to the time of her untimely death in a BASE jumping accident a few years back.

“It’s obviously come out of those awful tunnels,” she said, fingering an illustration of a nasty looking spear and trying not to think of her poor dead son, Howard. “No one knows what kind of hideous things are down there. They ought to just seal them off and have done with it.” To Lady B it hardly seemed like 4 months had passed since that horrible night when The Anuseater had delivered Howard's corpse to the Bumbridge's doorstep. Yes, the boy had been useless and was probably better off dead, but no one deserved to die like that, particularly not a Bumbridge. Terence had been mortified by the indignity of it all.

“I think the disease was genetically engineered in Area 12, and let loose intentionally as a way of testing it,” said Fatima Cheezhoff. “We’re all just guinea pigs, being used by the MST and the Guild as stepping stones in their master plan.”

“Oh look,” said Shane, giggling. “Another of Fattie’s conspiracy theories has emerged. My day is complete. No need for...”

“...any more medical research or investigation,” Grant continued, also giggling. “Problem solved, case closed. We can all go home and wait to die happily now.”

“Scoff all you want,” said Fatima. “I can tell when I’m being used.”

“Ooh sweetie,” giggled Grant, “Don’t give me any ideas.”

Suddenly the door sprang open and a disheveled and sweaty looking man lurched into the shop.

“Oi,” said the man. “Me mate’s just had his leg nicked by a couple of low-life hooligans. Right in the middle of the fucking Market, just pushed him over, yanked off the leg and ran. Probably take it back to the Depths to sell. Wankers!”

“Oh dear,” said Shane. “Would you like me to call the police?”

“No thanks, mate. It’ll be a job for the Molemen by now. I chased them but they disappeared down the tunnels.”

“I seriously hope the stolen leg was a prosthetic limb...” said Grant.

“...and not a real one,” continued Shane.

“Oh yeah,” the man replied. “Fucker falls off all the time. No wonder they had an easy time of it. Say, aint there an arms and legs shop around here somewhere?”

“Yes indeed,” answered Lady B enthusiastically. “Right next to Fatima's shop, towards the end of the Market. Appendage Alley.” She loved to be helpful and prided herself on her encyclopaedic knowledge of Gunbridge Bells locations.

“Correct,” added Fatima. “Just turn into the little alley next to Fatima's Haremware and you’ll find it.”

“Thanks ladies, gents,” said the man with a smile and a mock tipping of the hat. Then he turned and left the shop.

“Well that emphasises what we were just talking about,” said Grant, snipping at Lady B’s hair. “Before The Blues, you’d never...”

“...see serious crime in Pantiles Market,” continued Shane. “Things are really falling apart.”

But Lady Bumbridge was no longer listening. Perhaps she should feel more about the town’s current plight than she actually did, but Howard’s death had left her numb. It was much easier to just focus on a fascinating passage about “Strategic Pit Entrapment” than to care about the things she knew she should do.

– Todd Brunner