That night in Bath was the third time Sams beer bladder had got him into trouble. The first involved a bus, an empty bottle and a terrible underestimation of its volume. The second was at his wedding, when hed taken an emergency piss behind the marquee, only to discover that with the stately homes floodlights behind him, the silhouette of his relief was in plain view from the top table. Five years later he still hadnt lived that one down.
Clothed in the warm blanket of inebriation, all Sam cared about was finding a secluded spot off the path to ease his discomfort so he could enjoy the walk home without an aching bladder.
The good and sensible residents of Bath were asleep in their beds and the street was far enough away from the centre to be free of drunken locals and lost tourists. The grand Georgian buildings he stumbled past were cast in a soft orange glow by the streetlights, the autumn night mild and still. Despite the crowds and visiting school parties, the endless requests for photo taking and the traffic, he did love the city. It was where he and Leanne had married and built a life together, even though it wasnt the one hed anticipated. The tourists would never know the city like he did. The old tree in Abbey Green wasnt just a nice place to eat ice-cream near the famous bun shop, it was the place he proposed to her. Milsom Street wasnt just a row of shops, it was the road they had marched down as student protesters back in the days before they somehow forgot how angry they were and got a mortgage.
His wife was out at yet another function with her oily boss and he wasnt drunk enough to forget it. His friend Dave tried his best to get him slaughtered but ended up drinking himself past slurring into belligerence. Sam had poured him into a cab then decided to walk. He couldnt drink like he did on a work night, not with a deadline the next day.
His need to relieve himself had become critically urgent by the time he reached the end of Great Pulteney Street. Heading up Sydney Place, Sam saw a familiar alleyway, one that led to the old gardeners lodge behind the Holburne Museum. It was closed with empty grounds full of trees perfect for his needs so he lurched off the street and into the darkness. He kept a hand on the wall to steady himself, the stone cold under his fingertips. A few steps along he wondered if hed make it to a tree, when he saw a pair of stout wooden gates open on the right.
A quick glance confirmed there was no one to see him slip into the grounds of the museum. There were trees aplenty, the solid stone wall was behind him and the building was far enough away on the other side of the driveway for him to relieve himself without fear of discovery.
The perfect crime, he whispered and then sighed with pleasure.
Once it was done and his trousers mostly zipped up, he turned to sneak back out the gates but a thud and hissed curse brought his attention back to the museum.
Light was spilling from a side door and Sam feared an irate security guard was about to run out. He imagined the news headlines: drunken man caught trespassing after relieving himself in museum grounds.
But then he saw a large bundle spilling over the threshold and the light was now hovering above it like a glowing dragonfly. Sam went back to the damp tree and peered out from behind it.
A man stepped over the bundle, out onto the steps. He was thin, very tall, and his limbs looked too long to be normal. His grace was reminiscent of a harvest spiders delicate movement. He was dressed in what looked like a black morning suit, something not unlike what Sam had been wearing that night behind the marquee.
Crouching, the mans long legs folded beneath him as the dragonfly whizzed about over the bundle. He lifted it and Sam realised there must be someone else still inside the museum lifting the other end.
The man took a step backwards, revealing more of the load, and Sam shivered. Hed seen enough films to recognise a body wrapped in cloth, and, from the way the man was moving, it looked heavy enough too. The bundled person wasnt moving; a dead weight.
Oh, bollocks, Sam muttered, not wanting to witness any more. But he couldnt resist watching as the second person emerged, carrying the feet of the deceased. He was an exact copy of the first, same thin and impossibly long limbs, same clothes, same struggle to carry the body.
Dont forget the steps, brother.
Will you keep still! the first hissed at the dragonfly and it hovered over the steps, casting enough light for them to navigate their way out of the museum, as if it had understood.
There was no car on the drive, and Sam could see the main gates were shut. They were turning towards the trees and he understood all too late why the side gate had been open.
If he ran for the gate now, theyd see him, so he held his breath, stopped peering around the trunk and sucked his belly in, hoping theyd be so busy worrying about the body theyd go past his tree without noticing him.
This is rather demeaning, one of them moaned. We hadnt anticipated
Shush. Concentrate on where were going, the Arbiters are going to realise theyve been distracted more quickly than wed like.
Couldnt one of the slaves have dealt with this? Its beneath us.
Of course they couldnt. Stop moaning.
Oh! A tiny, high-pitched voice interrupted their bickering. They were only a few metres away; Sam worried they could hear his heart banging. He hadnt seen a third person had they just come out of the museum?
What is it? one of the men asked.
I can smell a mundane. Very close. Euw! A man and he smells horrid.
The voice was childlike and so quiet. Sam closed his eyes, feeling a rush of self-loathing for putting himself in the path of murderers just because he needed a piss.
The black turned to pink as a light was shone on his face. The sixth beer wanted to make a sudden reappearance. He opened his eyes, squinting, and saw the light coming from what hed thought was a dragonfly. Hed been so very wrong.
Hes here, the tiny thing said.
Sam wondered if something had been dropped in that last beer. He couldnt remember trying anything at university that could cause flashbacks, even though this felt like it was turning into one hell of a trip.
What the arse are you? he slurred. Tinkerbell?
It looked like a tiny man, but prettier than any hed ever seen, wearing a tunic made of dusky pink petals. Its eyes were large, blue, its hair blonde and wispy. It glowed in the darkness and it was pointing at him.
He heard the body being dumped and the two men were there faster than he thought possible. They looked like identical twins, but up close they seemed less human. Their faces were long, in keeping with the rest of them, with sharp features and thin, cruel lips. In the dim light, their eyes looked like blackened almonds.
What are you doing here? the one on the left asked.
Nothing. I didnt see anything!
The faerie started to laugh, until it was batted away.
No one will miss a mundane, they kill each other all the time, the one on the right said.
Lefts hand shot at Sams throat, grasping it tight before he could even take a breath to beg for his life. Instinctively, Sam grasped at the wrist and when his hands closed around it the man leaped back as if hed been electrocuted.
Sam decided to run but, before he had a chance to move, Right had caught hold of his left wrist and was inspecting his hand, his aquiline nose wrinkling in disgust.
