“You’ll have to shoot me.”
“Fair enough.” And so I do, albeit in the leg.
We enter the building and follow the staircase downwards, following the noises of screaming and gunfire. Finally we enter the enormous temple. A body part (I can’t distinguish exactly what part) flies past my head. Walnut and I stand there for a moment, dumbfounded.
Waxford runs towards the altar, shooting hooded figures left right and centre. We hear him swearing loudly and as he proceeds to push his way towards what appears to be–
“That’s the prime minister,” says Walnut, interrupting my thoughts. “And it looks like Detective Waxford is attempting to shoot him.”
Boo Boo is slicing her way through a mass of black hooded bodies. The floor is soaked with blood and body parts. It’s like watching a demented butterfly soar about.
“She’s very graceful,” says Walnut, as Boo Boo slices an acolyte in half. We both duck as the upper half of the body is thrown screaming towards us, hitting the wall with an undignified thud.
Detective Waxford and Boo Boo are now at the far end of the temple, either side of Zedock Heap. The remaining mass of crazed black hooded figures starts running towards Walnut and me.
I raise my pistol and aim.
Walnut takes out the pin, throws the hand grenade.
BOOM
Mr Loveheart versus Mr Angelcakes
Well it’s a lovely evening for hunting down Mr Angelcakes. Milk and butter stars, a cheesecake moon. And I’m dressed in a rather fetching shade of peach. I can smell Mr Angelcakes: black slime and glitter dust. The smell of a magic dead thing.
Follow the trail of eaten skins.
I seem to have ended up down a fish-stink alley round the back of a pub. A group of vegetable-faced men – flat caps and big pork hands – eyeballing me.
“Queer!” one of them shouts.
“Excuse me?” I reply.
“You heard me, you weirdo,” the thing with a potato head replies.
I walk up to them, a group of four huddled together, tobacco-brown teeth, yellow eyes, as many teeth as brain cells.
“Were you attempting to insult me?”
“Sling your hook or you’ll get a slap.”
I pull my silver pistol out and rest it on his forehead. “And you will feel your brain all over the wall.”
One of them picks up a rock and tries to sneak up behind me.
I leave them all dead in the alleyway.
Whoops.
Higgledy-piggledy, zig-zagging side alleys. I move towards the treacle ooze river and then I see him. He’s standing over the body of a man, devouring a skin. Blood splattered all down his lovely waistcoat.
“Hello, Mr Angelcakes.”
He looks at me rather strangely.
“Hello Mr Loveheart.”
“I see you are enjoying your time in London. The capital does have a lot to offer. Excellent theatre, fashion and sightseeing, and of course occasional cannibalism.”
“I like your skin.”
“I’m afraid I’m rather attached to it.”
“I like your skin,” and he steps closer to me
I have a little homemade bomb in my pocket. It has a red loveheart on it. A bomb of love.
I grab hold of him. Shove it into his mouth.
Tickety tock!
He explodes. All over me! Completely ruined my peach waistcoat. What a mess! I peel off a large piece of greenish skin which is lying over my face and plop it onto the floor. I make my way out of the little dark alley.
And then Death appears.
“Mr Loveheart. If you could just run a little errand for me?”
“Do I have time to change first? I need a little freshening up,” I say, brushing what appears to be an eyeball hanging from my sleeve.
“No.”
“Fine,” I say sulkily.
“Get to the House of Parliament. Zedock Heap’s running a cult.”
“Do you know how difficult it is to find a cab this time of night!”
A lightning bolt hits the street and puff! A magnificent white horse, as white as ice-cream dreams, suddenly appears next to Death.
“Get on the horse, Mr Loveheart. Be the hero.”
I pat the horse’s nose and he whinnies. “And how did you acquire this supernatural horse exactly?”
“I borrowed him,” sighs Death.
“From whom?”
“The old gods.”
“You mean you’ve stolen him.”
“Borrowed!” repeats Death, exasperated.
“Very well. I accept your proposal.”
“Get on the horse, Mr Loveheart.”
And so I do. “Do you want to come with me? Have some fun?”
“No. I am already stretching the rules for you, Loveheart. And, frankly, I’m knackered.”
Riding across London on a white horse. This horse is simply marvellous. I gallop into the night of London, down the streets. People stop and stare. Goggle with disbelief. I must fizzle like weird magic. I look like a prince galloping into the rat tail, ink splodge London, faster and faster. Eyes on stalks: they watch us whizz past.
I am lost deep within the book of a fairytale.
Fizzy whizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Boo Boo slices and dices
Chop chop choppity chop chop
chop chop
chop chop