Read Online Mort by Martin Chatterton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martin Chatterton
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softly snoring once more andAgnetha, hardly daring to breathe, retreated to the landing.
More snoring was coming from the second room.
Agnetha pushed this door open and again looked around.
Two beds this time, set close together, one slightly bigger than the other. A dark shape snoring in the smaller bed. Agnetha crept closer to get a better look at the second, larger, bed. A floorboard creaked under her foot and she stopped.
So did the snoring. And then, to Agnethaâs relief, it began once more.
Agnetha craned her neck over the sleeping shape and looked at the larger bed.
It was empty.
Behind her, Agnetha felt the slightest movement in the air and she turned to see an enormous black shape towering over her. Her fingers scrabbled for the torch and switched it on.
Agnetha caught a flash of sharp white teeth bared in fury. It was a bear, a big one, standing on its hind legs. The creature opened its jaws wide and bellowed ferociously. So powerful was the noise in the enclosed space that Agnetha took an automatic step back. A second bear rose from the bed and a third ran into the room. All three roared at Agnetha and she knew she had to do something.
Every atom in Agnethaâs body screamed at her to run as the bears attacked. But in the confined space of a cottage bedroom there was nowhere to go. Instead, Agnetha forced herself to channel the adrenalin pumping through her body, dropped calmly into a shooting position and squeezed â not pulled â the trigger of the dart gun three times.
The bears were unconscious before they hit the floor. Agnetha was grateful sheâd chosen the full-strength darts. Theyâd be sleeping for days.
In the sudden silence she stood and lowered the Weiner & Missen to her side, her gun hand trembling slightly.
Three down, one to go.
Agnethaâs fourth creation wasnât in the compound. Somewhere out there was the creature who she did not, under any circumstances, want running loose in Festering Hall.
Goldilocks.
Mort peeled his eyelids open and instantly wished he hadnât.
He felt worse than the time heâd been watching the Battle of Little Big Horn and was run over by a panicky buffalo. Just like then, when he woke up he wasnât entirely sure where he was.
As his vision cleared he saw he was being carried on some sort of stretcher by the Molyneux woman and someone else who Mort couldnât see, but who he assumed was her assistant. The only light came from aniPhone balanced on Mortâs stomach.
âHey!â said Mort.
âOh, youâre awake then?â said Trish.
âNo, Iâm fast asleep,â said Mort.
âThereâs no need for sarcasm, Mortimer,â said Trish. âItâs for your own good.â
Mort hadnât been spoken to like that by anyone (other than Agnetha and she didnât count) for more than two hundred years. Hewas also nine thousand, nine hundred and seventy years older than Trish Molyneux.
âStop,â he said. âIâm getting up.â
Trish didnât seem to have heard him.
Mort tried to pull himself upright and found he couldnât. Heâd been strapped tightly to a length of what looked like (and indeed, was) a section of the wood panelling that lined the ballroom. A leather belt was fastened around his chest and his knees were held in place by a striped tie.
He couldnât move a muscle.
âKeep still, Mortimer,â said Trish. âYou might have a spinal injury. You were under that horrible animal for a long time. And youâll drop my phone.â
âWhat horrible animal?â asked Mort, and then it came back to him in a rush. The ballroom fight with Smiler. Him being pinned down. The flash of light and then ⦠nothing.
âThe heavy animal,â said Nigel. âThe very heavy and very smelly animal. Iâm sure Iâvedone something to my back lifting him off.â
âLifting?â said Mort. âYou wouldnât
More snoring was coming from the second room.
Agnetha pushed this door open and again looked around.
Two beds this time, set close together, one slightly bigger than the other. A dark shape snoring in the smaller bed. Agnetha crept closer to get a better look at the second, larger, bed. A floorboard creaked under her foot and she stopped.
So did the snoring. And then, to Agnethaâs relief, it began once more.
Agnetha craned her neck over the sleeping shape and looked at the larger bed.
It was empty.
Behind her, Agnetha felt the slightest movement in the air and she turned to see an enormous black shape towering over her. Her fingers scrabbled for the torch and switched it on.
Agnetha caught a flash of sharp white teeth bared in fury. It was a bear, a big one, standing on its hind legs. The creature opened its jaws wide and bellowed ferociously. So powerful was the noise in the enclosed space that Agnetha took an automatic step back. A second bear rose from the bed and a third ran into the room. All three roared at Agnetha and she knew she had to do something.
Every atom in Agnethaâs body screamed at her to run as the bears attacked. But in the confined space of a cottage bedroom there was nowhere to go. Instead, Agnetha forced herself to channel the adrenalin pumping through her body, dropped calmly into a shooting position and squeezed â not pulled â the trigger of the dart gun three times.
The bears were unconscious before they hit the floor. Agnetha was grateful sheâd chosen the full-strength darts. Theyâd be sleeping for days.
In the sudden silence she stood and lowered the Weiner & Missen to her side, her gun hand trembling slightly.
Three down, one to go.
Agnethaâs fourth creation wasnât in the compound. Somewhere out there was the creature who she did not, under any circumstances, want running loose in Festering Hall.
Goldilocks.
Mort peeled his eyelids open and instantly wished he hadnât.
He felt worse than the time heâd been watching the Battle of Little Big Horn and was run over by a panicky buffalo. Just like then, when he woke up he wasnât entirely sure where he was.
As his vision cleared he saw he was being carried on some sort of stretcher by the Molyneux woman and someone else who Mort couldnât see, but who he assumed was her assistant. The only light came from aniPhone balanced on Mortâs stomach.
âHey!â said Mort.
âOh, youâre awake then?â said Trish.
âNo, Iâm fast asleep,â said Mort.
âThereâs no need for sarcasm, Mortimer,â said Trish. âItâs for your own good.â
Mort hadnât been spoken to like that by anyone (other than Agnetha and she didnât count) for more than two hundred years. Hewas also nine thousand, nine hundred and seventy years older than Trish Molyneux.
âStop,â he said. âIâm getting up.â
Trish didnât seem to have heard him.
Mort tried to pull himself upright and found he couldnât. Heâd been strapped tightly to a length of what looked like (and indeed, was) a section of the wood panelling that lined the ballroom. A leather belt was fastened around his chest and his knees were held in place by a striped tie.
He couldnât move a muscle.
âKeep still, Mortimer,â said Trish. âYou might have a spinal injury. You were under that horrible animal for a long time. And youâll drop my phone.â
âWhat horrible animal?â asked Mort, and then it came back to him in a rush. The ballroom fight with Smiler. Him being pinned down. The flash of light and then ⦠nothing.
âThe heavy animal,â said Nigel. âThe very heavy and very smelly animal. Iâm sure Iâvedone something to my back lifting him off.â
âLifting?â said Mort. âYou wouldnât
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