The Jack Hansard Series: Season One

Episode 19: Little Fish

Mercer.

Edric Mercer?

Edric Mercer, here. Already. Before me.

His gaze wavered as he took in my companions: a grizzled, flat-capped coblyn and a buxom woman with blue hair who could apparently last longer than Boromir. Quite tame in the grand scheme of things, but I imagine it's a sight that becomes outrageous in such a barren, otherworldly setting.

Ang's face split into a grin. She stepped forward and socked Mercer in the jaw.

"That's fer me bluecaps, ye rotten cocoen!" she said, gleefully.

The dishevelled figure toppled backwards and groaned.

"This is Mercer?" said Peggy, sceptically. "The guy you don't like because he's better than you?"

"I never said he was better than me!" I objected.

"Well, you sound jealous when you talk about him."

"I'm not jealous. Who could be jealous of that?"

'That' was groggily rubbing his face with both hands as he lay ungracefully flopped like a rag-doll in one half of the broken myrrh shell. The feather in his hat drooped sadly over one eye.

Peggy bent down to him and said kindly: "Hello? Mr Mercer? Are you all right?"

"Dear lady," he mumbled through his hands, "what part of being imprisoned in a rock cocoon could possibly allow one to be feeling 'all right'?"

She straightened up. "Sod you, then. And it's a myrrh cocoon, actually."

"What are you doing here, Mercer?" I said, suppressing my rising bile. I felt I already knew the answer, and I felt wholly cheated.

He pulled himself to his feet, joints cracking as he stretched. He dusted down his stupid red overcoat and straightened his foppish hat. He even sported matching leather boots with some kind of knot-work pattern on them. Every bit the dandy cowboy. The only thing missing was his trademark smirk. Instead, crow's feet and a tight, tired frown made for a disconcertingly out of place expression on his features.

Totally ignoring my question, he said: "Do you have any water?"

"Only if you've got an answer," I shot back. "I'm on the job here, and you're an unwelcome distraction."

He eyed me wearily. "Miss No-Face got to you too, did she?"

Drat. Suspicions confirmed.

"Whassat?" said Ang. "He meanin' Quiet Eyes?"

"It doesn't matter." I tried to mask the bitterness from my voice. "Let's just go do the thing; we're wasting time here. Mercer can see himself home." I waved vaguely in the direction of the benben stone. "It's over there somewhere."

Mercer flashed a wry smile. "You don't stand a chance on your own, Hansard."

"You can clearly see I'm not on my own. We can handle ourselves."

He eyed us up. "Oh yes, quite an elite company you have there. I expect the knocker can help dig your grave, at the very least."

"Coblyn," Ang and I snapped at the same time.

"Same thing. Little dirt goblin. Far from your hole, aren't you?"

Ang flexed her hands like claws. With the way her scowl bared her teeth, she did look horribly goblinesque in the grey half-light. "Not. Goblin," she hissed.