Limbo 56 by Mike Morris (ereader iphone txt) 📖

for a while, Shadrach noting that Harry now fully remembered who he was, Harry increasingly puzzled as to why he felt such an affinity for the large colonel. Finally, Shadrach stretched. “I have to go now,” he said. “I have to tell headquarters where you are. I should think that you’re in for a rather extended leave, maybe even a posting to Blighty.”

Harry coughed. “I’m awfully hungry, sir. Do you think…”

Shadrach nodded. “I’m so sorry. You’ve had no real food for months. I’ll tell them on my way down.” He stuck his hand out, and Harry took it awkwardly. “In case I don’t see you again, corporal, good luck.”

Downstairs, he approached the Administrator. “Your patient is fully awake, and he’s very hungry.” He left the administrator and a couple of orderlies scurrying around excitedly, and walked into the sunlight.

“I suppose it’s time for you to go,” Anton said. “Let me take you to the forest, and you can cross over.”

“I have one more thing to do,” Shadrach answered, “I have to inform the army of Corporal Williams’ whereabouts.

“It’s all taken care of,” Anton smiled. “I tend the garden and I keep carrier pigeons. Even in this quiet place we have to keep in touch.”

They moved on in silence, approaching the tree line. “I never believed that you would be able to kill the General,” Anton said. “I think that now, you will be able to cross over to the other side of the forest without too much trouble.” Shadrach looked at him. “Who am I?” Anton murmured. “I’m a harmless lunatic,” he smiled. “I’m pleased to have met you.”

Shadrach smiled and began to walk towards the trees. “It’s been a privilege to meet you,” he said without turning round.

Anton watched as the big man approached the trees with a firm step, skirting the small young saplings, traversing the slight slope without slowing, walking steadily through the thick grass until he reached the first sparsely populated trees, gradually disappearing as the thickening foliage surrounded him until he was finally gone, embraced by the forest that stretched into the distance. The colonel never looked back.

Chapter 9 – A Better Class of Limbo
Arthur inspected the storefront. In the real world, it looked like a large antique shop, and already the inhabitants of the real city were staring curiously at the artifacts that Arthur’s foundry was turning out by the dozen. A product of an otherworldly culture, these creations were subtly different from anything that was being produced in the staid and formal culture of Britain in 1930. Limbo barmaids had been dragooned as sales women, an inspired idea, since there was no intention of selling for cash, useless in Limbo, and real customers were easily routed by the ugly and intimidating Limbo women. Inside the large one-roomed store, Intermediates and real people mingled uneasily. The front door, inaccessible to Intermediates, led to a nondescript street that was, for a brief while, popular with bargain-hunters, until they were insulted and intimidated by hard-faced ‘salesladies’. The back door led to Limbo56.

The store was perfectly legitimate, the Politician had seen to that. The Accountant already had a set of ledgers for the ‘Necessities’ emporium. After a week, Underworld contacts of the Criminal showed up. A rock-faced giant, ‘Arry the ammer’ turned up demanding to see The Boss. Sadie pressed the button under the counter, and within minutes, Arthur and the Criminal entered by the back door. ‘Arrys thick eyebrows shot up on his non-existent forehead when they entered. “Ah thought yo was dead, Bobby,” he said.

“Ar,” Bobby answered, and they talked shop for a while. It took a few more meetings and a few battered scruples before Limbo and the local underworld came to a complete understanding, but once the deal was done, things went swimmingly. One stumbling point was Arthur’s refusal to make and trade guns, but a small stream of industrial gold and diamonds was soon trickling out of Limbo, together with engine blocks and car parts, while genuine booze, meat and canned food changed hands inside the ‘Necessities’ emporium. ‘Arry and his mates obviously thought Arthur was insane, but the presence of Bobby and the Politician was enough to convince them that whatever was going on was sufficiently dirty.

Gradually, the pubs began to sport a row of top shelf liquor, and flimsy menus decorated the tables where they soaked up beer and regaled the customers with descriptions of plain meals that nevertheless did not taste like cardboard. The pubs were to be the center of the new society that Arthur was building because they were where the Angels feared to tread. Arthur ruthlessly corrupted a third-class clerk cherub and was able to stage fights and mayhem on the infrequent occasions when an Angel was scheduled to be in the vicinity, and the Devils were too lazy to check on the obscure little Limbo. Gradually, a few luxury items began to find their way into the small kingdom. Refrigerators, radios, motorcycles, even a few cars were soon rumbling around the streets. ‘Arry the Ammer, fleeing the police one day, drove a bus through the plate-glass front of the Emporium, and donated it to the Intermediates to cover damages and for safe haven in the cellar of the store while the police searched for him.

Slowly, a middle-class of sorts developed among the Intermediates. The scrip doled out by the Heavenly council was unvarying; Arthur, for instance received the same payment as the newest foundry janitor, but the more enterprising of the inhabitants soon found ways to trade goods and services for newly available luxuries. Arthur was careful not to plunder the treasury, but his accountant did set him up with an extra stipend for running the place. In prison, three ex-Governors were living in unexpected and unprecedented luxury. A second emporium opened near the other gateway, and plans were drawn up to block off the tunnel with a third store, with access for larger goods, since it was not deemed practical to demolish a storefront every time a large vehicle was required.

Arthur’s main problem was restraining the exuberance of his citizens. Workers, who in life had worn nothing but overalls soon demanded suits, shirts and ties. Facial hair refused to grow in the afterlife, but soap became a hot item, together with hairbrushes and brilliantine. Workers not resourceful enough to take advantage of the new economy were discontented with their lot and began grumbling and threatening strike action. With the new middle-class refusing to set foot in the ‘dirty’ foundry, and most of his workers on ‘go slow’ time, or recovering from real booze hangovers, output soon began to decline, and Arthur was forced to release some of his stockpiles to keep up his quotas. His accountant assured him that he had a month or two’s grace before the fall in production became too obvious to cover up. Overall, a booming economy was turning into a nightmare for the hard-pressed Governor.
One morning, dragged away from his own job on the line, he was listening to the complaints of one of his worst workers, who had managed to become a shop steward. “An’ we need proper safeguards around them moulds,” the man was saying. “I almost got crushed this morning when my mate turned it.” Arthur’s testy remark that the man was drunk was partially drowned by the loud ringing of his phone. It was an extension of the one in his rooms, a direct line to the Angels, and Arthur ignored it, uneasily. “And we want proper health coverage,” the man continued. “There should be a trained nurse, and a trained doctor on the premises for all shifts. A good-looking nurse,” he added hopefully.

“How would that help?” Arthur cried. “You’re all dead, or undead, or whatever state we’re in. You break a bone, or lose some toes, and you wait to heal up. Why do you need a doctor to wait with you?” The phone rang again, loudly. Recently traded in from the real world, it was a new model, earpiece and speaker combined in one sleek design. Arthur picked it up clumsily, made sure that he was handling it the right way around, and listened.

The shop steward looked at his watch with the air of a man who has many important duties to attend to, and can’t bear to observe dereliction of duty in others. “Do you have to chat now?” he asked accusingly.

“This is Max,” the voice on the phone said. “I hear you’re having problems out there.”

“Out,” Arthur said to the shop steward. “How did you get access to this phone,” he asked the Politician.

“I haven’t done, yet.” The shop steward said

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Max said smoothly.

Arthur grabbed the shop steward. “Out,” he said. “I have enough problems, without having to deal with the likes of you.” He shoved the man, still gabbling about benefits, out into the noisy chaos of the foundry. He went back to the phone. “How did you get access to this phone,” he shouted.

There was a long silence. Finally, Arthur turned the phone around. “How…” he began.

“So we can help each other,” Max was saying. “With my brains, and your, er, your position as Governor, we can advance together into a bright new future.”

‘Until it’s time for you to go to Hell,’ Arthur thought. “I didn’t hear what you were saying,” he told the politician.

“Still having trouble with the new technology?” Max asked sympathetically. “Don’t worry; I can handle that part for you.”

“How did you manage to get to my private line?” Arthur finally managed to ask. “I’m coming over.” he added firmly. We need to…”

“No,” Max answered. “You have real problems. You have an overheating economy, labour unrest, and falling production. Your dream world is falling apart, and I can’t fix it from in gaol. Give the order for my temporary release and I’ll see you at your place” The phone went dead, and Arthur stared at it with no idea how to reconnect to the politician. It took a week of declining production, and numerous confrontations with the self-appointed shop steward before Arthur and Max faced each other in Arthur’s rooms. Arthur poured real beer, and served real cheese and onion sandwiches. Max was unimpressed. “A good steak and some wine would be more appropriate,” he murmured. “You should get yourself one of those new-fangled gas-ranges.” He took another distasteful bite of the sandwich. “I’m here to help you.” He drank some beer and leaned towards the Governor. “You know,” he said. “I’ve always felt that the two of us have a special relationship. I feel that, of all your advisors, I’m first among equals.”

“I only have three,” Arthur said, nettled. “There’s you, and Bobby…”

“Bobby Boy, yes, but he’s a criminal, and used to being in gaol. He’s safe, and living well in there, and as for that accountant of yours, he’s good, but limited, and he’s quite happy sitting in his cell, reading his ledgers.” Max nodded to himself. “While I, I’m an artist. I practice the art of politics, and I need to be amongst people to do that.” Arthur shook his head. “Now don’t be hasty,” Max continued. “Think of your position, your vision for the future.” He munched a cheese and onion sandwich and grimaced. “You’re in a mess. The more you do for this place, the more your subjects want. Do you know why you get no respect? You get no respect because you live in a couple of rooms, you take the bus to work, and