Fire and rescue

Fire and rescue (a nightmare tale)

Fire and rescue

Mortimer dug his knife down into the marmalade jar with a scrape and frowned; he'd been so busy he hadn't had chance to do his usual grocery shop at Sainsbury's. Supplies were running low. Thankfully, he did know how to bake his own bread, but what was toast without marmalade? He spread the sad smear on his hot wholemeal toast slice, making sure to get it in all the corners and took a bite.

Then the phone rang.

The old aardvark's long, grey ears pricked up and he chewed hastily before dropping his breakfast down onto the chintz bone -China plate, wiping his oily hands on his silk napkin.

The phone was on the wall at the other end of the kitchen. He lifted the receiver; "Warlock residence, Mortimer speaking..." he announced in his loftiest British accent.

"Monty!" the other voice was rougher and jovial, "how are you doing, me old mucker? I do hope you're well. I hear you're having some renovations done to the castle. Been saying to Benny you should get that moat of yours dug up. Can't have a castle without a moat."

Mortimer smiled, "hello Patrick, it's jolly good to hear from you. I am very well, thank you for asking; as for the moat, well, we shall see, might be more trouble than it's worth. Knowing my luck, it'll be a glorified duck pond in days. Now, I know you're calling for a reason, you always do."

"That's right!" the man laughed, "I do, don't I? We have another rescue that's outside of our admittance requirements, I'm afraid. Truth be told, we're slammed, Monty. I don't suppose you have a spare stable in that nice big barn of yours?"

Monty sucked his teeth, "I might," he said, reluctantly.

"You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an emergency, but this poor mare needs somewhere to go and, well, she isn't ex- racing stock, which you know is our main requisite. My niece's stables are full up already."

"You can't sell her as a companion pony?"

"You'll understand when you see her, Mont. Let's just say it's a mercy plea."

"Oh," Monty nodded, "one of those. Yes, of course, I can fit her in."

"Great! I can always rely on you, Mont, salt of the Earth fella you are," the voice sounded genuinely relieved. "Pop by later, be good to see your long, grey face again."

"Later, Patrick, old chum." He put down the phone and sighed. So much for a simple cupboard restock; now he was settling in a new horse.

Patrick was an old human friend; the big, portly, ruddy-faced man ran a rescue farm that took in ex-racehorses to save them from the sad fate of the glue factory. Occasionally, Patrick received calls of help from owners of donkeys or neglected ponies and although his charity couldn't take them, he was a kind man, who wanted to help and never turned down an animal if he could help it. This of course led to phone calls like that one. In return for his help, Mortimer would receive a significant discount on the maintenance and upkeep of his precious British racing cars, thanks to Patrick's eldest son who ran a specialist motor garage in Oxford.

He sat back down at the wooden breakfast table to resume his marmalade on toast. The builders promptly began re-pointing the brickwork on the front of the main building, the high hum of an angle grinder taking out the worn mortar. His ears vibrated. Tea sloshed in its floral cup. Breakfast would be taken in the conservatory today, it seemed. He tucked his newspaper under an arm and swiftly moved down the hallway.

The renovations on Warlock Court were long overdue; he had almost given up hope of them happening at all. For many years he had been here alone, the last of the Warlocks who were invested in their family's unique magical history. Mortimer had come to the depressing realisation that it was all ending with him. His younger brother, Peregrin, had left to make a name for himself in Hell with his succubus wife. Their eldest son, Anar, who had shown so much promise as a true heir to the estate, had been whisked away down to the Underworld as well. So, Mortimer had moped. He had watched the ancient building crumble around him and had done nothing.