Bronte's Inferno IX (A Few Pages Short of a Novella)

The dog calmed down at the uttering of his full name, rather in the manner of a Gerry summoned by an irate mother shouting “Gerald”. Indeed, he went to Enoch’s side and stayed at heel as we walked over to the bench by the scoreboard building. By this time Enoch was panting again. I suggested we take a seat, though the wood was cold and damp.

‘Have you signed it then?’ He said.

‘I haven’t even read it.’

I tossed the contract in his lap. I had taken great pleasure in punching a couple of staples through the corner of the document, so fine was the paper. It was only missing a watermark to make it a still greater waste of money.

‘I shouldn’t worry, it just boils down to you not being famous, but being very rich… and the other thing, of course.’

‘What other thing?’

‘Oh, you know, the usual. Do you like Stravinsky?’

I didn’t care for Igor much and said so.

‘Oh … I thought you might at least have liked The Soldier’s Tale, you being an ex-military man.’

‘I wasn’t a soldier.’

‘That’s the kind of detail that we don’t consider so important. Some of the guidelines haven’t been changed in centuries. Hoplite, Soldier, Airman, same difference. Besides, you’d be an aviator now, wouldn’t you?’

The Air Force had cancelled the word “Airman”, deciding to call all other ranks “aviators”, regardless of gender. That was fine, you couldn’t stop progress. Trouble was if you said aviator to me I pictured someone in jodhpurs, goggles and a leather helmet. Yes, Amy Johnson. I wondered if anyone had mentioned the word ‘aviatrix’ at the MOD. They’d probably have thought it was something to do with S & M.

I grunted a reply. The dog growled.

Enoch scratched his chin and sighed.

‘They sent me to convince you. I didn’t sign and ended up working for Charnel House anyway.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Not out,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve been there a long time. I’m famous. My book’s in the Apocrypha, if you know what that is. I’ve met nearly everyone in the world and half the people in publishing, although as you’ve probably guessed, they’re not all… people.’

I knew my coffee had been strong, but I’d never heard of caffeine-induced hallucinations before. Perhaps Enoch was simply mad or madly simple. Everyone I’d met from Charnel House seemed a few pages short of a novella.