Stung: Winter Special by K.A. Merikan

STUNG
    Winter Special
     
    Crunch was
pushing through the snow that kept sneaking into his eyes. He never
thought he’d be grateful for a blizzard, yet here he was. End of
January, middle of London, pushing to a house he only knew by
address. If it wasn’t for the ghastly weather, he wouldn’t have
been able to get any time off from his duties. With the
bone-chilling wind roaring through the narrow streets, he was
thankful for the thick woollen scarf Victor sent him for Christmas.
They have exchanged letters over the weeks since Honeyhill’s
liberation, but he was still surprised to receive a box of gifts
that contained mostly luxurious food and tobacco, as well as a
bottle of fine cologne with a copper canary head on the stopper. It
seemed fancy in comparison to what he usually used, but hoping to
see Victor tonight, he used it.
    He only got
short notice on the possibility of leaving for a few nights, so he
didn’t even bother sending Victor a message, instead wishing to
surprise him. Deep down in his heart lingered the thought that
maybe he would be an unwelcome guest. Following the directions a
local shopkeeper gave him five minutes ago, he walked deeper into
one of those new, affluent neighbourhoods built on steel platforms
over the slum. Walking up the street, he carefully watched the
numbers on identical copper plates. The houses here were twins and
villas with small gardens, and each had its own style. Unlike the
tidy quarters preferred by the former gentry, the Terrace of
Tomorrow was the top residential area for the nouveau-riche, and
its occupants were keen to display their wealth with complicated
architecture.
    Crunch stopped
in his tracks, raising his head to gape at house number
forty-three. Victor’s house. It looked like something from a
fairytale, with a huge clock with female-shaped hands and two tiny
towers topped by pointy roofs. So, would his prince be at home?
    He smiled to
himself and took the goggles off before knocking on the door. He
didn’t want to seem threatening, and since the recent riots in the
East End, people weren’t exactly welcoming.
    He waited for
an answer in front of the grand wooden doors, but nothing happened.
Crunch sighed and looked around for the doorbell, only to spot a
metal lion’s head with a button embedded between the animal’s jaws.
He pressed on it in resignation and blinked, startled by a loud
tweet from inside. It sounded remarkably realistic, as if there
were a live bird on the other side of the door. He looked up to the
tower once again, feeling inadequate. Prince and the Pauper ,
huh?
    The clang of an
opening lock brought him back to the present, and Crunch found
himself facing a white-haired, middle-aged man in a bottle-green
uniform.
    “May I help
you, sir?” It came in the most proper accent Crunch had ever
heard.
    “Yeah, I
kinda... I’m lookin’ for Victor Sheppard?” Ridiculous. He killed
more zombies than he could count but was intimidated by a butler? A
butler who managed to keep his face a mask of polite indifference
even when his eyes flashed with understanding.
    “Certainly,
sir. Please, come in.” He opened the door wider, letting Crunch
into a high hall that resonated with the sound of several dozen
clocks. The mechanisms, both antique and modern, took over all the
walls up to the ceiling.
    Crunch slowly
pulled off the scarf, amazed by the interior. He walked up to a
large grandfather clock made of copper and glass. The mechanism
inside moved with perfect precision, drawing him in.
    “May I take
your coat, sir?” asked a soft female voice from the side. The
pretty, blonde maid wore the same colours as the butler, who left
the hall after asking Crunch for his name.
    “Yeah, I
suppose.” Crunch felt awkward but quickly started unbuttoning his
leather jacket. She took it from him with a curt nod and moved to
put it inside an antique wooden closet, giving Crunch more time to
stare at the countless clocks. They had to belong to