Love and Robotics (25 page)

They put up their tent at dusk, Alfred in a better mood than he had been all day. Taking his time over knots, pounding in nails, humming. Josh cooked the fish they’d caught.

“If you joined these stars, what would you get?”

“A big game of Join the Dots?” Alfred popped the fish into his mouth. “If you fancy a change in career, you could always be a chef.”

“As well as a costume maker?”

“Gwyn was like that when she was little. If she played House she’d be a fire fighter, a pirate and an astronaut in one day.”

“Well, you
were
an explorer.”

“She always wanted to come along. I’d pretend the laundry basket was a canoe and row her across the hall.”

“Why
did
you become one?”

Alfred didn’t think about lying. Josh would see through him. “When you’re human they always ask, ‘What will you be when you grow up?’ I never had a clue. Then one day I was thirty and I
still
didn’t know. I created a job so I’d have something to do.”

“I thought humans had it all sorted out.”

“That’s an image we like to cultivate.”

“I think it’s splendid,” Josh said.

              They lay with their arms cushioning their heads. Smoke curled into the air. “Sorry about earlier,” Josh said after a while.

“It’s okay. Must’ve been a shock.”

“I’ve disproved four theorems. I can cope with unconventional romance -”

“That makes me sound like a pig fucker. The word you’re looking for’s gay.”

“How long - I mean, when -”

“Always,” Alfred said, divvying out the biscuits. “I’ve never fancied a woman. Nanny guessed early on, Gussy soon after.”

“What about your parents?”

“I told them one night over dinner. They approached me afterwards, Mum first. ‘I had a close female friend while I was at uni. Don’t tell your father’. Then it was Dad’s turn. ‘I went with the captain of the rugger team. Don’t tell your mother.’”

“Bet that stole your thunder.”

“Tell me about it! Here I was, making what I thought was a dramatic announcement, and I wasn’t even the first in the family.” A howl in the distance. “Bloody wolves. No matter how often they cull them, they come back.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing one.”

“I’ll show you at a better time of year. Now they’re hungry and desperate.” Alfred slid the poker into the fire. “Bedtime.”

“I’m not sleepy!”

“
I’m
knackered.”

Josh was acutely aware of Alfred as he undressed, rubbed his face and yawned. He always turned away when he took his shirt off - shyness? Self consciousness? His back was a sunburnt wall of muscle, scattered with red-gold hair. By the time they faced each other they were in their nightclothes.

“You’re not worried about - ?” He gestured between them. “I’ll sleep outside.”

“No!” Josh was shocked. “Why’d you think that?”

“Chaps can be funny. One boy at school said I should get changed in another room. I’d caught him checking me out in the showers but didn’t say anything.”

Alfred fell asleep quickly and easily. He didn’t frown like he usually did; it was as though a burden had rolled from his shoulders.

Josh woke two hours later. He’d had queasy, unsettling dreams, centring around the mummy. First he thought she was trying to get into the tent, then a gnarled hand closed around his ankle. She pinned him down inside the sleeping bag, pressing down so he couldn’t breathe. The mummy’s face changed to Fisk’s: dank breath on his cheek, grizzled hair. “Good boy,” she said. Her hand slipped inside the bag.

He felt a prickling sensation, as though he was being jabbed by sharp teeth. The sleeping bag beside him was empty. “Alfred!”

He came back from stoking the fire. “Bad dreams?”

“I’m being
bitten
.”

“Let’s see.” Josh winced as he helped him out of the sleeping bag. “The night bugs must like the taste of you. They swoop down and suck your blood.”

“I haven’t
got
any blood.”

“They’re not to know. I’ve lotion.” Alfred went to his case. “This confounded lock -”

“916712.”

“Thanks.” Alfred lobbed the bottle over. “I don’t know if you can get infected, but do you want to find out?”

It had a sweet, healthy scent, like licorice tea. The worst bites were on his torso and arms. Alfred sat at the mouth of the tent.

“Can’t you sleep?” Josh asked.

“I was thinking about the archaeologists. Bet that mummy doesn’t get to Lux in one piece.”

“Won’t they pack her properly?”

“You can make a killing with mummy parts. It’s vandalism, pure and simple.”

“You didn’t mind when your friends did it.”

“I was never peachy with it. How would we like it if Farvans came along and dug up
our
royals?”

“Would we care?”

“Jerry would sell his granny if he thought it’d get tourists in. I’ll sit in Worthies’ Corner with Puss and my shotgun.”

“I’m with you. History should be preserved.”

Alfred was wearing his wickedest grin. Josh knew what it meant. He also knew he’d be helpless to resist.

Half an hour later they were staking out the site, ears trained for the least sound. Josh had explained how there was a stream running nearby and the archaeologists had rowed a boat down to the quarry.

It was one in the morning. The bugs wouldn’t stop nipping, the wolf was drawing closer and they could hear bored voices. The archaeologists were playing cards, swapping jokes and chewing poppies.

“It was worth a try,” Josh said, getting up.

“Get back here!” Alfred pulled on the scruff of his shirt.

“They’ll catch us - have us arrested -”

“Quite possibly,” Alfred said. “My eleventh time in a cell. The novelty’s wearing off.”

“They might be
ages
.”

“Have we anything better to do?

Josh wondered, not for the first time, if Alfred was unhinged. As well as the gun he always had to hand, he slept with a coil of rope in case of fire and a sign saying “I’m not as dead as I look.” (Apparently his great granddad had nearly been buried by mistake). While he had no time for “superstitious tomfoolery”, he had a greater fund of myths and horror stories than anyone he knew.

“Have you seen our girl?”

Josh spied the mummy amongst a jumble of kit in the clearing. They couldn’t be more exposed if a spotlight shone upon them. “What do we do?”

“Wait. Your problem is you’ve no patience.”

That was rich, coming from a man who’d punched a self service robot. Josh had given him the silent treatment for a day but understood why. It’s infuriating when a chirpy voice keeps asking if you need a bag.

Alfred grinned. “You think I’m a hypocrite, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Arm wrestle?”

“Okay.”

They rolled up their sleeves. Alfred was cocky, expecting an easy victory. His eyes widened as Josh pulled his arm into the dirt.

“You’re a tough little devil, aren’t you?” he asked after his third defeat. “Guess that’s why CER gave you those big eyes. They disarm people.”

“I’m certainly disarming you.”

“Heh. Rock, Paper, Scissors?”

“I’m good at that, too.”

“Bring it on, Goldilocks.”

On the first attempt they both drew scissors. Next rock. “Are you peeking?”

“I swear I’m not.”

To mix it up Alfred played rock again. Josh anticipated that too. “Maybe we’ve a psychic link.”

“I still think you’re looking.”

A bruise was forming where Josh had twisted Alfred’s arm. He was tempted to put his lips to it. What would he taste like? The whine of a night bug distracted him from this interesting line of thought.

Alfred swatted it with his hat. “Got you!”

“Why don’t they eat you?”

“I’m old and leathery. Nanny says I’m part werewolf.”

“Why -”

“Red hair, forehead like a shelf. And my eyebrows meet.”

“You’re nicer looking than that.”

Was he blushing? “Gussy nicked the looks
and
brains, damn her.”

“Anything’s better than dimples. Everyone thinks I’m stupid, looking the way I do.”

Alfred laughed. “You’re adorable.”

Josh’s face grew hot. “What are our grave robbing friends up to?”

The game had been abandoned. Will tickled the lute, Mono aimed horse shoes at a tent peg. Sir Bart was scanning race results in the paper. “Another fortune down the bog,” he complained.

“You could get married again,” Mono said.

“There’s nothing you can get from a woman you can’t from a horse.”

“What, even that?” Will asked.

“Ha ha.”

“Bet Barty can’t get a hard on,” Mono jeered.

“Poppycock. I’ll show you what I can do.”

“Oh gods,” Alfred muttered as Sir Bart unbuttoned his trousers. “It’s lights out at Frome all over again.”

Josh wasn’t an expert, but the appendage Sir Bart whipped out seemed quite small. A few swipes and it stiffened. Will turned pink. Josh remembered how he’d tugged at his mentor’s sleeve, his voice breathy: “Sir Bart ...” Once you know what to look for, gay men were
everywhere.

“Watch and learn.” Mono yanked down his trousers, revealing the biggest, hairiest arse Josh had seen. He covered his eyes.

“If
I’d
ever considered being gay,” he said, “I’m cured.”

Alfred pulled him to his feet, scowling. “Let’s get her out while they’re occupied.”

They sidled along the edge of the camp. Will had stopped strumming one instrument and picked up another. His small pert bottom twitched. Alfred stared.

That’s his type, is it?
It made Josh strangely sad. Will was nice, but nothing special. Alfred could do better.

“Is this normal?” Josh asked, as one archaeologist after another threw back his head. They all did it differently: Sir Bart grunted, Mono gibbered, Will closed his eyes, his voice a bat squeak.

“Most men do it in private.”

“Do you?”

“I’ll be downstream.” Alfred loped off, ears aglow. Josh supposed it had been rather a personal question.

“Well? What do you say?” Sir Bart demanded.

Mono shrugged. “I make that -” he consulted his stop watch. “Still the fastest gun on the continent.”

Sir Bart swung a fist at his colleague’s jaw. Three teeth broke away. The injured man took two unsteady steps before slamming a blow into Sir Bart’s gut.

“Stop it!” Will wailed.

“Fuck off!”

Will ran off in tears, stepping on his lute and breaking it. Josh was hypnotised: two archaeologists rolling in the dirt, their penises slapping together. It wouldn’t look out of place on an urn -

              The mummy! He dived amongst the equipment. She was even uglier at close quarters: scaly skin, claws crossed over her chest, empty sockets over a ghastly grin. She had a dry, grainy smell like old books. He put her over his shoulder and raced down to the river bank.

“What kept you?” Alfred asked, helping him into a boat.

He set their damsel in distress in the centre. “Dishy, isn’t she?”

“Bit skinny for my liking.”

“Bit female for your liking.”

“It starts. I knew was in for a world of ribbing.”

The thrash of the planks, the splash of the water, hoots of unseen owls.

“Row, row, row the boat

Gently down the stream

If you see a crocodile

Don’t forget to scream,” Alfred murmured.

“I hope that’s not tempting fate. What will they do when they realise she’s gone?”

“Going by what Sir Bart said, it wasn’t legal.”

“They can come after us.”

“Unlikely. We’ve liberated their boat.”

“You’re a piece of work, Alfred.”

“Pragmatic, I call it. Who won the wankathon?”

“Mono.” Before he could stop himself, “Did you like Will?”

Alfred was more than usually poker faced. “No. Why?”

“I saw you looking.”

“Do you fancy every woman you look at?”

“No, but -” He tried to point out they didn’t usually have their pants around their ankles, bringing themselves off.

“I’m not a chickenhawk. The one time I dated somebody younger, it didn’t work.”

At last - what he needed to know. “Are you seeing anyone?” Though if there
was
a boyfriend, why hadn’t he met them?

Alfred had never taken so long to answer. “Stow it, Josh,” he said at last. “Wish I hadn’t told you.”