Odds and Gods (6 page)

‘We’re here to see someone.’

‘Oh yes? And who might that be?’

The first doctor glanced at the back of his hand, where he’d written the name in biro. ‘It’s a Mr O’Syres,’ he said. ‘We’re here to—’

‘To give him a medical,’ the second doctor interrupted.

‘That’s right, a medical.’ The first doctor started to feel better; this was convincing stuff. He decided to expand it. ‘He’s thinking of taking out some life insurance,’ he went on, ‘and so we were asked—’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Course we’re sure.’

‘
Life insurance?
’

‘That’s right, love, so if you’ll just show us the way.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Sandra. ‘Just follow me.’

She led them to the big broom cupboard and opened the door a crack.

‘This is Mr Osiris’ room,’ she said. ‘I won’t put the light on because he’s asleep at the moment. If you just go in quietly and wait for him to wake up.’

As soon as they were inside, she turned the key and ran for it.

By the time she’d reached Osiris’ room, the penny had dropped. Two doctors. What is it that needs two doctors? Easy. She pushed open the door.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

She hadn’t actually seen Mr Osiris without any clothes on before. True, she’d heard things about him; how he’d undergone a lot of surgery in the past, had all sorts of bits removed and so on. She wouldn’t have been worried by scars. Zip fasteners, though, were another matter.

‘For pity’s sake,’ Osiris said, reaching for a towel. ‘You could have given me a heart attack.’

‘Sorry.’

Osiris looked down at the middle of his chest, and grinned. ‘Weren’t expecting to see that, were you?’

‘No,’ Sandra admitted. ‘Doesn’t it get rusty when you have a bath?’

Osiris shook his head. ‘Stainless steel,’ he replied. ‘I had them put in to make it easier for my wife.’

‘Ah.’

‘Was there something you wanted?’

Sandra’s brain dropped back into gear. ‘Get dressed, quick, and I’ll help you into your wheelchair,’ she said. ‘There’s two doctors come to certify you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Certify you,’ Sandra hissed, grabbing a dressing gown and shoving it on to his lap. ‘Say you’re mad. I’ve locked them in a broom cupboard.’

Despite the ravages of time, Osiris still retained a fair proportion of the vast mental capacity required of a supreme being. He scowled.

‘It’s that little bugger Julian,’ he growled. ‘You wait till I get my hands on him, I’ll make him wish—’

‘Quickly!’

She helped bundle Osiris into some clothes and got him into the chair. The corridor was empty.

‘Typical bloody lawyer’s trick,’ Osiris was muttering under his breath. ‘Have me certified and then take over all my powers with one of those damned attorney things. I knew I should never have signed it.’

‘That’s awful,’ Sandra replied absently. ‘If we can just make it to the service elevator, we’ll have a clear run out the back to the car park.’

‘Mind you,’ Osiris went on, ‘you’ve got to hand it to him for brains. Chip off the old block in that respect. Mind out, you nearly had me into the wall there.’

‘Stop complaining.’

As they passed the door of the broom cupboard, they could hear the sound of strong fists on woodwork and, alas, intemperate language. It looked to be a pretty solid door, but that wasn’t something you could rely on. Never trust something that was once a tree, Osiris reflected. He’d met a lot of trees in his career as a nature god, and had learned a thing or two about them in the process. One: don’t sit under them in thunderstorms. Two: never lend them money.

‘All clear.’

‘Hold on a moment,’ Osiris said. ‘Where exactly is it we’re going?’

Sandra glowered at him impatiently. ‘Somewhere you’ll be safe, of course,’ she said. ‘Look, they’ll be out of there in no time at all, so do you mind if—’

‘
Where?
’

‘My mum’s, of course.’

‘Ah,’ said Osiris. ‘Right.’

 

‘Is there somebody in there?’

The first thug, who was of course a doctor and therefore well aware of which of the small bones in his hand he’d broken while banging furiously on the door, stopped hammering and yelled, ‘Yes! Let us out!’

There was a pause.

‘Are you a doctor?’ said the voice.

‘What do you mean,’ said Julian, ‘escaped?’

The first thug pressed a coin into the slot, taking advantage of the hiatus in the conversation to choose his words with care. ‘He got away,’ he said. ‘One of the nurses locked us in a cupboard. When we got out . . .’ He shuddered. It had taken a long time, and he was still getting nightmare flashbacks from the conversation he’d had with Minerva through the door. ‘When we got out, he wasn’t in his room. We searched the whole place from top to bottom. He’s legged it.’

‘Wheeled it,’ suggested his colleague, shortly before collapsing against the side of the phone booth with severe abdominal pains. Since he was of course a doctor, he could have told you the technical name for them.

‘You buggered it up, you mean?’

‘Yes,’ admitted the first doctor; then, recalling who he was talking to, added, ‘without prejudice, of course.’

‘Fine,’ said Julian, after a while. ‘I do hope for your sakes that you’re heavily insured, because I happen to specialise in medical negligence claims.’

‘Hey,’ said the second thug, grabbing the receiver, ‘that’s not fair, we were only . . . Why are you laughing?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Julian replied, ‘it’s that word you just said, fair. Always has that effect on me. Now listen, you find him and get him committed like immediately, or the two of you’ll find yourselves having trouble getting work as snake oil salesmen, let alone doctors, kapisch?’

‘Now hang about,’ shouted the second doctor, and the pips went.

‘Damn,’ said his colleague. ‘Now what do we do?’

‘What the man says would be favourite. Any idea how we go about it?’

‘No.’

‘And you call yourself a doctor.’

‘Shut up.’

Situated in its own extensive grounds among acres of rolling cloudland, Sunnyvoyde commands extensive views over three galaxies, but is a bit of a cow to get to if you have to rely on public transport. Add a wheelchair into the equation, and
x
suddenly equals extreme difficulty.

‘You’re sure there’s a bus?’ Osiris demanded. He was starting to feel the cold.

‘Of course there’s a bus. How do you think I get to work every day?’

‘And what is a bus exactly?’ Osiris wrinkled his omniscient brow. ‘I mean, I’ve heard of them, of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one. After my time, really.’

Sandra blew on her hands and jumped up and down until the sensation of a cloud wobbling under her feet got too much for her. ‘It’s a sort of square box,’ she replied, ‘with a wheel at each corner and seats inside.’

‘It’s a box you go inside?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Ah. You mean a coffin.’

‘No. Coffins don’t have wheels.’

‘Bet?’

‘It’s bigger than a coffin.’

‘Bigger than a large coffin?’

‘You can judge for yourself.’

Exactly on time, the bus drew up and stood for a moment, its engine running and doors closed, as if it was catching its breath. ‘Have you,’ Sandra asked, ‘got any money for the fare?’

‘Money?’

‘Round flat metal discs with someone’s head on one side and—’

‘I mean,’ replied Osiris irritably, ‘I didn’t know you had to pay to go on these things. Yes, thank you. Would two gold pieces cover it, do you think?’

‘I would imagine so.’

‘Hold on, then.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘It’s a bit,’ Osiris grunted, ‘like I imagine putting contact lenses in must be. Come on, you little - oh blast, I’ve dropped one.’

‘No,’ Sandra explained patiently, ‘you don’t have to put them on your eyes. The man just takes them from your hand and gives you a ticket.’

‘What’s a ticket?’

‘Just leave all the talking to me, all right?’

‘Ruddy funny way to go about things, if you ask me.’

Osiris’ bad temper soon evaporated when he found that he was only charged half price, and after a few minutes it was obvious he was enjoying himself immensely. The way he kept yelling ‘Whee!’ and pretending to steer told its own story.

‘Will you stop that. People are staring.’

‘I’m used to that.’

‘Yes,’ Sandra whispered back, ‘but we want to be inconspicuous, remember. We’re escaping. Running away. Or had you forgotten?’

Osiris had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Hasn’t really sunk in yet. I’ve been a lot of things in my time, but Most Wanted wasn’t one of them. Usually,’ he added, ‘quite the reverse.’

‘Really?’ Sandra searched in her bag for a peppermint. ‘I thought you gods were loved and worshipped.You know, revered and stuff.’

‘Revered, yes,’ Osiris replied. ‘Loved, no. All right, people say a lot of nice things to you when you’re a god, but it’s either because they want something or they’re frightened of getting a thunderbolt up the jacksie, not because they think you’re fun to be with. Masses of prayers and sacrifices, but nobody ever remembers your birthday.’

‘Gosh,’ said Sandra through her peppermint. ‘I didn’t even know gods had birthdays.’

‘Proves my point, doesn’t it? Should I be sitting here, do you think? Only it does say,
Please give up this seat if an elderly or disabled person needs it
.’

‘I think you qualify on both counts.’

‘Do I? Well I never. It must be very complicated, being a mortal.’

It was one of those slow buses. From Sunnyvoyde, it meandered at the pace of an elderly glacier with corns past the Islands of the Blessed, across the Elysian fields, round the back of Valhalla - long since sold for development and converted into possibly the most nerve-jangling theme park and paintball game center in the cosmos - along the Nirvana Bypass to the Happy Hunting Grounds Park and Ride, where the bus suddenly filled up with dead Red Indians carrying shopping bags. Shortly after a brief stop at the Jade Emperor’s palace, Osiris fell asleep, and only woke up when Sandra tugged at his sleeve. He looked out of the window.

‘Come on,’ Sandra was saying, ‘the next stop is ours. I’ll get your wheelchair out of the rack.’

‘Hey,’ said the god. ‘Where
is
this?’

‘Wolverhampton.’

‘But it’s so ruddy
small
.’

‘You should have thought of that before. Like on the sixth day, for instance.’

‘That wasn’t me,’ replied Osiris, defensively. ‘That was the other bloke. Thing, name begins with a J.’

‘Up we get.’

Although he never dared mention it to his priests for fear of causing immortal offence, Osiris had never been a great one for ceremony and fuss; but there are certain ways of going about things that are bred in the bone, and when a god visits Earth, he expects more of a welcoming party than a small child on a bicycle and a stray cat. Osiris sighed.

‘And people actually live here?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘How do they fit in those titchy little houses?’

‘We manage.’

‘Which way now?’

‘Actually,’ Sandra said, opening the gate and pushing the wheelchair through, ‘we’re here.’

‘Surely not.’

‘Look. If you’re going to be difficult we can turn straight round and go back. Just because you’re a god doesn’t mean you own the place.’

‘Well, actually . . .’

‘You know what I mean.’

Sandra opened the front door, parked Osiris’ wheelchair in the small front parlour, and went through into the kitchen. From behind the kitchen door, Osiris could hear a buzz of voices. The door opened.

‘Mum,’ said Sandra, ‘meet Mr Osiris; he’s a god. Mr Osiris, this is my mother.’