Restoration (23 page)

 

 

The storm blew itself out at dawn. Even in his semidelirious state Ashe could tell this. The thunder grew more distant, the lightning cutting its way across the horizon. It was information he felt right on the edge of awareness, like the sound of a telephone intruding onto the shallow edge of dreaming. He had shown the man how to leave the station hadn't he? Yes, that was a wild card, an unpredictable event that might change things… Perhaps he had been stupid, better to leave everything as he knew it should be. Getting too used to this playing God, he thought… swinging back and forth in the boat like a man on a swing seat. He reached one weary hand toward the lightening sky and extended a finger. I command you, wind, he thought, to take me to shore. And with that he fell unconscious.

 

 

Returning to the Barlow Shed he looked up at the trains and thought ahead.

  Ideally he would have taken a trip to his old apartment in Kissimmee, picked up all his old notes and research. But that was now impossible. These trains, as miraculous as they were, would show a very different world to the one Alan Arthur had once known. Traveling before 1976 was fine enough, no change there, but anything after… well Ashe knew that world well enough and there was nothing of any use to him in it.
Really?
A voice asked in his head,
are you sure? Wouldn't you like to check up on them? Make sure they're okay?

  No. No he wouldn't. No more distractions.

  He could remember his notes well enough to have a vague timeline of the box. He knew that it had left Tibet, picked up by one of the soldiers who would carry it with him for a few years until – irritated by its refusal to open – he sold it to a market trader in Madras. He could remember the trader's name, Yoosuf, and that was all. He would just have to hope that the train took him where he needed to go. It was clear to him that the House was as motivated in this as he was. It didn't want to die. Whether it was a piece of Sophie's consciousness or something more rudimentary, a sentient flicker within the House itself, he couldn't be sure. Whichever, it knew the world beyond its walls, understood the patterns of it all better than any of them.

  He remembered floating in that dangerous sea while on the
Intrepid
. The feeling he had experienced was one of universal contact, becoming the water and feeling every single tile that surrounded it. The water had known its environment, had felt the ship floating on it, the House that embraced it. This was just the same. The House was connected to everything and everyone, it knew the shape of events in the real world just as a sea feels the contours of the beaches that lead into it. It would let him find Yoosuf, Ashe was sure of it.

  One other piece of business occurred to him. He had managed to gather a fair quantity of cash from the others in the house – Carruthers in particular held a varied store of notes and coins hidden away in a concealed pocket inside his jacket. It wouldn't last forever though. He decided to go shopping.

  He entered the closest store, a small gift place, filled with jewellery and the sort of purses that looked like they were made from icing not leather. Edible fashions. He checked the till but wasn't surprised to find it empty. This wasn't the real thing, a good representation perhaps but once you scratched the surface the illusion was revealed. Would the same be the case for the stock? He loaded his pockets with jewellery, anything that carried a stone or might be made from gold. Anything in fact that might turn a greedy man's head. He moved from shop to shop doing the same thing, eventually grabbing a satchel so that he could carry more. Watches, rings, brooches, nothing too big. By the time he was done his bag was heavy with the best the shops had to offer.

  Ordering his tickets from that irritating face of the House, the Grumpy Controller, Ashe made his way to his train and sailed out of this world and back into his own.

 

 

During a brief moment of lucidity Ashe became aware that he was no longer alone in the lifeboat. Opening eyes that had been glued shut with dried salt baked in the sun, he saw the profile of a gull on the stern. It was looking out across the water – as far as he could tell, anyway, that fat, black eye could be looking anywhere – perhaps searching for food raised by the storm. A brittle notion crumbled in Ashe's head, not quite strong enough for him to fix on as he dropped back into sleep,
perhaps it's just found all the food it needs.

 

 

The market cooked like a stew in the heavy Madras air. The scents of sweat, produce and spice surrounded Ashe as he pushed his way between the crowded stalls. A five dollar note – not due to be printed for another ten years but the first that had come to hand – had bought him directions from a street beggar on the outskirts. The beggar had grinned at the sign of foldable money and vanished it into his clothes swiftly so that he didn't mark himself out as rich pickings for anyone else on the street. Ashe knew that when the man came to spend the money his enthusiasm would swiftly falter but for a couple of minutes he had his own personal guide, willing to show the white stranger anything he might desire. When Ashe made it clear that he desired nothing more exotic than the market stall of Yoosuf, his guide had seemed disappointed in him. No doubt the beggar had imagined what delights he would take from the city were he lucky enough to have pockets filled with American dollars and browsing the market was not one of them. Nonetheless he performed his duty admirably, leading him to the shadowy entrance of a stall built into the side of a building.

  Amongst the voluminous silk drapes and crammed displays, Ashe found his man. A small fellow sipping at a glass of tea so sweet it poured like syrup past the few remaining teeth in the man's mouth. Yoosuf hid his enthusiasm at the chance of earning some dollars better than the beggar. Ashe suspected this was because he had a fair few of them already. He caught the glint of a wristwatch beneath the man's sleeve. There was a signet ring embedded in the thick hairs above the knuckle of the fourth finger on his right hand. The glass he drank from was thin and well-crafted, decorated with a spider's web of metal that might even have been silver. Yes, Ashe suspected Yoosuf was not as impoverished as those who surrounded him. Whether this would make negotiations any more difficult had yet to be seen. He wasn't naïve enough to mention the box straightaway, certainly… let them build up to that. To begin with, all Yoosuf needed to know is that he had an American on hand who wanted to buy.

  They moved through several items in Yoosuf's stock, everything from statuettes to embroidered handkerchiefs. Yoosuf proffered a rather grotesque brooch fashioned from a scarab beetle, then a wooden mask, its bright pink tongue curled lasciviously, eager to take your coat. Ashe wanted none of these things but he bought them. He would soon be playing the part of archeologist, booking space on the
Intrepid
to transport items back to the States. None of those items mattered but one, they would all be window dressing. Eventually, seeing a small ivory box on one of the man's shelves Ashe commented that his grandchild liked decorative boxes, did Yoosuf perhaps have something more along those lines?

  The vendor spread his arms wide, but of course he did… Yoosuf had
everything
.

  Within five minutes Ashe had reclaimed the box – and purchased enough rubbish to fill a single packing crate. Now came the bartering. He offloaded his satchel onto the man's small counter, counting out the items one at a time to the increased enthusiasm of Yoosuf. The man tried to conceal it of course, no vendor worth his salt lets his tongue hang out at the first glimpse of shiny things, but Ashe knew that he had a buyer. There was too much interest before the casting down of the items in feigned dismissal, a second too long rubbing his thumbs across the cut surface of the jewels or the highly-polished metal. Ashe realised that the magic of the House had in fact done him a favour. These items may be imaginary but that only emphasised their glister. These were the sparkling fantasies of thousands of dreamers and they shone with every drop of avarice and desire those dreamers could muster. Certainly they were making Yoosuf salivate, however much he may try and pretend otherwise.

  Ashe named a figure, as large and insulting as he dared. The trader was visibly stunned and Ashe began to replace the shining treasure back into his satchel, slowly… letting each item offer one final sparkle before it dropped back into the bag. Yoosuf paid half of the original price quoted in cash and gave Ashe the rest of his shopping list for free.

  Not a bad bit of business, all in all, Ashe thought and made arrangements for his case of belongings – minus the box, that he slipped into his pocket – to be delivered to the nearest reputable hotel.

 

 

The gull gave a cry that cut through Ashe's delirium. He came awake to find the bird on his chest. Its large yellow beak turned from one side to the other as if it was wondering how best to open the shell on this particularly large catch. Ashe only managed to raise one arm, his limbs so stiff that even that effort shot a bolt of pain into his shoulder and nudged him into unconsciousness again. It was enough, the gull retreated, returning to the stern of the boat where it was happy to wait.

 

 

Ashe kept one hand on the box in his pocket as he moved toward the
Intrepid
. The rest of it could be transported at the mercy of the locals but the box would never leave his sight again. Not until it had delivered its next victims at least. He recognised the ship immediately and felt a warm sense of love for it. He had only been onboard for a few days but it had been a good time. It was onboard this boat, working its rigging and sweeping its deck, that Alan Arthur had begun to find a man inside himself. For that brief while he hadn't been a walking hole, a shell of neuroses and fears, he had just been a man making a ship move forward.

  "Help you?" came a voice from above. He looked up to see the silhouette of Hawkins looking down at him.

  "You certainly can," said Ashe, "I'd like to hire your ship."

 

 

Ashe woke to darkness. His throat felt solid as if he had swallowed a brick and the damn thing had become lodged there. In the cool of the night he felt altogether more human, the heat of the sun had burned his face to the texture of dried meat, like a crisp dog treat fashioned from pig hide. He managed to sit up, the back of his head sticking to the wood for a moment before peeling lose with the rip of parting Velcro. He put one hand to the base of his skull, feeling the crisp, matted hair and understanding that he had lost consciousness for a whole day. It was when the ship vanished… he thought, remembering the sight of the
Intrepid
folding in on itself and vanishing. The water around it had clapped together to fill the vacant hole, his small life boat flipping in the surf. He couldn't believe he had remained upright, battered and drenched, yes but not drowned. His head pulsed and he realised he must have suffered a concussion. His head beating against the wood of the boat until he had slipped out of consciousness and lain there at the mercy of the tide.
Don't forget that gull… you nearly ended up on its dinner table
. This was true but there was no sign of the bird now, no doubt it was resting somewhere, head beneath its wing, hoping that when the sun rose the meal it had found would finally be served.

  With some difficulty, Ashe looked over his shoulder, hoping to see the lights of land. There was nothing.
Who knows how far I've drifted?
he thought,
could be halfway to Australia by now.

  Knowing it would do him no good but unable to resist, he reached over the side of the boat and splashed water on his face and into his mouth. The saltiness immediately threatened to empty his stomach and that would leave him even more dehydrated. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to be sick. Once sure he had it under control he took another scoop in his mouth, this time not swallowing, just rolling it around in there to ease the cracked skin. He spat it back out and wiped at his chapped lips.

  Dehydrated and concussed. Maybe a dose of sunstroke too. Things are going well.

  The box was lost to him, too, of course. Though he was by no means certain that was a problem, who could tell whether Chester came into possession of it through his intervention or a line of events utterly unrelated to him. He was still here… that offered some hope that time was still on track.

  He scrabbled around in the boat for his oars. There was only one, the other presumably lost during the storm. One's better than nothing, he thought and looked up at the sky. The storm had blown the clouds clear and the stars were bright. Locating the Southern Cross, he estimated east and slowly began to head in that direction. If he hadn't been blown too far off course then east should still see him towards Kupang – or anywhere on the Indonesian coast, he wasn't in the least picky. When planning the trip he had been more than usually conscious of his inability to estimate a return ticket date and had planned accordingly. His train left from a stretch of beach on the south side of Kupang harbour in a week. On the one hand the idea of kicking around waiting for his train had made him squirm, on the other: missing it completely because he was still floating about in the middle of nowhere could be catastrophic. He would wait if he had to, use the time to plan and build up his strength. Certainly it now seemed that he could do with it – plus medical assistance if he could find it – that was if he ever saw dry land again of course, something he couldn't predict with any absolute certainty.

  After about ten minutes of rowing, swaying from side to side as he alternated with the oar, he had to take a rest. He had prided himself on his strength and endurance given his age but there was a limit to any man's abilities and he feared he was beginning to find his. If only his damned head would stop pounding…