Restoration (35 page)

  It was a naïve hope. Having reminded himself that these journeys with the box had just been an interruption, a delay that brought his own future all the closer, he couldn't relax enough for sleep. His head was filled with a world that the revellers that sang and danced outside his hotel couldn't begin to comprehend.

  He sat in his bed, staring at the far wall lit by the street lamps outside and tried to imagine how he might be able to change what lay ahead. Perhaps he did fall asleep in the end because, in the early hours of the morning, he was startled at the sight of that seagull that he had imagined in Indonesia. It perched on the wrought iron of his small balcony and was as chatty now as it had been on the prow of his boat.

  "You're fighting a losing battle you know," it had said, half in the voice of the Grumpy Controller, half in a bird-like caw of its very own. "Some things just have to happen."

  "Maybe," he had replied, quite sure that this must be a dream, just as it had been before. "But the future can always be altered can't it? If not then there's no point in any of this."

  "Of course," the gull croaked, "nothing's set in stone. My point was that
this
future, the one you are so determined to avoid, is better than the alternative."

  "You want to try living it," said Ashe.

  "Oh," the gull almost shrugged, its feathered shoulders ruffling, "you lot can survive anything, your species is known for it."

  "It's no kind of life," Ashe replied, thinking of the girl he had seen asleep in that coil of rope at the port, "no kind of life at all."

  "I'll make a point of not mentioning that to your wife," said the gull, "or did you not marry?"

  Ashe shook his head. "There seemed little point."

  "Who says romance is dead?" the gull squawked, amused.

  Ashe lay down and rolled his back towards the bird. He had no interest in furthering this dream.

  The bird felt differently. "Is it so bad?" it asked. "You have a wife – of sorts – a child,
children
really. So the world's not perfect. At least it's still there. And mark my words, if you try and stop what's coming there's no chance of that."

  "Perhaps that would be best," Ashe whispered, then cursed himself for thinking such a thing.

  The bird clucked quietly for a moment. "We'll see," it said in the end and flew away.

 

 

When the dawn light woke him, Ashe figured he'd had maybe four hours of sleep if lucky. He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling groggy and older than ever. He had five hours until Chester's meeting with Jimenez and as much as the prospect of trying to spend some of that resting appealed he knew it was time best spent trying to find Pablo.

  He dressed and began the long walk. The streets were busy already with locals. Some were making their way towards the market, rickety wagons laden down with stock. The houses were being opened up, the old Spanish women emerging into the daylight to mop their front step and gossip. Young children, those habitual early-risers, were beginning to run and play.

  Even in the clatter of wagon wheels, lashing mops or tongues, cheers and laughter it all seemed so delicate. With the dream of the gull still heavy in his head he couldn't help but imagine them swept aside to make way for the future. It was a sombre mood that hung around him all the way down to where the sea crashed and the ocean wind could begin to blow his depression away.

  He looked to the marina and pictured Chester, still asleep in his millionaire's boat. Or perhaps, hopeful of the day ahead, he couldn't close his eyes either, lying there and imagining what delights the box would bring him. He'd learn soon enough, we never wish in the right direction, our dreams make fools of us all.

  The port was just as hectic as before, maybe even busier. The fishermen were hoisting the wriggling silver of their catch into crates of ice. A swamp of curling fish tails, clicking lobster and slithering eels, all destined for the market and then the dinner table. Rather than work his way through the crowd, Ashe sat on a nearby wall and watched, soaking in the life and the salt air. Freshening his tired head for what lay ahead.

  There were young lads aplenty, tugging ropes, stacking crates on trucks, yanking spent nets back into their containers. For one of them this would be his last morning at such tasks. If, that is, Ashe ever got lucky and found the right boy. You do it somehow, he thought, he ends up in the House by your hand. He knew that such lazy thinking barely covered the convoluted nature of time travel but it gave him some hope. It can't be an impossible task, he insisted to himself. Somehow I manage to do it.

  Giving up on the crowd he headed back into the city for breakfast, hoping coffee and food might finish off the job started by the cool wind. In his pocket, his revolver swung heavily, loaded and eager for use. He hoped it would stay there, un-held and un-fired, though he knew it was a slim hope. He was a man of violence these days.

  He sat down at the same cafe he'd visited the day before, within sight of Garcia's house, and waited for the clock to roll around to eleven.

 

 

When the time came, his stomach was jaded from too much coffee but alert for a
rendezvous
with Chester.

  He made his way towards Jimenez's house and, judging the direction his younger self would likely come from the marina, made his way to the opposite end of the street where an aged, gnarled olive tree reached up from a walled planter. He sat down on the stone wall, thinking it had likely been a well at some time, now filled with earth and turned into an aesthetic feature. It offered a small amount of cover and a comfortable place to sit as he waited for Chester to arrive.

  It was only a few minutes and Ashe was glad he had come in good time. He watched the young man go through the same motions as he had the day before, peering through the beaded curtain, calling greetings and eventually being let in.

  A few streets away he heard the sound of shouting followed by a report of rifle fire. What the hell was going on? he wondered, looking around for sign of the trouble. As long as it didn't distract Chester from the hiring of housebreakers he supposed it didn't matter. It was a timely reminder that, for all the colour and happiness he had seen the night before, this was still a city in wartime.

  Turning back towards Jimenez's house he was just in time to see a small girl jump from the roof of the opposite house, sail through the air and then come to land on the criminal's balcony railing. Ashe jumped to his feet, his instinct being to run to her aid. As he hesitated, wary of revealing himself to Jimenez – a man that was sure to remember him from the day before – she scrabbled over the railing and onto the man's roof terrace.

  What the hell is she doing? Is that his daughter? He tried to imagine Jimenez as a Spanish Fagin recruiting such nimble young children to his crooked cause, and could not. His gut told him that she had been on the run, most likely from the shouting and gunfire he had heard earlier.

  He moved back to the cover of the tree, he could hardly go storming in there and demand assurance that she was alright. He was just in time, Chester appearing at the edge of the roof terrace shortly after, looking up and down the street, clearly startled and suspicious. They must have caught the girl.

  A few moments later, Chester appeared and began to walk back the way he had arrived. Ashe thought it likely he was heading back towards the marina but would follow him just in case. He decided to give the man a moment's head start and that was fortunate as Jimenez appeared in the doorway shortly afterwards and walked off in the same direction. Perhaps our friendly neighbourhood pusher of women, drugs and guns (with housebreaking a sideline) wished to follow Chester too. Maybe he didn't trust him – Jimenez would have to be a lousy judge of character to do so – or maybe it was just coincidence and he had business of his own to deal with. Ashe was about to follow the pair of them when he was struck by a secondary thought: what about the girl? Was she in trouble? Perhaps locked up in the house awaiting Jimenez's attentions when whatever current duty occupied him was dealt with? Should he not try and make sure she was safe?

  
No more distractions!
That critical voice in his own head insisted,
you can't keep stopping to make sure every little waif and stray is okay. Get on with what you came here for.

  The voice had a point, he certainly had more pressing issues than the fortunes of a young girl to occupy him – though that thought brought Sophie to mind and delayed him again. Perhaps he should just knock on the door? If she was trapped in there then she might shout for help, maybe she would even answer it, reveal herself to be his daughter after all?

  He was deciding to do that very thing when the girl stepped out of the house. She looked up and down the street, before running after both Jimenez and Chester. Ashe followed on behind.

 

 

It soon became clear that Jimenez had taken a different route, probably hiring himself a couple of local boys to help with the break in. What was also clear – and intriguing as hell to Ashe – was that the young girl was following Chester just as he was. She kept her eyes on him, following that hat as Ashe had done the day before. The streets were emptying out now as people went off for their siestas, avoiding the hottest part of the day and Ashe had no difficulty tracing the pair of them all the way back to the marina.

  Chester climbed onto his boat and the girl made a Uturn, heading towards the industrial end of the port. Now Ashe had to make a decision. He was pretty sure that Chester would stay where he was for now and surely they would wait until later to break into Garcia's house? During siesta, the man was sure to be home, it was the worst possible time to consider such an act. The girl intrigued him. She probably wasn't in the least important in the overall scheme of things but what had she been doing at Jimenez's house? Why had she followed Chester? It was a risk but, after a moment's hesitation, it was one he decided to take. Keeping to the upper area of the port, he followed the girl as she skipped between the hustling sailors, frequently stopping to poke pieces of what looked like roast chicken into her mouth. After a while she dumped the bag the chicken had been in – a pillowcase Ashe noted in bafflement – and made her way towards a young man who was sat on the quayside fixing a wicker lobster basket. A sudden certainty hit Ashe: this was the boy he had been looking for. This was young Pablo who would go on to the House and save Chester's life, an act of kindness repaid by his own death.

  He tried to get close enough to hear their conversation. Working his way among the stacks of crates and fishing equipment, he got as close as he dared, hidden from view by a tower of boxed fruit that smelled sweet in the baking noon sun.

  "Garcia has that walled villa near the cathedral," the boy said.

  "The one with the little bell-tower?" replied the girl.

  "Yeah, people joke that he was jealous of the cathedral bells so had one built of his own."

  "I know it."

  "What did the American want with Garcia anyway?"

  Chester, Ashe thought, they're talking about Chester.

  "No idea." The girl was trying to make her voice light, convince the boy that none of this was important. "None of my business, is it?"

  "No, it isn't," Pablo replied, and it was Pablo, Ashe was damned sure of it, "and make sure it stays that way. You don't want to start getting mixed up with people like that."

  Ashe couldn't fault the kid's advice, Chester and Jimenez were dangerous enough, never mind Garcia. But what was the girl's interest? Was she working with Jimenez? He thought not, she hadn't even known where Garcia lived after all –
that means nothing
, that voice in his head said,
even if she was working for him he wouldn't necessarily share all the details
– true… But Ashe didn't think Jimenez was the type to have kids on the payroll. Besides, when she had left his house she had been just as determined to avoid Jimenez as Chester. If they were working together wouldn't they have left the building at the same time? This girl was a bystander, someone who had picked up a few details of something that interested her, eavesdropped on part of the conversation perhaps. She was a curious kid, someone that was going to get herself mixed up in things she shouldn't. But what was Ashe to do about it? Should he try and warn her off? Kids didn't tend to pay much heed to warnings from old men. Besides, he still had the timeline to think of, what if she was important? A vital element in the way history was supposed to play out. That felt distasteful, the boy had been right, this was no situation for a girl of her age to be involved in. What if she came to harm? Could he bear that on his already fragile conscience?

  Pablo and the girl talked a little while longer before the boy's father called him to work and the girl shuffled off on her own. Ashe marked the position of Pablo's boat, sure that he would be able to find it later and followed her, determined not to let her out of his sight.

  She made her way out of the port and began the walk back into the city. Ashe was not altogether surprised when they arrived at Garcia's house.

  The girl sat down on the cathedral steps and stared at the building, Ashe took a seat in the nearby cafe. If he was going to sit and wait he'd do so in comfort.

  Just below the blue-domed roof of Garcia's house there was a balcony window and, after a few moments, a woman appeared there dressed in a silk robe. Ashe shifted his attention between the two of them, the woman as she sighed over the balcony and the girl as she stared at her with rapt attention. Garcia appeared behind the woman, grasping her in a decidedly boorish fashion and biting into her neck. Yes, thought Ashe, we all see how lucky you are… He decided he would be glad to see Garcia lose the box, it did a man good to lose things once in a while. Glancing at the girl on the steps he smiled to see her grimace with distaste.