The Collector of Remarkable Stories (2 page)

The End and the Beginning

It would, at this point in time, be lovely to say that Margie settled into Brookland's (or God’s Bosom as it was referred to by the religious sisters). Or that her mother, wracked with guilt, returned a few weeks later to reclaim her daughter. And they all lived happily ever after. They didn't.

Misfortune continued to shadow Margie as the days became years and the years became decades until eventually there came a time when Margie fell asleep and never woke up. Well strictly speaking she did, she simply didn't wake up where she fell asleep, which is arguably worse than not waking up at all, particularly if the place you’ve just woken up in turns out to be a living Hell.

Beware All Ye Who Enter Here

It was cold – minus one degrees – when Auguste stumbled upon the red haired Margie lying in a twisted heap on the cobbled street. Her hair was a matted, tangled mess. Water and mud streaked her face. Nearby, a steam powered trolleybus – the Gravitonius – lay on its roof, beetle-like in its helplessness, blasting scalding vapour into the sky. A number of vehicles pulled over and a small excited crowd gathered. Some were directing traffic round the scene. Others speculated on what had just happened.

"She appeared out of nowhere," said an elderly gentleman pointing his cane towards an ominous looking passageway, "came racing out of Piston Alley over there like a bullet out of a gun."

Auguste, dressed in a top hat, brass flip-goggles and fur trimmed overcoat, studied Margie intently. Was this what he had been waiting for? Was this the reason he had been dragged away from his home? She looked so normal, so vulnerable.

A young woman leaned in and interrupted his thoughts. "She should be in a million pieces the speed she smashed into that trolleybus," she said.

Another woman called out as she scuttled past, "you’d better watch out for the Dog Beasts," she said, "they’ll have sniffed that blood from miles away."

"They’re not even that far away," said another young woman, head down, "I’ve seen them slinking about like demons in the shadows. Those dog machines are worse than wild dogs. You can’t train them or feed them ..." She looked over her shoulder, "or kill them!" She turned pulling her collar up around her chin and hurried away.

The young man bent down and placed two fingers on Margie’s wrist. He pulled a chunky armour clad stopwatch from his coat pocket, a seemingly impossible feat given the size of the watch, and concentrated on counting for a moment. "Did anyone see what happened?"

"Ran headlong into the Gravitonius," said an elderly gentleman, shaking his head in disbelief. "The bus swerved, clipped the girl then toppled over. Lucky it was empty. Riding on auto pilot it was ... that’s why it didn’t swerve in time. Modern technology, not what it used to be."

A stocky woman with a mountain of curly black hair and the makings of a beard tutted. "She’s lucky she’s not a gonner. Silly girl. Should watch where she’s going. And you," she hissed at Auguste, "you should be ashamed of yourself." She spat on the floor, inches from where Auguste knelt, then walked away.

Auguste ignored the saliva (he was used to it) and looked across at the Gravitonius. It was a hulk of a contraption created from an old steam boat. Old fashioned and clunky, not at all like the modern airships with their silent rotor blades and glider wings. The Gravitonius was almost part of the city itself and was Limbuss’ pride and joy, the first ever clockwork trolleybus. It had signified change; and was the celebration of the arrival of a brand new ruler – The Great Torquere. He’d promised change in a city that had fallen asleep standing on its feet; he pledged to invigorate the city and its people and commissioned the building of the great trolleybus as a symbol of this promise. But like so many people before him he was unable to break through the inertia that had gripped the city. The changes never came and The Great Torquere turned sour – very sour. And as time went on he lost himself, commissioning the Dog Beasts to guard the city and make sure it was run smoothly by fear. It was his way of punishing the inhabitants of Limbuss for their apathy and indolence.

The trolleybus, however, had remained his pride and joy; a symbol of the hopes he once harboured. The Great Torquere would want to know who was responsible for the demise of this great machine and he would be merciless in his revenge.

Auguste studied the young woman’s face and struggled to put an age on her. She could be anywhere between fourteen and twenty. He’d never been good at judging people’s ages and girls were by far the worst with their eye makeup, face powders and lip colours. They always looked older than they really were.

"We have to move her," he announced, satisfied that she wasn’t dead. "It’s cold out here. She’ll catch her death dressed like this. And if the Dog Beasts are nearby we have to be quick."

The arrival of a stranger in the city would have been enough of a threat to their safety, what with the Dog Beasts being programmed to track down any newcomers to the City of Limbuss – and anyone found to be associating with them. And it didn’t even matter how far away they were for in spite of being entirely fashioned from metal scraps, they had an incredible sense of smell. Like the Eastern American mole, the dog beasts used stereoscopic-smell-sensors to determine if someone on the other side of his city was happy, angry, sad or afraid. So tracking down the smell of fresh blood, the tinny sweet smell of life, was a cinch for these devil dogs.

Add to that the sound of the Gravitonius lying on the side of the road gasping for breath then they were in serious trouble. The engine’s great valves were still opening and closing, like the gills of a great monster fish in its final death throws. The result was a deafening cacophony of clanking metal and hissing steam; a noise that would attract attention to even the deafest and dumbest Dog Beast.

One or the other would have been enough to send the Dog Beasts into a frenzy, but both? Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. It was for that very reason that nobody stuck around. Very quickly Auguste found himself alone in the middle of the road, staring down at this strange looking child/woman. It confirmed what he already suspected; that he was very much on his own with this one. The sooner he got the whole sorry thing sorted out, the better. It had already cost him seventy-two years of his life.

As Margie slowly came to, she found herself in a small dimly lit room. A surge of adrenalin kicked through her body. Panic. She tried to sit up. Pain ripped through her chest, neck, back and stomach.

"Shhh". A man’s voice soothed. "It’s okay, you’re safe."

A million things raced through Margie’s head: had she been kidnapped? Was she safe? Could she trust this man? How did she get here? Why was she in so much pain? Why didn't she recognise anything? And more to the point, who
was
she?

Auguste read her mind. "You’ve been in an accident. You’re okay."

It took a few moments for Margie’s eyes to adjust to the dim light and when they did she could see that she was in what appeared to be a small room with a rug in the centre. In one corner was a mattress on which she found herself, filthy and stinking from her bloody and feverish convalescence. An old fashioned commode, a small stove, a pile of what could have been old coats and an oil lamp occupied the rest of the space. A long ladder in the centre of the room seemed to stand vertically of its own free-will stretching up into the darkness. It could have been a mile high for all Margie knew.

Auguste continued talking whilst stirring a large pot on the small stove. "Would you like something to eat? I have some soup on the boil. It’s nothing special. Some beef, potato, mushrooms and a sprinkle of herbs. It’s one of my mother’s favourite recipes. I’m not a great cook but I promise you won’t be poisoned ..."

Margie lay still, taking in the surroundings. She tried very hard to remember what had happened. It was a struggle to think coherently through the pain hammering away at her skull. In her mind’s eye her head had been crushed, her skull broken into tiny shards which were now piercing her brain and the backs of her eyes.

"Do I know you?" she finally asked.

Auguste shook his head sympathetically. "Can you remember anything?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing at all."

It was another two months before Margie was strong enough to get off her mattress. She was still unable to remember anything of her life prior to knocking the Gravitonius off its feet, but she felt an odd sense of relief, like a child who had never tasted sugar and is suddenly thrust into a room full of marshmallows and liquorice, she devoured the stillness inside her brain. And because she had no memories so to speak of, she had very few thoughts. Occasionally she allowed herself to think about the ladder and where it might lead to. But her thoughts quickly evaporated into the dense silence. She didn't feel ready to fill her brain with whatever was up there. She felt safe and happy where she was.

Auguste descended the ladder every morning to empty her commode, tend to her wounds and prepare her food then disappeared until the evening when the routine was repeated. And that was all Margie needed for now. She didn’t want to know where he disappeared to or whether he lived in the building or how she got there or why he was being so nice to her.

Auguste, on the other hand, clearly liked the sound of his own voice, his favourite topic of conversation being himself. Occasionally he asked Margie a question. But they were usually questions that she was unable to answer: How old are you? Where are you from? What is your favourite food? Do you like reading?

But mostly he talked about himself.

Margie was adept at blocking out the noise and ignoring him – unless he was describing her wounds and how they were healing nicely. He was none the wiser. He was just happy to have someone to talk to. But one evening Auguste came to check on Margie and was unusually quiet. He emptied the commode in silence. He pulled a piece of bread and a handful of dried sausage wrapped in cloth from his inside pocket in silence. He checked on Margie’s head wounds in silence. He boiled a pan of water in silence.

The silence seemed almost deafening in its conspicuousness. But there was something more. Something a little twitchy about him that disturbed Margie's sensibilities.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Auguste stopped what he was doing and froze for a moment. Margie could see him force his shoulders down and relax his face into a wide smile. He turned to Margie and laughed nervously.

"I had some unwelcome guests this morning. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."

Auguste’s voice trailed off and he allowed his smile to drop. He looked tense and muttered something under his breath.

"You'll be damned if
what
?" asked Margie, not having caught the final bit.

Auguste ignored her question and, with the same smile painted onto his face, he scooped up Margie's dinner tray. "So anyway," he trilled, "how are we feeling today?"

"My head still hurts."

"It will do. You ran headlong into a six tonne monster. Knocked it right off its feet." He threw the dirty plates and utensils into a bag which he carried over his shoulder. "That's why they're looking for you; you wrecked their machine."

"Who are
they?
"

"The people who run Limbuss. Not to worry," he said shining a light in her eyes. "They will grow bored of looking for you."

"I'm really sorry," said Margie, suddenly feeling quite troubled.

"Don't apologise. I've waited a long time for your arrival."

"For
my
arrival?" asked Margie, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

Auguste hesitated. "Because of who you are."

"What do you mean, who I am! We don't know who I am, do we?" She looked at him quizzically. "Do
you
know
who I am?"

Auguste was almost sure he knew who she was. The fact that she'd arrived in Limbuss out of nowhere was highly significant. Nobody just appeared in Limbuss out of the blue. Not anymore. There were channels now; procedures that had to be followed and Margie's sudden and mysterious arrival was a good sign indeed that she was who he thought she was. What's more, the fact that she had no memory suited him fine; the anonymity it afforded her would help keep them both safe, for he too was now very much on Limbuss' Most Wanted list.

"It really is of no consequence who you are," he said. "What matters now is that we get you better."

He studied Margie's face with great concentration for a moment then leaned in until he was almost nose to nose with Margie. "You really have no memory of who you are?"

"I don’t remember anything," she said. "Really."

Auguste smiled then left. It was the last time she would see him for a very long time.

The following day Auguste didn’t turn up. Or the next. Or the next. Even so, Margie didn’t think too much of it. Perhaps he was ill. Everyone gets ill once in a while.

On the fifth night however, Margie heard a distant banging sound, like someone hammering a nail into a wall. Then it went quiet. Quieter than it had ever been. The silence deafened her as she lay still and quiet in her hidey hole under the ground.

And then she made a startling discovery: she could no longer feel her heart beating. A dreadful feeling crept into her helpless mind. Was it possible she was dead? Maybe it was because she hadn't consumed anything since Auguste disappeared. But then she hadn't felt hungry either. Or thirsty for that matter.

Panic stricken she threw herself off the mattress and onto her knees. She gripped her wrist in a frantic attempt to find a pulse. Nothing. She pressed her fingers into her neck. Still nothing. She yelled, shouted, screamed, tore at her hair, gripped her wrists again, stared vacantly into space, paced and eventually, having worn a hole in the rug, she decided that she had no choice. It was time to venture out of this tomb-like sanctuary in search of life.