The Condition of Muzak (11 page)

Watching from his balcony Jerry recognised the
Teddy Bear
and pursed his lips, in no doubt that his radio signals had been intercepted. She had hoisted a complicated collection of signals from her masthead, triatic stay, starboard yardarm and port yardarm, the simplest of which read
Coming to your assistance
. As Jerry looked, she ran the Red Ensign up her ensign staff. He made out the letters HBC in the fly and his suspicions were confirmed. There were few who would sail under the flag of the Hudson’s Bay Company unless they had to.

He returned to his study to take from a table, on which there also rested a Harrison naval chronometer and a large globe of the world, his telescope. Once more on the balcony he focused the lens on the
Teddy Bear
. A number of sailors were at work on her decks; most of them wore uniforms closely resembling the tropical kit of the United States Navy. They were armed with Springfield rifles of an old-fashioned pattern; Jerry couldn’t identify them. A moment later the flash of a maple-finished Remington stock confirmed everything he had suspected. He collapsed the telescope and went to find Una Persson.

She was in the swimming pool, bathing under the unseeing eyes of Dassim Shan. Her brown body flickered against shady jade, lapis lazuli and Tuscan marble. Dassim Shan, in his elaborately embroidered coat of office, his small turban and his silk britches, sat where he always sat when not specifically employed, occasionally glancing up at the crystal dome of the roof, cocking an ear if he detected some slight difference in the sound of a fountain.

“It looks as if you’ll soon be able to say goodbye to Borneo.” Jerry squatted on the mosaic tiles at the edge of the pool. “Una. There’s a ship turned up.”

“British?”

“It might as well be. Beesley’s tracked me down. I knew I hadn’t really shaken him off in the States. He’s been to Sumatra and picked up the steam yacht.”

Her head came sliding over the surface to stare into his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I recognised his daughter’s butt.”

“That he’s come for you?”

“I suppose there’s a slight chance he’s run out of provisions and is hoping I’ve got the odd Tootsie Roll stashed away, but however you look at it the holiday’s definitely coming to an end.”

“I didn’t want to go back to
work
.” She pouted. “I’m far too tired. Besides, I’d do no good.” She squeezed water from her eyes.

“You could always sing for the troops.”

“Don’t be vulgar, darling.” Her head sought the depths.

“By and large,” Jerry reflected, dabbling his fingers in the water, “I prefer a post-war situation to a pre-war one. But I was hoping to miss the current conflict altogether.” He stared wistfully at Dassim Shan. The major-domo seemed to have found a solution.

She was on the other side of the pool now, shaking liquid from her short hair. “What will you do?” she called.

“I’m a fatalist, these days. I’ll play it by ear.” He realised that his silk trousers were becoming damp. He rose. “What will you do?”

She wiped her mouth. “Look up Lobkowitz, I suppose. He usually has a fair idea of what’s going on. This must mean the peace talks have broken down, eh?” Already she was beginning to sound like her old self.

“I don’t think they’ve got to that stage yet.” Jerry took a silver cigarette case from his jacket pocket, removed one of the last of his Shermans and lit it with a brass Dunhill lighter.

She clung to the side. “Beesley has some kind of official backing, you think?”

He drew on the brown cigarettello. “He’s definitely not alone.”

From far away there came the sound of a ship’s siren.

Una pulled herself from the pool and wrapped a thick brocade robe about her. It was Chinese, in blue and gold. Dragons embraced her.

They waited for some time at the bronze doors of the palace before they saw Bishop Beesley marching through the gates towards them. He was at the head of a small party of marines in blancoed webbing, belts and puttees. Recognising Jerry and Una, Beesley stopped, signalling to his men who came immediately to attention, presenting arms. From behind them all Mitzi Beesley peeped out, waving the fingers of a malevolent imp.

Bishop Beesley was in full kit. His white-and-gold mitre, his bone-and-silver robes, were evidently fresh on, perhaps to impress any natives he might encounter. He held a rococo crook in one plump hand, a half-eaten bar of Zaanland Coffee Brandy Chocolate in the other.

“Still crawling away from the gibbering darkness are we, Mr C? You should relax. Nothing’s as bad as it seems.” Bishop Beesley began a portly approach.

“Afternoon, bishop,” Jerry fell back on old dodges. “What brings you to the Islands?”

“Missionary work, my boy. We got your message and came as soon as we could. You wouldn’t, by any chance, be able to offer us some refreshment?” He swallowed the remains of the Zaanland.

“We’re a bit short-staffed, just now. More primitive than I care for myself.” Jerry offered his arm to Una who took it. Together they led the way back into the palace.

“I thought you enjoyed living amongst the headhunters, Mr Cornelius. After all, you and they have so much in common.”

Jerry was genuinely puzzled. “There aren’t any head-hunters in Sandakan. All that sort of thing’s much further south. You’re thinking of the Dyaks and their bloody oil-fields.”

Bishop Beesley waddled in. “What a lovely home. I’ll just leave the boys outside, shall I? Mitzi! You don’t mind if my daughter joins us?”

Mitzi Beesley was wearing a rather cheap rayon ensemble, loose sailor blouse and wide, baggy trousers, almost certainly a bad Schiaparelli copy of the sort obtainable from any second-rate tailor’s shop in Bombay or Calcutta. Even the shade of pink was slightly off. Her golden hair was waved tightly against her mean little skull. She placed her small tongue on her thin lower lip and smiled at Una. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Una released Jerry’s arm. “I don’t think I’d be likely to remember,” she said innocently. “How do you do, Miss Beesley?”

Mitzi sniffed. “Not bad. Not now. But times have been a bit chaotic until recently, when Daddy got this new job.” She removed her Remington from her shoulder and looked around for somewhere to put it.

“I’ll take it,” said Una hospitably.

Mitzi handed her the gun and Una crossed the mosaic to the large Ming ceramic umbrella stand, dropping the rifle, barrel first, among the walking sticks, sunshades and riding crops. “It’ll be all right there, will it?”

“Fine,” said Mitzi absently.

Bishop Beesley raised beringed fingers to his rosebud lips and uttered a little wind. “I hear they do a very pleasant dish in these parts. A local version of the baklava, eh?”

“I think there are a few cold ones in the storeroom,” Jerry looked towards the door under the staircase. “Shall I show you where it is?”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr Cornelius. You seem, rather cleverly, to have adopted the manners as well as the style of a gentleman. Congratulations!”

“You’re too kind.”

“Standards are slipping everywhere. Credit where credit’s due, sir. And, of course, I bear no grudges.” His breathing became deeper. He was almost snoring by the time he had waddled to the door to the lower regions. “This is deliciously opulent, isn’t it? The barbaric splendour of the East. You must feel much more at home.”

“I can’t complain, bishop.”

“Is Miss Brunner with you?” asked Una suddenly of Mitzi Beesley. It was as if she had remembered a name and nothing else.

“Not this trip.” Mitzi moved closer to her. “That’s a nice dressing gown. Is it a man’s?”

“I’m not sure.” The two women followed Jerry and Bishop Beesley through the door and down stone steps cut from the living rock. It was suddenly much cooler.

“And as for Frank,” continued Mitzi intimately, “Jerry’s brother, you know—we couldn’t get him to do a thing. It’s as if there’s a spell on everybody. Almost. You’ve met Doktor von Krupp, too, have you?”

“I think I might have…”

“She’s almost completely retired, now. Gave herself to the cause body and soul. Bishop Beesley has had to continue the work virtually single-handed. I help as best I can, of course, but he complains that I don’t really understand the importance of it all. He thinks my loyalties are sometimes divided.” They were quite a long way behind the men. Mitzi smirked. “Of course, that’s impossible. I haven’t any loyalties at all.”

“What a relief.” Spasmodically, Una smiled down on the minx. She found that she was lying and enjoying the sensation. “How refreshing.”

The minx began to stroke her exposed ribs.

The party descended still deeper into the darkness. From the gloom ahead Una could hear the sound of Bishop Beesley’s awful breath.

“It’s high time you were back in harness, Mr C.”

“There’s still a touch of vulgarity about you which I like,” said Bishop Beesley. His marines had taken up permanent positions within the palace grounds and the bishop had almost completed his inventory of the building’s contents. The two of them strolled between peacocks and birds of paradise and pedigree Sinhalese bantams, over the lawn towards the larger fountains which cast faint, flickering arabesques everywhere on grass and shrubs. The bishop was eating something sticky from one of Jerry’s silver plates, holding the plate in his left hand while with his right he lifted the honey-flavoured food to his glistening lips. “What a riot of colour, those flowers and shrubs!” Flies were settling hopefully on his mitre. “America and Europe are getting along famously again. Say what you will about President Boyle, he’s a dedicated internationalist. He’s given the British authorities his whole support.”

“It’s the Islamic influence, I suppose,” murmured Jerry. “I’ve always been a bit prone…”

“Security is at a premium, Mr Cornelius. Of course, it’s given a tremendous boost to the navy. Britannia Resurgent!”

“We’re a bit behind the times here.” Jerry prised a determined mosquito from his cheek. “I’m afraid.”

“How we’d all love to live in the past, particularly a past so splendid.” Bishop Beesley expressed sympathy. He waved a cake. No-one understands all this better than I.”

Jerry was doing his best to remember what had been going on. “I don’t think I could go back to Britain,” he said. “Not now.”

“I would be the first to admit that there are, for certain people, difficulties. But with the proper papers you’d be quite safe. Restrictions aren’t merely negative, you know. They work for you, too.”

“They don’t like me over there any more.” He made a vague gesture towards the West. “Do they?”

“Nonsense. You can prove a change of heart!”

Jerry laughed. He put both his hands into a lattice of water, causing the fountain to alter its note. “That’s the only thing that hasn’t changed, vicar.”

“Come, come, come.” Bishop Beesley clapped him on the back. For a few moments his fingers adhered to the silk of Jerry’s pale blue kurta then came away with a small sucking sound. “You must be positive!”

Jerry said doubtfully: “I’ll try. I have tried.”

“I’ll get my daughter to have a chat with you. She’s helped you in the past, hasn’t she?”

“I can’t recall…”

“It will come back.” Bishop Beesley looked around for somewhere to put his empty plate. In the end he found a green soapstone sundial. “There isn’t a great deal of time to spare. The box is still in England, I take it.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jerry dreamily, to be agreeable. He was incapable, just now, of thinking that far ahead.

“And with the box in the right hands, mankind will prosper again. A major war will be averted. The world will greet you as a saviour!”

“I thought I’d already turned the job down.” Jerry found some seed in his pockets and began to throw it to the birds. From one of the upper floors of the palace came the strains of King Pleasure singing ‘Golden Days’. “That’s a bit anachronistic, isn’t it? Or is it me?”

For a moment Bishop Beesley’s huge face became sober. “There is no need…”

“Well, that’s a relief, at any rate.” Jerry rambled on. Ahead of him, on the other side of an ornamental hedge, two sailor hats drew down for cover. “What does Una say?” He sniffed a sweet magnolia blossom. “She’s the brains of the outfit.”

“I don’t know how she feels but, as you say, she’s an intelligent woman. My daughter’s dealing with her. They are more sympatico.”

“She’d feel all right about going back to Blighty. She wants to. Maybe you should just take her.”

“Does she know where the box is?”

“I’m sure she does.”

Bishop Beesley wiped his face with a red spotted handkerchief. He flicked at the flies and returned it to his back pocket. He inspected his left gaiter. “Is that a scorpion?” He pointed to the small insect crawling up his leg.

Gently, Jerry cupped his hand around the creature and held it on his palm, looking down at it. “It seems to be a wingless butterfly. Isn’t that odd?”

Bishop Beesley glared around him. “Where’s Mitzi?”

“Upstairs somewhere, with Una. Can’t you hear the music?” King Pleasure was now singing his own ‘Little Boy, Don’t Get Scared’.
Little fellow, don’t get yellow and blue
, he sang.

Bishop Beesley smiled to himself. Jerry was still looking at the butterfly. “Hadn’t you better kill it?” said the bishop. “I mean, it can’t be happy.”

“It doesn’t look too unhappy, though.” Jerry’s hand shook a little. “I shouldn’t worry.” He placed the insect inside a scarlet rhododendron flower. “It might as well enjoy the time it’s got.”

Bishop Beesley evidently disapproved of these sentiments. He was about to speak when his small ears caught a sound from on high. Jerry heard it too and they both looked up.

Through the shimmering, heated sky there came a large, dark shape and, for some reason, Jerry became immediately more cheerful, even as he felt his last grip on consecutive thought slipping. “Well, well, well. An airship. From Rowe Island, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Airships are—” Bishop Beesley clutched at his jowls. “Airships are—” His hand went to his back. His brow contorted. “Ah!”