The League of Sharks (11 page)

At that moment, he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. He glanced around but didn't see anyone paying him any undue attention. He looked up and caught sight of a silhouetted figure standing on the roof of one of the buildings overlooking the marketplace. The figure was tall and lithe and after a second disappeared from view.

*

The person who had been standing on the rooftop was a young woman by the name of Lasel Mowtay and she had indeed been watching Junk. Her green eyes were large and oval and there was a subtle point to the top of her ears. Her legs were impossibly long. Slender but muscular, like a dancer's. She had long copper-coloured hair, thrown behind her in a carefree ponytail that reached down almost to the small of her back. She looked
about sixteen years old but was an old soul in a young body. To Lasel, everything was possible. Occasionally a solution to a problem wasn't glaringly obvious, but it was always there somewhere. The trick was to find it.

She skipped off from the parapet at the front of the building and slid down the sloping roof behind. Her movements were wonderfully balletic. She let herself drop down into an alleyway. She slowed her descent by pushing herself from one wall to the one opposite and back again. Her movements seemed to defy gravity though in reality they merely made the most out of gravity. She landed silently on the ground and moved towards the quayside.

Lasel fell into step a short distance behind Junk and started to shadow him. She drew closer without alerting him to her presence. As they passed one of the bookstalls, her hand shot out in a blur of motion, whipped a book away and secreted it beneath her leather waistcoat. She advanced on Junk with the intention of slipping the book into his pocket. Only as she got closer did she realize that he didn't have any pockets.

‘Cootun,' she muttered with a frown, and continued to follow him. Junk turned left, saw the policeman ahead and turned back. Lasel's reaction was casual. She didn't make eye contact with Junk, didn't hesitate, didn't falter. She moved past him, then turned blithely and fell into step behind him again as Junk made his way back towards the bookstall. As he passed the stall, Lasel moved quickly
forward and in one fluid motion slipped the book into his hand and moved away before Junk was even aware that he was holding it.

‘Dattakar!' came a shout from Lasel. Everyone including Junk turned. The bookseller spotted the book in Junk's hand at about the same time as Junk did. As far as he was concerned, it had magically appeared there.

‘Dattakar! DATTAKAR!' shouted the bookseller, and started coming around his table towards Junk, who was shaking his head, at a loss to explain why or how he was holding the book. ‘JUNTA!' shouted the bookseller.

Junk saw the policeman turn and start running towards him. ‘Junta' must mean ‘police', thought Junk. Then he thought, Run. So he ran.

Junk avoided the bookseller as he lunged for him by slipping under his grasping hands. The bookseller was a small man, who reminded Junk of a jockey. There was an old manor house back in Murroughtoohy, and the lord of the manor, a man called Eales, trained racehorses. Junk would see the diminutive jockeys in town from time to time and that's who he thought of now as the bookseller pursued him.

‘TUNK ET! TUNK ET!' shouted the big policeman as he pounded towards Junk. All eyes in the market were on Junk and no one was paying Lasel the slightest bit of notice, which was just what she planned. She moved in behind the bookseller's counter, produced a small crooked piece of metal and deftly picked the lock on his cash till. She lifted the tray, revealing a stash of colourful
paper money. She smiled and pocketed it all. She was in and out in less than twenty seconds.

Other people in the marketplace tried to grab Junk as he passed them. He was forced to twist and turn and weave to avoid capture. He turned a corner and saw the bookseller coming towards him. The policeman was gaining behind. Realizing he was still holding the book, Junk tossed it in the air as he passed the bookseller. The little man instinctively made to catch it and Junk slid past.

He emerged from the market stalls and ran down the first street he came to. The policeman was still in pursuit. He reached into his coat, withdrew a small horn made of shell and blew hard as he ran. It made no sound.

However, some distance away, at the police station, his three colleagues all reacted. They were attuned to the shell horn's frequency, like dogs to a dog whistle. Each drew his billy club and started running.

The narrow streets were a maze and Junk quickly lost all sense of direction. All he heard was the sound of feet thundering towards him. Panicking, he turned down one street and saw one of the policeman charging straight at him. He turned back the way he had come and zigzagged down a side street. Two quick turns brought him to a small open square with a fountain in the middle. The buildings here were higher. Three or four storeys. There were a dozen alleyways and openings leading off the square. He didn't pause. He chose one at random and continued running.

On the rooftops above, Lasel sat and counted her
plunder. She looked down to see Junk run out of the square. A moment later two of the pursuing policemen entered, hesitated, chose two random exits (both different to Junk) and carried on. Then a third policeman came and went. He chose the route that Junk had taken. Lasel stopped counting and wrestled briefly with her conscience. She sighed and pocketed the money. Then she stood and leaped gracefully into the air and off the roof.

Junk stopped at an intersection to catch his breath. He heard the policemen's shouts echoing all around him. He didn't know which way to go. It sounded as if they were getting closer. Just then he heard a soft, short whistle and looked up to see Lasel perched like a cat on a windowsill.

‘Puttum,' she said, gesturing with a nod of her head.

‘I don't understand,' said Junk, with a panicked strain to his voice.

From her slightly elevated position Lasel could see one of the policemen approaching. Another few seconds and he would have Junk. She reached down her hand. ‘Puttum! Puttum!' she said again, more forcefully. The outstretched hand spoke for itself. He grabbed it and she pulled him up, yanking him back into the recess of the window just as the policeman lumbered past below, panting audibly. They waited until he had passed and then Lasel pointed a thumb upwards. ‘Tankata solip.'

Junk shook his head. ‘I don't speak your language. I don't understand.'

‘Criptik tapar,' said Lasel. ‘Mullatapar.' Which ironically means, ‘I don't speak your language. I don't
understand.' ‘Tankata,' she said again and pointed. Then she started to climb up the side of the building. Junk was pretty sure she wanted him to follow her. So he did.

*

At the top of the building was an ornate dome. By the time Junk reached the top Lasel was sitting there eating a red fruit. He sat next to her and caught his breath.

‘Thanks for your help,' he said. ‘My name's Junk.' He patted his chest. ‘Junk. Junk. Me Junk.' Lasel ate her fruit, frowning a little as she scrutinized him. Then she retrieved a second fruit from one of her many pockets and tossed it to Junk. He caught it and ate it quickly. ‘Wow, this is nice,' he said, juice running down his chin. ‘Juicy.'

He tried again. He pointed to himself and said, ‘Junk.' Then he pointed to Lasel. He did this several times until she smiled, seeming to understand what he meant. She pointed to him. ‘Junk,' she said.

Junk grinned and nodded. ‘Yeah. Junk.'

Then Lasel pointed to herself and said, ‘Lasel.' She pronounced it ‘Lay-sell'.

‘Lasel,' said Junk, pointing. Lasel smiled and continued eating her fruit.

Then Junk moved his arm in a wide, sweeping motion taking in the town around them. ‘And where's this? Where are we?' He shrugged.

It took Lasel several moments to process what Junk might be saying. Then she gestured with both hands, much as he had done and said, ‘Corraway.' She rolled the r's lyrically.

‘Corraway,' repeated Junk. He thought for a moment and then raised his hands to the blue sky in another grand, sweeping gesture. ‘And what planet is this?'

Lasel looked at the sky and thought hard about what Junk might be asking. She shook her head. She didn't understand.

When night fell, Junk and Lasel climbed down from the rooftop cupola. They walked through the town cloaked in the anonymity of darkness. Junk noticed they had electricity or something similar here. Some streets were lit by electric lights. They stuck to the ones that were not. They made their way out of town, passing close to the police station. Close enough to see inside. The four policemen from earlier were sitting at a large table eating and drinking. Their long leather coats hung from hooks on the wall. They all wore sleeveless black shirts and black leather trousers.

Once out of town, Lasel and Junk took to the hills and he led her to where he had left Garvan's boat anchored in the next cove. Junk was relieved to see that Garvan was still there, just as he had left him. The first thing he did was check to see if he was still alive. He was. Junk looked to Lasel. He pointed at Garvan.

‘This is Frank. My … friend.' He flapped his arms and mimicked the didgeridoo call of the birdmen, then mimed them attacking Garvan. When he reached the
end of his visual explanation, he had no idea if Lasel had understood him. She stood frowning, trying to decipher everything he had done. Then she crouched next to Garvan and examined him. She wasn't gentle, and Junk squirmed as she pinched and pulled at his eyelids, revealing his dilated pupils. She pushed and moved his bulky body as much as she could and started nodding.

‘Ta pody ti veta chet,' she said. Junk looked blankly at her and shrugged. Of course he didn't understand. ‘Ta pody ti cluka. Kimmer.' She pointed to the ground beneath her feet and said it again: ‘Kimmer.' Then she turned and walked away.

Junk watched her go, playing her alien words over and over in his head, hoping a translation would reveal itself. It didn't.

*

Lasel was gone for the best part of two hours and Junk had almost given up on her when she returned. She brought with her a bag of provisions from which she extracted a small blue bottle. She gestured to Junk and he followed her to Garvan's side.

‘Tumpah plugh –' and she mimed opening her mouth but nodded her head to Garvan. Junk understood. He knelt and pulled Garvan's jaws apart. They were rigid and it took some effort to prise them open. They parted with an aggressive exhalation of foul-smelling breath and Junk gagged. Lasel knelt on the other side of Garvan, uncorked the bottle and tipped it up over his mouth. Ever
so carefully she let one … two … three … drops fall into his mouth, making sure they went straight in and didn't touch his lips. She took the bottle away, re-corked it and pushed Garvan's mouth closed. They waited a moment and then … nothing happened. So they waited some more and still nothing happened. Junk looked at her and shrugged.

‘Is that it?' Lasel might not have understood his words, but she did understand the sentiment. She put up a hand, preaching patience, and Junk waited some more. His mind began to wander and so Garvan's return to life took him by surprise. The fact that his resuscitation was so brutal didn't help either. Garvan sat up sharply, wailing. His sudden movement made the boat rock so forcefully that it almost capsized. He lurched to the side rail and vomited violently. Junk and Lasel held on to the bucking boat while Garvan vomited again. And again. And again. Junk wasn't sure he was ever going to stop, but finally he did. He wiped his mouth and sat back to catch his breath. After a few moments the boat settled down too. Junk smiled at Garvan.

‘Welcome back, Frank. Had me worried there.' Garvan looked at Junk with bloodshot eyes and belched loudly. ‘Nice,' said Junk. He pointed to Lasel. ‘This is Lasel. She helped you. Lasel, this is Frank. He doesn't talk.'

‘Occootoo, Lasel,' said Garvan. Junk was stunned. These were the very first words he had heard the big man say. Garvan's voice was deep, echoing up from his belly, and the ends of his words were crisp and clipped.

‘OK,' said Junk. ‘Evidently you do speak. Just not to me.'

‘Occootoo, Frank,' said Lasel.

‘Nenga Frank. Garvan. Garvan Fiske,' said Garvan, putting a hand on his big chest. He too rolled his r's.

‘Utta Junk cascaba Frank?' asked Lasel. Garvan shrugged.

‘Well, ain't you chatty all of a sudden? I'm feeling a little left out here,' said Junk.

‘Sorry, Junk,' said Garvan, in English with a hint of an Irish accent. ‘I was telling Lasel that my name's not Frank, it's Garvan. Garvan Fiske. She asked why you call me Frank and I wasn't sure.'

Junk stared at Garvan for the best part of twenty seconds as his mind whirled, trying to make sense of the words he had just heard.

‘Y-you speak English?' said Junk.

‘Is that what your language is?' asked Garvan.

‘Yes. What? How do you not know? You're speaking it.'

‘It's my first time,' said Garvan.

‘Your first time speaking English?' said Junk, the incredulity clear in his tone. ‘I don't understand.'

‘You talked a lot, and I listened.'

Junk thought about that. Played the words over and over in his head to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting what Garvan was trying to say. ‘Are you saying you taught yourself to speak English just by listening to me talk?' asked Junk.

Garvan nodded. ‘Well, you did talk a lot.'

‘How come you never said anything back?' asked Junk, starting to get a little angry now. He felt that maybe he had been the butt of a joke.

‘I like to listen,' said Garvan, with an apologetic shrug.

‘You like to listen?' Junk was properly annoyed now. There was so much he wanted to say and everything vied to come out at the same time until he decided he needed to be somewhere else. He shook his head, jumped out of the boat and stomped off up the beach.