The Portable Door (1987) (26 page)

“I know,” Paul said. “And I’ll get this lot done, I promise.”

Mr Tanner stood up. “You’d better,” he said. “There’re people relying on you, even if they are just a bunch of bauxite miners in Australia you couldn’t be expected to give a flying fuck about.” He grinned, but it wasn’t a Mr Tanner grin. “And you know why?” he said. “Because somewhere in the world, there’s some poor little shit like you who’s got a hatful of problems, can’t for the life of him see why the hell he should bother, but still he gets on and does his job, the thing he’s supposed to be doing; and what he does is just some meaningless garbage to him, but to you, it’s the answer to all your troubles, the light at the end of the tunnel, the miracle you were sure could never happen, but it does, and suddenly everything’s just fine, when you least expected it. Don’t ask me why it’s like that, but it is. So you just get on with finding bauxite in the desert, and leave fixing your problem to whoever it is who’s supposed to do it. That way, we all do our job, and everybody gets paid on Friday.”

Paul looked at him and came to the conclusion that the effects of the dragon turd must’ve worn off already. “Fine,” he said. “Just leave it to me.” Then he added; “Just out of interest, though.”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Paul said, frowning slightly. “If you’re right, and we’re all busy helping other people, and they’re all busy helping us—that is what you were saying, isn’t it?”

“More or less.”

“Fine,” Paul said. “In that case, what exactly does your mother do?”

Mr Tanner thought for a moment. “Buggers people about, mostly,” he replied. “When you’ve finished that lot, bring ‘em up to my office and I’ll give you the next batch. OK?”

§

It was a very long weekend. Mr Tanner kept him scrying bits of Australia until gone five o’clock, then turned him loose with a growled ‘Thanks’ and a turned back. Paul went straight home, sat in his chair till ten o’clock, and went to bed. Sunday seemed to last for ever.

On Monday morning, he arrived at the office at nine o’clock exactly, and shuffled into reception, shoes full of lead, back arched, head bowed. The receptionist on duty was even more stunningly beautiful than usual (a complete stranger, of course, but he was used to that by now); but he looked away, and was almost at the fire door when she called out, “Morning, Paul,” in a bright, loud voice. He mumbled some sort of reply.

“Cheer up,” the receptionist said. “Maybe it’ll never happen.”

Fuck you
, Paul thought. “Charming,” the receptionist replied. “So you still think I’m horrible, then.”

Paul stopped dead and turned slowly round. The girl behind the desk was slender and golden-haired, with a long, graceful neck, high cheekbones, a full mouth and sparkling blue eyes. “Sorry?” Paul said.

“Apology accepted,” said the girl. “How was your weekend, then?”

“Boring,” Paul said; and then: “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but do I know you?”

She laughed; then she held out her hand, palm facing him. He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but he went back to the desk. He was obviously supposed to look at her hand, but he couldn’t—Then he saw them; four tiny red dots in the centre of the palm. They were about a centimetre apart, and if he’d had a felt-tip pen handy and joined them up, they’d have formed a square. Paul stared at them for a moment, then at the girl.

“Mrs Tanner?” he said.

She giggled. “Don’t tell anybody, but Dennis’s dad and I never actually got married. You couldn’t pronounce my name, but if you like, you can call me Rosie.”

“Rosie,” Paul repeated. “Look, are you—?”

She grinned, and there was the family resemblance once again. “You think I’m horrible, and you wouldn’t eat my cake. You looked in my seer-stone. You saw that thin cow having it off with—”

“Yes,” Paul said quickly, “all right.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I like helping out in the office,” she went on, “it’s something to do, even if it does mean I’ve got to wear the monkey suit. Really, I don’t know how you lot can stand it. Bloody tight skin, and these things—” She patted her bust. “Barbaric, I call it. And don’t get me started about going to the toilet. Still, I suppose it’s all a matter of what you’re used to.”

“I like it,” Paul said awkwardly. “Suits you, I mean.”

She laughed. “Dennis doesn’t think so,” she said. “You should hear him.
Bloody hell, Mum, you aren’t going to the office wearing that, are you?
He should talk. I mean, he’s nothing to write home about himself, whichever way you look at it.”

“I—” Quickly, Paul reviewed all the possible responses that came to mind, and realised that none of them was satisfactory. Not that it mattered, since the girl—the
goblin
—had already demonstrated that she could read his mind. “Um, is that what you usually wear, or do you—?”

“I’m like Joan Collins,” Mr Tanner’s mum replied.

“Wouldn’t be seen dead wearing the same outfit twice. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Paul’s eyes opened wide. “You mean, every day it’s actually you?”

She shook her head. “Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Tuesdays and Thursdays it’s my sister, we take it in turns. You can call her Auntie Pam if you want.”

Paul tried to remember a Tuesday, and an image slipped into his mind of a sultry Malaysian beauty with a waterfall of shining black hair. “Auntie Pam,” he repeated. “Fine. Why are you telling me this? Today, I mean.”

She shrugged. “I was just wondering, that’s all,” she said. “Like, if you’d spent all weekend scoffing those dragonshit beans, you’d have seen me like I really am. But obviously not. Also,” she said, “I like you. You’re weedy and pathetic and you’ve got some bloody weird notions about women, but you remind me of my brother. Uncle Alf,” she added, “rest his soul. Lose the ape costume, and you’d be the spitting image of Alf when he was your age.”

“I see,” Paul said. “What happened to him, then?”

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, killed,” she said. “Most of us get killed sooner or later. We like to play rough games when we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“Oh,” Paul said. “I’m sorry.”

“Balls. You think we’re disgusting and horrible. But that’s all right, we think the same about your lot. Except you. You’re sweet.”

Fine
, Paul thought, and managed not to shudder, even though his restraint was pointless. “Thanks,” he said. “I suppose I’d better go and do some work now.”

“No rush,” she replied. “Come on, you can’t kid me.”

Last thing you want to do is go and sit in that office the rest of the day, with
her
. Talk about embarrassing.

“You’re right,” Paul said. “But I’ve got to, haven’t I?”

“I suppose.” She grinned again. “Bright and early, she was, waiting on the doorstep. I don’t like her much; goes around looking like a starving kitten, but she knows which side her bread’s buttered, you mark my words. Oh, and here’s a tip for you. Whatever you do, don’t look at her neck. On the right hand side, about two inches down from the ear.” She frowned. “And you lot think we’re like animals,” she said. “Try that lark where I come from, you’d get your throat ripped out.”

This time, Paul did shudder. “I wish you hadn’t told me that,” he said.

“Yes, well, Dennis always says, if I’d only joined the diplomatic corps when I was a girl, we could have had all sorts of really interesting wars. But our lot didn’t hold with careers for women back then; still don’t, actually. Fuck ‘em, I say.”

“Right,” Paul replied. “But I’d better be going. It was, um, nice talking to you.”

“Liar.” She laughed, and pushed a wave of golden hair back over her slim shoulder. Paul made a resolution not to eat any of the remaining beans on a Monday, a Wednesday or a Friday. “You carry on, then,” she said. “Only, if you get bored sick, or the atmosphere in your office gets more than you can stand, here’s a tip for you. It wasn’t just beans you found in that drawer, remember?”

Paul frowned. “Sorry?”

“Go and take a look if you’ve forgotten,” she said. “The instructions are pretty clear, but if you need any help, just ask. Only, I wouldn’t go mentioning it to our Dennis, if I were you. Or any of the other partners, come to that. They can get a bit snotty sometimes, when it’s stuff like that.”

Paul remembered one of the things that had been in the drawer, besides the beans. “You mean the stapler?”

She shook her head, and pointed; the stapler was on the desk next to her. “Have a nice day,” she said.

He walked away down the corridor and up the stairs, thinking,
Auntie Pam and Uncle Alf and Mr Tanner
’s mum Rosie; Jesus fucking Christ. Then he reached the door of his office. Their office. Damn.

Sophie looked up as he walked in, then immediately turned her head. Just as well he could only see her left profile. He sat down on his side of the desk and looked down at his hands.

“Julie came in a moment or so ago,” she said, in a quiet, awkward voice. “She left some more of these for us to do.”

The spreadsheets. Paul had never imagined the day would come when he’d be glad to see a tall stack of the horrible things, but at that moment they were as welcome as shelter in a blizzard. He grabbed his share and set to work on them as though his life depended on it.

“Good weekend?” Sophie said.

“All right,” Paul grunted back. “How about you?”

He hadn’t meant to say that, it had just slipped out, like a cat curving itself round the edge of a slightly open door. “Great,” she mumbled. “Actually, we—”

“Good,” Paul snapped. “Look, if you don’t mind, I’d better get on with this lot. Sooner it’s done, the sooner they’ll give us something else.”

“Okay, fine,” she whispered. “I just—”

He looked up. “What?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She had her left hand clamped over the right side of her neck, as though she’d just been stung by a bug. “Tell you later.”

“All right.”

Work; beautiful, mindless work, just complicated enough to keep one’s thoughts from wandering, but purely abstract, nothing to do with anything. There were moments, in the long drag down to lunchtime, when he forgot about the human presence a few feet away from him across the desktop—amazing, but apparently possible, like the fools who build villages on the slopes of volcanoes. One o’clock came, and at least she had the compassion to go out for lunch.

“You coming?” she asked. Damn; it was almost as if she wanted him to.

“No,” he replied. “I’ve got sandwiches. Besides, I can do some more of this garbage.”

“Fine,” she said. “See you later, then.”

He didn’t reply, and the door closed behind her; at which point, it was safe for Paul to look up and push his chair back. Work was all right in its place, but he’d had enough of spreadsheets to last him this life and several dozen reincarnations.

It wasn’t just beans you found in that drawer, remember?
Sure, he remembered now. A funny little cardboard tube, and that plastic sheet thing. He took it out, put it on the desk and turned it over a few times with the tips of his fingers.

By rights, it ought to be back in the strongroom—assuming, of course, that it was the same one as he’d found there while he was compiling the inventory. He frowned. There was something almost familiar about the stupid thing, as if there had been a time when he

knew what it was.
Instructions
, he remembered. The goblin female, just call me Rosie, had said something about instructions. He couldn’t remember having seen anything like that. But, when he teased the rolled-up sheet out of the tube, a little wisp of very thin paper fluttered out and landed on the desk. There was writing on it, tiny little letters he couldn’t read—Yes, he could. He had to hold the paper right up close to the tip of his nose; but the more he squinted at it, the easier it got.

J.W. WELLS PORTABLE DOOR

Patent N°5567415
th
Aug 1872, 9423923
rd
Feb 1875

BY APPOINTMENT

Well, that didn’t help much. He looked again, and the letters seemed to grow larger.

To use the portable door, first remove it from the cardboard tube. To ensure flawless operation, first spread the door out on a flat surface, taking care to smooth out any wrinkles, as these may inhibit adherence or corrupt the intelligence. Make a careful mental note of all aspects of desired arrival. Lift the door by the top corners, making sure that the door remains flat and level at all times. Press the door firmly against the wall until it adheres without support. Release corners, smooth out wrinkles as previously advised. Grasp the handle firmly in the right hand and rotate one half-turn to the left. Apply gentle, even pressure to open the door. You are most earnestly advised to use some convenient object of suitable weight to hold the door ajar during use. If possible, limit exposures to no more than one hour (observed time) per visit. Reverse the above procedure for disassembly and removal. Store only in the container provided, away from extremes of heat & cold, and out of the reach of children, invalids and persons of a nervous or prosaic disposition
.

Crazy as a tankful of gay piranhas. He turned the slip of paper over, but there was nothing to see except the shadow of the letters coming through from the other side. Whoever heard of a portable door? And what the hell would be the point—?

He remembered something: a room without a door, a place where he lived, though not his own time. Of course, that had been just a dream, and he was wide awake now. A portable
door
, for Christ’s sake.

On the other hand, just-call-me-Rosie had made it sound like the best thing since hallucinogenic chocolate. True, he had absolutely no reason whatsoever to trust the recommendations of a malicious female goblin who was also Mr Tanner’s old mum. Still; just supposing it worked, that it really was a folding or collapsible door, what possible harm could it do? Either it was a dud, in which case nothing would happen; or it wasn’t, in which case, if he slapped it on the back wall of his office, he’d be able to take a short cut through to the computer bay without having to go down the corridor and up and down two flights of steps. Megadeal.