by George Mann
The Steaming Pot was filled with a cacophony of riotous sounds and the rich, distinctive smell of coffee. People bustled each other out of the way, reaching for seats or trying to catch the attention of the waitress. The chatter of voices provided a constant background hum.
Lechasseur edged his way past a row of women who were sitting by the doorway, drinking tea. He caught snippets of their conversation as he stepped carefully around them.
‘Our Tom gets back from Wales next week...’
‘Can I pop around for a cup of sugar this afternoon?’
‘They’re rebuilding the old church round by Saint Chad’s Terrace, you know...’
Lechasseur smiled. Londoners. Not so different from the people of New Orleans.
Emily was sitting at a small table near the back of the room. She was wearing a white blouse, and her long, chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders, like a spray of water. In her hands she held a mug of tea, which she was sipping at in small, delicate bursts. She caught him watching her and smiled, waving for him to join her. He made his way over.
‘Hi.’
‘Hello Emily.’
He pulled out a chair and took a seat opposite her. Emily looked up at him and smiled, her pretty face shining in the low light of the café. Honoré slipped his black trench coat onto the back of his chair, and rested his hat carefully on the edge of the table, moving the sugar bowl out of the way.
‘We need to talk. I...’
‘Hold on.’ Emily interrupted him with a brief nod of her head. He turned around. The waitress was making a beeline for their table.
‘Good morning, sir, what can I get for you?’ She wielded her notepad like a weapon.
‘Just a coffee, please. Black. No sugar. Emily?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She curled her fingers around the mug of tea on the table in front of her. The waitress slipped away into the throng. Emily looked up at him.
‘You were saying?’
Honoré glanced back at her, exasperated. ‘Not here. Let’s walk after we’ve finished our drinks.’
‘Okay. I don’t have to be anywhere today.’ She tried to catch his eye, concern evident on her face. Honoré looked tired, his dark skin had a faintly ashen hue to it, and there were darker patches under his eyes. His brown eyes still sparkled, though, and his beard was as immaculately trimmed as always.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah. Tired, that’s all. I’ve not been sleeping too well.’
Emily’s eyes took on a slightly haunted glaze. ‘Well, that’s something I’m a bit of an expert on. Where shall we walk? Down to the market?’
A shiver ran unbidden down Lechasseur’s spine. ‘No. I can think of a hundred places I’d rather be at the moment. Leave it to me.’ He stroked his short beard, tugging the fine bristles around his chin.
Moments later, his coffee arrived. He sipped at it quietly, hoping that the strong brew would help to banish some of the tiredness in his limbs. Emily was the first to break the silence.
‘So, how’s Mrs Bag-of-Bones?’ She smiled, pointedly. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve been over.’
‘She’s well. Keeping busy in the kitchen. I haven’t seen much of her myself recently; been too tied up with other things.’
That was true. He usually enjoyed sitting in the kitchen with his landlady, drinking tea. But since the dreams had started a few days ago, he’d taken to locking himself in his room and avoiding contact. He knew he wasn’t himself, and Emily, if anyone, would pick up on his mood. Particularly after the events of that morning.
Honoré downed the remains of his coffee, and placed his mug pointedly on the table. ‘You ready?’
Emily pushed her half-empty mug towards him. ‘Yes. Let’s go.’
Honoré retrieved his coat and hat and sprinkled a few coins on the table to pay for the coffee. On his way out, he dipped the brim of his hat at the gaggle of ladies who were still gathered around the doorway in deep conversation.
Outside, the air was pregnant with the promise of rain. Lechasseur adjusted his hat and buttoned the front of his trench coat. Emily walked beside him, her head dipped against the harsh wind. She walked close to Lechasseur, using his bulk to shield herself from the elements.
‘So. What’s been on your mind?’
Honoré turned to her. ‘Dreams. I’ve been having these terrible dreams...’
‘Go on.’ Her smile was delicate, comforting.
‘I’m chasing a young boy across the city. It’s late, and he keeps evading me, ducking around corners, hiding in shadows. I follow him for about three or four hours. We get as far as the marketplace at Spitalfields, and the place is deserted, no-one around. At first I think I’ve lost track of the boy, but then I catch sight of him, fleeing around another corner. I race after him, but when I get round the corner, the whole place lights up.’
‘What do you mean? How does it light up?’
‘It’s like a brilliant, blinding flash; a hot white light that fills my entire field of vision. The whole street is just white.’ He indicated with his hands. ‘That’s when I see you.’
‘Me? What am I doing there?’
‘Just walking out of the light towards me, like they described in the newspapers, dressed in your pink pyjamas.’ Honoré searched her face, trying to gauge her response. ‘I don’t know what to make of it.’
‘That’s it? Just walking out of the light? What happens next?’ She was eager now, keen to find out more. Emily knew almost nothing about her own past. She had literally appeared in the marketplace a few months earlier, dressed in her nightclothes as if she had just been plucked, unwittingly, from her bed. She had no idea where she had come from, or what her life had been like before she was found wandering about the marketplace, lost. All she knew was that she was here, now, in London, and the only person in the whole world that she could trust was standing beside her, telling her about his dreams. She craved anything at all that might constitute a clue to her unknown past.
‘That’s all. That’s where the dream ends.’ Lechasseur hesitated, unsure whether or not to go on. ‘Well, it did until last night. Last night was different. This time I felt a hand on my shoulder and a man whispering in my ear.’
Emily was whispering herself. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said, “Can you see it Honoré? Can you see it now?” Then everything went dark again, and I woke up in a cold sweat. It felt as if someone was trying to tell me something.’
Emily studied him with her bright, shining eyes. ‘I don’t know, Honoré. I wouldn’t read too much into all this. It’s probably nothing – just a bad dream. You need to try and get some more rest.’
He could tell she was thinking exactly the opposite.
They were walking towards Covent Garden now, and the wind was buffeting them fiercely from behind. Above them, the sky was a dirty-static colour, but the rain seemed to be holding off, waiting for some ominous moment in which to open up the heavens. People were scurrying around, darting to and fro in an attempt to avoid the bad weather.
Lechasseur turned back towards Emily. ‘That’s just it. Yesterday, I would have agreed with you. But after this morning... I’m not so sure. I saw something on the way over to meet you that made me change my mind.’
Emily stopped walking, and Honoré drew up beside her.
‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You think there’s something going on.’
‘Emily...’
‘What is it? You know you can tell me. After all we’ve been through together in the last few months...’
‘Okay, you’re right. I ran into a tramp. At first he didn’t look different from any other tramp you’d see on the streets; ragged and covered in filth. But there was something not quite right.’
‘Go on.’
‘At first I thought he was like you, because I couldn’t see his time-snake. B
ut then I realised what was wrong. He’d been severed, cut out of time. It was like he’d been lifted entirely out of his timeline. He just existed, right here in the present, with no future or past. His timeline had three damaged ends, all flickering around him like headless snakes. And when he saw me looking, he started sniggering to himself, laughing under his breath.’
Emily looked appalled. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘There’s more. As I turned away from him and started walking, I heard a voice call out behind me...’
‘“Can you see it Honoré? Can you see it now?”’
Lechasseur was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was in a broken whisper. ‘How did you know?’
‘Call it woman’s intuition. So, did you go back?’
Lechasseur looked dubious. ‘I tried, but he had already disappeared. The thing is, I can’t seem to get his laughing out of my head.’
‘And this happened this morning, just before you came to meet me?’
‘Yeah.’
Emily placed a hand on her hip, as if she was thinking. ‘Looks like we’ve got a bit of a mystery on our hands.’ A pause. ‘You don’t think you’re in any immediate danger, do you, from this... this severed man?’ She looked concerned, but resolved, even a bit excited at the prospect of another adventure.
Honoré met her gaze, a little wary. ‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘Right then. I think it’s best if you go home and try to get some proper rest. We can meet again at my room later on tonight. And then, when you’re feeling a bit better, we’ll see if we can work out who – or what – it is that’s stalking you.’
Honoré smiled. ‘Emily... I’m not sure if I want to get into this.’
‘It doesn’t look like we have a great deal of choice. Look, I’m going to head home now, give it a bit of thought. You get some sleep, and I’ll catch up with you later tonight. Get round for about eight or nine and we can have some food.’
Lechasseur shrugged noncommittally.
Emily turned away and started walking in the other direction, the wind whipping her hair up around her face in a frenzy of fluttering ribbons. After a few feet, she stopped and turned back to him, a smile creasing her face with compassion.
‘Honoré?’
‘Yes.’
‘Try not to have any more bad dreams.’
Lechasseur watched her recede into the distance, and then adjusted his hat again, trying to stop the wind from lifting it free from his head. Emily was right – he did need to get some sleep. But home just didn’t feel safe for the time being, not until he had a better idea about what was going on.
He turned about and, after looking around to ensure no-one was watching him, made his way slowly in the direction of Mr Sun’s toyshop.
The toyshop itself was actually a pile of broken rubble, a building splintered apart during the great bombing raids of the Blitz and not yet cleared up. It was in a small side street, and all but ignored by the planners. But between the heaps of demolished brickwork, there was a crack in the ground, a space just big enough to squeeze through, that led down a flight of stairs and into an old, underground basement that had somehow survived the impact of the bombs. A friend had shown it to him; a friend who knew how important it was to have a bolt hole, a personal retreat.[1]
Honoré stepped down into the ruined storeroom. The place was filled with a dank, dusty odour, and the cobwebbed and rotting toys on the walls described twisted dioramas in the dim light, like tortured carnival players strung up in a dirty cell. The plants that had crept in through the cracks in the ceiling added to the sense that the place was some sort of ancient, gothic wonderland, remaining somehow trapped outside time whilst the city metamorphosed around it. Quite fitting, when he considered the nature of his friend. Honoré supposed that most people would find the place haunting; but there was something quiet here, the type of peacefulness that you just couldn’t find in most places around the city. Mr Sun’s toyshop was a place where time stood still, where the constant background fuzz of the universe couldn’t reach, where Lechasseur could relax and be himself.
He stood for a moment, taking it all in. Perhaps one day the enigmatic Mr Sun would return to the site of his bombed-out shop, but for now, Lechasseur would use it as a quiet place to get some rest.
He knew there was a kettle in the other room, but he couldn’t be bothered to make himself a drink. He found a seat and sat down, moving an old hand puppet out of the way as he did so. For a moment, he studied its scarred, pitted face, and then he jiggled it around in his fist, watching its head lolling from side to side with the motion of his wrist. He put it down on the dusty tabletop nearby.
What if I’m nothing but a puppet, waiting for someone to finish playing with me?
The thought didn’t bear dwelling on.
Lechasseur folded his hands on his lap, and sat back, allowing his heavy eyelids to close, blotting out the remaining light.
When he came to, it was already starting to get dark outside. Lechasseur clambered to his feet, stretching his body after sleeping awkwardly in the chair for so long. He felt refreshed, more energised than he had in days. And thankfully his sleep had remained dreamless, passing without issue. He looked at his watch. It was nearly eight o’clock. Time to be off to find Emily.
Honoré took one last look around the ruined toyshop before climbing up carefully through the crack in the ground, cautious that anyone might see him. The air outside tasted fresh and humid, and he realised it had been raining whilst he slept. There were a few people passing by, but not enough that he might be noticed. He slipped out from amongst the piles of rubble and stepped deftly onto the street, breaking into a stride, as if he had been strolling that way for the last half hour.
Emily’s room was a good walk from Covent Garden. While he walked, Honoré tried to play things over again in his mind. The dream seemed like a distant memory, but the events of the morning had been all too real. How could a dream, something so ethereal and insubstantial, be turning into reality? What did it all mean, and was he being influenced by some other, unexplained force? He’d seen the future in his dreams before, but the events had never been like this, never been ‘real’ until they had actually happened. This time, the other people in the dream – and, it seemed, in reality too – all seemed to know a lot more about what was going on than he did. And what was the connection with Emily?
He could go on analysing it for hours. He’d get round to Emily’s place, have some food, and then they’d forget all about it and everything would go back to normal. He was sure of it. Right up until the minute he rounded a corner and saw the young boy playing in the street, his grey scarf fluttering about his neck in the breeze.
Honoré stopped dead. The boy turned to meet his gaze. They watched each other for a moment, both perfectly still, and then Lechasseur spoke.
‘Have you been waiting here for me?’
The boy didn’t move. It was as if he was rooted to the spot, petrified, like a statue made of flesh and bones. His scared blue eyes were fixed on Lechasseur, and his hands were clasped together, as if he had suddenly stopped clapping in the middle of a song. Lechasseur inched forward. ‘What is it you want? If I can help...?’
He stepped a fraction too close. The boy came to life. He bolted, flying off down the street like a startled deer. Honoré took flight after him.
The boy’s time-snake whirled through the air, spreading around the child like a barrier. Lechasseur looked on as he ran, confused by the immensity of the boy’s history. He had watched children before, been aware of the early stirrings of a new life, the very slight impressions they had made on the fabric of time, the untapped potential of their future. But this was something else entirely. The boy’s history stretched right back through time, spanning human history like nothing Lechasseur had ever seen before. It was as if the boy was a conduit for time, a channel through which all
human history flowed forth, yet also a passageway into the future. He could see nothing finite about this child’s existence, only the impression that it had, and would, go on through time forever. It was utterly beautiful, yet terrifying to behold.
And one thing was sure: whatever he – it – was, it certainly wasn’t the small boy it made itself out to be.
Honoré used a lamp post to help swing himself around a corner, feeling his lungs burning with the sharp intake of air. His legs pumped at the concrete, driving him forward, keeping the boy in his sights. He felt his hat lift from his head, but ignored it, figuring he could come back for it later. It was far more important he kept up with the boy.
The child wasn’t stopping to look back. He wove his way down empty alleyways, flinging himself into the shadows, trying to make himself hard to see. Lechasseur rebounded painfully off a wall after sidestepping a spilt dustbin, but managed to stay on the child’s tracks. Eerily, everything was happening in exactly the same way as it had in the dream. Honoré felt waves of déjà-vu as he ran, passing faces he recognised in the street, animals watching him from their garden perches, people’s doors and windows opening and closing. He remembered, just in time, to jump to avoid a cat in the street, and realised that he hadn’t even looked down to check if it was actually there. It was like he was replaying the whole sequence over again in his mind, only this time, he knew it was actually happening.
Too late, he realised they were heading towards Spitalfields and the deserted marketplace.
Honoré burst out of an alleyway into the main market square. The child was nowhere to be seen. He stopped for a moment to try and catch his breath, resting up against a nearby wall. He dragged at the air, rasping as he soaked his lungs with oxygen. The streetlamps nearby were emitting a pitched electrical hum. He looked around. A man was walking his dog over by the back of the old church, but otherwise the place was deserted. Honoré felt a shiver creeping down his spine. He’d seen this before.
He stepped out into the square, casting his eyes round in search of the child. Birds wheeled in the sky overhead, providing them a vantage point that Honoré would have paid dearly for. He called out, trying to break the sequence of what he remembered happening in the dream.
