by John Booth
“Where did you learn self-defence?” Sal asked in surprise. The way she looked at Peter made it clear she’d summed him up as a wimp and needed convincing.
“I was taught defensive, disabling and killing techniques in school. The disabling ones sometimes kill if you aren’t careful,” Peter said without any trace of pride in his voice.
“All they teach in my school is irregular French verbs and contraception. So what else did they teach you in spy school?” Sal asked him in a joking tone of voice.
Peter felt worried. Her flip comment came a little too close to the truth and there were things he’d been ordered never to talk about. If he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, that is. He needed to change the subject.
“So what is the Sunner Door, and what’s all this stuff about people expecting things of me?” Peter asked Sal more loudly than he intended.
Sal stopped grinning and glanced around the café before she looked back at him. “Stop saying things like that so loud,” she hissed at him. “I could get into serious trouble for saying anything to you. If Han No finds out I said something, he might lock me in one of his brothels for the rest of my life.”
Peter leant over the table towards Sal. He really liked this girl, but the mysterious talk was getting him down. “Tell me something or I shall shout I know about the Sunner Door.” Peter sat back and took a deep breath as though he really intended to shout.
Sal motioned him to stop in a panic and leant over the table again. Peter moved closer to hear. “Doors and windows in the mind can become real. If you know where you will be when you reach the other side.”
The old man lifted the hatch on the counter, walked out with a cloth, and started wiping the tables. Sal moved back from Peter and compressed her lips tightly together as the man came to their table and picked up the empty cups and plates. He wiped the surface of their table while Sal stared out of the window. When he returned behind the counter, Sal moved close the Peter again.
“I haven’t been home or to school for a couple of weeks. Dad’s better off without me. I can’t tell you anything more except that I move around between here and there. You’ll likely find out more in time. Their hopes are resting on you.”
“I didn’t know Goths got into so much trouble.” Peter tried to lighten the mood. Sal looked puzzled at his words for a second or two.
“I’m not a Goth. This is just the easiest way to pass unnoticed.”
“I take it the crucifix is to ward off the vampires?” Peter said. As soon as he made the joke, he realised how feeble it was.
“No, silver and crosses don’t work anyway,” Sal said seriously. “I have to go. It’s getting late to get across.”
Peter looked at his watch and was horrified to find it was half past eleven. His mother would be worried. Not only that, he didn’t have a clue where he was, having got lost when they travelled through the alleys.
“Shit, I have to go home! Where am I?” Peter stood up from the table fast enough to cause his chair to shriek in protest and to push the table into Sal.
“You aren’t far from home,” Sal told him calmly, “The High Street’s just a few hundred yards up the road. Turn right when you get to it and you’ll be home.”
Peter walked to the door and stopped as he opened it. He let it close and walked back over to where Sal still sat, leaning over her. He put out his hand as if he wanted her to shake it, and when Sal responded he passed something to her.
“Take care of yourself, Sal Dark,” Peter whispered and walked out of the café.
Sal looked down into her hand and found the screwed up ten pound note Peter got as change when he bought their food. She closed her fingers around it convulsively.
“You watch your step, young Saloni,” the old man told her from behind the counter. “If you mess the things up they’ve planned for him, having enough to eat will be the least of your worries.”
* * *
Peter ran up the stairs to his flat and opened the door quietly. He walked into the living room and found his mother fast asleep on the couch. She had probably been asleep for hours. He put on the kettle and made her a cup of tea before he woke her. Mel didn’t ask him when he got in and he didn’t tell her.
As Peter lay in his bed that night, he reviewed everything that had happened through the day. Something strange was going on and he seemed to be right in the middle of it. He spent his entire childhood training to deal with this sort of thing. He never expected his education would be of any use to him, but that wasn’t going to stop him using it.
Chapter Five
Meetings
When Peter left his flat for work the next morning, he found that the good weather of the past few days had taken a holiday. One of the strange things about England is its weather; it changes so fast and rarely stays the same for more than three days in a row.
It was drizzling as he stepped out into a grey overcast day. The High Street seemed bleaker as the rain soaked the paving, changing its colour from light to dark. Peter hadn’t brought his coat with him, but with Solly’s furniture shop so close, it hardly made sense to him to go all the way back to get it.
Mel had rushed off to her first day of work two hours earlier. Peter was still in bed half asleep when she came into his room to kiss him goodbye. She wore a smart grey business skirt and jacket over a brilliant white blouse. Peter struggled to open his eyes and thought his mother looked really impressive.
The rain impacted the traffic. Motorists put their headlights on as though it was night and travel down the roads slowed to a crawl. The drivers bristled with impatience, revving their engines and beeping their horns at anything and nothing. The air, already close and dank because of the rain, stank of petrol and diesel fumes.
Peter hurried across Hellport Lane and received the ire of a driver as his car screeched to a stop to avoid running Peter over. The driver’s horn blared out as though his car was a dragon not used to being denied its desires. Cars used the alley as a rat run, turning off from the High Street and powering down it without regard for any humans daring to use it as well. Peter looked down the alley longingly when he reached the furniture shop side, hoping he might see Sal somewhere along its length.
As Peter walked past Solly’s shop window, a feeling of melancholy ran through him. Droplets of rain ran down the glass like grey tears. For the first time since leaving The Village and the Establishment, he felt the weight of being alone in a big city. He looked at the reflection of his face in the glass and remembered his best friend Jeremy as he last saw him, on the floor of the gym with his eyes wide open and lifeless. Peter wasn’t a boy who cried easily, but it seemed to him that the boy reflected in the window was crying a thousand grey tears, all of them genuine and all of them worthless.
He pulled open the shop door and walked in. As soon as it closed, the feelings vanished and he shook like a dog for a few seconds, though it wasn’t water he was shaking away.
The shop appeared empty, but Peter had been fooled before and felt sure Solly was hiding somewhere, ready to spring out at him when he least expected it. Almost on cue Solly spoke from behind him.
“You maybe know enough to come out of the rain, but you certainly don’t know enough to carry a raincoat,” he said sarcastically.
“I didn’t know it was compulsory.” Peter said and regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He needed to keep this job. He was unlikely to get a better one. Solly seemed to find the words funny and chuckled in appreciation. He walked past Peter and waved for him to follow as he walked into the depths of his shop.
There was a massive store room at the rear. It was partially filled with large wooden crates stacked up against the wall. The crates were cubic in shape and stood about four feet tall. Mounted on wooden pallets the crates had been stacked three high. There must have been at least forty of them. In the far corner of the store sat a yellow forklift truck and Peter wondered if Solly would let him use it. Peter thought driving it mig
ht be fun.
Almost as though he’d read Peter’s thoughts, Solly pointed at the yellow truck. “Stay away from that. You’ve not been trained to use it and I don’t want you injured.” Solly found a coarse broom and handed it to Peter. “I want you to sweep the floor. Don’t touch any of the boxes and whatever you do, don’t climb on them. I’ll fire you on the spot if you disobey me on this.”
Solly walked out of the room and Peter set about sweeping the floor. It proved to be backbreaking work. The floor was filthy and every time Peter swept an area with the broom, a cloud of dust rose and settled back down over the floor again. Finally Peter decided the only way to deal with the dust was to wet it down.
He found an old tin bucket in the store room, filled it with water, brought it back to the room and threw the water across the floor. It certainly kept the dust down, but he ended up sweeping black and gritty water across the floor. The store room had an exit to the rear. It led to a loading bay through a set of large double doors, which looked as though they hadn’t been used for years. Peter swept the dirty water over the threshold and into the bay. The loading bay was already in a disgusting state so he felt pretty sure Solly wouldn’t accuse him of making it worse. Peter wasn’t sure it was possible to make it worse.
At noon, he went to the old enamel sink where he filled the buckets and washed the filth off his arms and hands. There wasn’t a towel and he was trying to shake the water off his arms when he heard a cough. He turned to find Solly standing close behind him. That wasn’t much of a surprise, but the towel Solly offered him was. He took it and dried himself gratefully.
“Not a bad job. But if the crates collapse from wet rot after all the water you’ve thrown over the floor I’m sure I’ll not be happy about it.”
“The wood is barely wet. I made sure the water didn’t soak the crates.” Peter had considered the possibility before he used the water and had taken precautions
“Just so, just so,” Solly said as if he’d already lost interest in the subject. He reached into his pocket, brought out another crisp new twenty pound note, and handed it solemnly to Peter. “Be back here at two o’clock sharp.”
* * *
When Peter left the furniture shop, he faced a dilemma. He knew it would be wise to stay away from the fish and chip shop, as it was a haunt of Gaz and his posse. However, in a way he didn’t understand, he had become a protector to Sal Dark and a part of him wanted another confrontation with Gaz rather a lot.
Against common sense and better judgement, he entered the fish and chip shop. Three customers waited in front of him, two elderly gentlemen and a middle-aged woman. While he was waiting, he read the menu running across the back wall above the fryers.
Like many chip shops run by the Chinese, its owners served a variety of Chinese food as well as traditional British fare. Peter was partial to Chinese food, particularly special fried rice and prawn crackers. He wasn’t hungry enough for another item, although the sweet and sour pork balls were tempting. He made his mind up to have the rice and crackers by the time he reached the front of the queue.
“Special fried rice and prawn crackers, please.”
“You not eat yet, Peter Craig.” The woman lifted up the end of the counter and swung the half door below it out of the way. “You come with me. Not keep Han No waiting. Come, come!” she urged as she stepped back to give him room.
Peter was tempted to tell her to get stuffed but he realised that Han No was a dangerous man and she was probably terrified he would refuse. He stepped behind the counter and through the bead curtain at the back of the shop. The woman dropped the counter back down and then hurried ahead of him, beckoning him on deeper into the rooms behind the shop. They went through a kitchen area with rows of gas rings and woks used to prepare the food. Behind the kitchen they arrived at a small lounge where two teenage Chinese girls sat on a sofa watching television. The girls turned to face him and giggled before turning back to carry on watching television.
They entered a dark corridor. Peter and the woman passed two closed doors before descending a steep narrow flight of heavily carpeted stairs. The walls were lined with dark red flock paper, which was the same colour as the carpet. Peter wasn’t sure the walls weren’t carpeted too, as they were indistinguishable from the carpet.
The corridor below was dimly lit with oblique red lighting. The woman waited impatiently for Peter as he walked carefully down the stairs. She led him to a glossy black door and knocked on the door with reverence, as though she was seeking permission to enter a church. She didn’t wait for a reply but opened the door and stood aside to let Peter enter. When he walked through the door, she closed it silently behind him.
The room looked like nothing so much as a large tent. Dark red fabric stretched down from the centre of the ceiling to join the walls just a little above Peter’s head. Similar fabric hung from the walls completing the tent illusion. Four lanterns sat at the four corners of the room on plinths carved into the shape of rearing dragons. The dragons were coated in thick shiny red lacquer. The dragons stood about three feet high and the light coming from the lanterns gave the room the feel of great antiquity. Immediately in front of Peter was a low rectangular lacquered table. The table was intricately carved with animal shapes. All around it on the floor were soft cushions covered in red embroidered silk.
Behind the table and the cushions, Han No stood with his back to Peter. He was looking at a display cabinet at the back of the room. Han No turned to face Peter and gave him a small bow.
“Welcome to my humble abode, Peter Craig. Perhaps I can offer you some tea?”
Peter was vaguely aware that it wasn’t polite to sit for Chinese tea wearing his shoes and so he slipped them off and stepped towards the table. “I’d love to drink your tea, but I’m not sure I’m worthy enough to accept.”
Han No smiled at Peter’s attempt to act graciously and indicated he should sit on a cushion. No sat down on the other side of the table and clapped his hands twice.
A door to the right of Peter opened and a delicate Chinese girl entered the room with a large tray. She knelt down to place the items from the tray onto the table only inches from Peter’s face, and he realised how little she wore. Her dress was simply a silk sheet so thin her skin showed through it. It was tied at the waist but open down the sides. It was also short, stopping only inches below her groin. Peter found it hard not to stare as she placed a cup on the table, giving him a full view of her beautifully rounded breasts and breathtakingly smooth skin.
Han No watched Peter intently and his lips twisted in a small smile as the girl carried out her tasks. Peter dragged his eyes from the girl’s body and focussed them back on Han No. The girl did some complicated ritual with the tea pot and a kettle of water, kept boiling by a candle underneath it. She put tea in the pot, poured boiling water into the pot, and waited perhaps half a minute before pouring the liquid away into a third jug. She repeated the ritual by pouring more boiling water into the tea pot. It was the mixture brewed for the second time that she poured reverently into two delicate small china cups that she had placed on the table earlier.
Han No clapped his hands again and the girl bowed low while still kneeling and then inched backwards out of the room on her knees.
“If you like her, it can be arranged for you to have her,” Han No offered.
“Err, no thank you. Not at this time. I’ve work to do this afternoon.” Peter knew he was rambling and decided to close his mouth before he said something he might regret.
“Is your mother in good health?” Han No enquired solicitously.
“Yes, thank you. She’s just started a new job.”
“Ah yes, for Hellogon Imports, I believe. She will find her job there most satisfactory, I am sure,” Han No told Peter in a knowing way. “It is your eighteenth birthday soon, I believe?”
“Err yes, on Saturday. How ever did you know that?” Peter found the things the locals knew about him frightening.
Han No waved his
hand as though knowing such things was of no consequence at all. “The eighteenth birthday can be very important in many worlds. In some places it marks the point where a person might join the chessboard and become part of the game.”
“That sounds a little ominous,” Peter said cautiously, not sure where Han No was going.
“It is the age when that which you can imagine may turn out to be more real than that which you understand. The threshold between the worlds will open for the right person and the choices he makes will decide whether he stands for the white or for the red, just as in chess. Not making a choice will leave him with enemies on all sides, while the right choice will bring him rich rewards.” Han No stopped talking to sip delicately from his cup.
Peter remembered the strange thing Sal said the night before. ‘Doors and windows in the mind can become real if you know where you will be when you reach the other side,’ she had said, and what Han No said sounded like more of the same mumbo-jumbo. Peter wondered why people couldn’t just come out and say what they meant.
“I will bear in mind your wise words, Han No,” Peter replied for want of anything cleverer to say. Han No nodded as if that response had been exactly what he expected.
“Then we will speak no more of it. It is time you returned to the meal which Mrs Cho has prepared for you. There will be no charge for this meal, for you are an honoured guest in my house. If you choose the red, there will be many things, including the girl who served us tea for you, to take for your pleasure.”
Peter took No’s words as a dismissal, stood, and bowed to him before leaving the room. He picked up his shoes as he left. He hopped on one foot outside the door, struggling to get his shoes back on.
