by David Logan
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.
10
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.
Garvan and Lasel watched him go.
‘Dusca?’ asked Garvan.
Lasel pointed over the hill and said, ‘Corraway.’
*
Now Garvan knew. Junk was the one he had been waiting for. Garvan had learned to speak his language, Junk had solved the puzzle boxes and he had saved Garvan’s life, just as had been predicted. Now their journeys were linked. Because of Junk, now Garvan wouldn’t have to kill his own father. It was quite a relief. However, there was much that would happen before they returned to Garvan’s home. His real home and his family.
*
Junk cooled off some and returned to the boat. Lasel and Garvan had made a fire on the beach and were cooking what looked like two small pigs on a spit.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Junk as he sat down by them.
Garvan shook his head. ‘No. It is me who should to apologize.’ Now and then his English faltered.
‘Well, you did keep me prisoner for … How long was I there?’ asked Junk.
Garvan shrugged. ‘Twenty-four … twenty-five hyka. Umm …’ He struggled to find the word. ‘Days? You say days?’
‘You learned to speak English this well in twenty-five days? What are you? Like a mental genius or something?’
&nb
sp; Garvan frowned. His English wasn’t complete.
‘Well, you’ll have to teach me your language,’ said Junk.
‘Which one?’ asked Garvan.
‘How many do you speak?’
‘Eighteen … or so.’
Junk blinked at him. ‘That’s a lot.’ He looked to Lasel. ‘How many do you speak?’
English not being one of hers, Lasel looked to Garvan for a translation: ‘Krimpta criptik te?’
‘Oh.’ Lasel had to think. ‘Fal. Fal-gi.’
‘Ten or eleven. It is normal. There are many languages spoken in the world.’
‘I guess,’ said Junk, thinking about it. ‘In mine too. I mean, I speak a fair few cos I’ve been moving around like. Not much use to me here though. Which brings me to … Where is here? Where am I?’
‘The town over the hill is—’ Garvan started but Junk interrupted.
‘Called Corraway. I know. That much Lasel and I got.’ He smiled at Lasel. She smiled back but wasn’t sure what they were talking about.
‘You are on the southern coast of Jansia.’ Garvan picked up a spare spit and started drawing a crude map of his world in the sand. Jansia was part of a continent that vaguely resembled Europe, though, in comparison to a similar-sized map of Earth, the land mass was far smaller and there was a lot more water. This was true of the rest of this world. ‘This area is Bartaya,’ he said, motioning to the continent of which Jansia was a part. To the east of Bartaya were two massive areas of land separated in the middle by a strip of ocean. ‘Tayana,’ he pointed to what was vaguely northern Asia. ‘Payana.’ He pointed to what would be southern Asia, then drew four separate land masses where Africa would have been. He tapped the northernmost one: ‘Glarn Sita.’ He indicated the eastern one: ‘Unta Sita. To the south was ‘Cul Sita’ and the last area he called ‘Daté Sita’. He drew land at both poles: ‘Jjen’ – the northern one. ‘Pjen’ was in the south. To the east of Tayana and Payana, he drew something shaped like a sickle. ‘Mallia,’ he said. The two l’s made an ee sound. Mallia was roughly in the same position as the Americas would be back home, but there was a lot more sea around a lot less land.
‘So you remember I was talking and you were listening, back in your cabin … you remember I mentioned the League of Sharks?’ said Junk.
‘I was listening,’ agreed Garvan. ‘Learning.’
‘Right. Clearly. So any idea where I start looking for them?’
‘Dint criptik oot?’ Now Lasel was feeling left out.
Garvan turned to Junk, pointing at Lasel. ‘I say to her your story? Explain?’
‘Sure.’ Junk shrugged and then listened, picking out the odd word here and there, as Garvan recounted to Lasel the story of the man who took Ambeline, of Junk’s search around the world, of his discovery of La Liga de los Tiburones and then the green door that took him to the Room of Doors – Bosck dei Varm in their language. At that point, Junk noticed Lasel’s brow furrow where before she had just been listening intently. He didn’t say anything straight away and let Garvan go on to explain how Junk had a choice of two doors, went through one that brought him here, how he caught Junk in his net, kept him prisoner until he was sure he was harmless. He described the birdmen attack and that was the last thing he remembered until waking up here.
‘Dinta took,’ said Lasel once Garvan had finished.
‘She said, “What a story,”’ said Garvan to Junk. ‘To answer your question, I’ve never heard of this League of Sharks. I don’t know where for you to start to look.’ He turned to Lasel and asked her, but she just shook her head. She hadn’t heard of them either.
‘But have you heard of the Room of Doors?’ asked Junk. Garvan translated. ‘You frowned when Frank … I mean Garvan … mentioned it.’ Again Garvan translated for Lasel. She thought for a moment before answering. She spoke in her native Jansian and Garvan translated her reply for Junk.
‘There is a man in Arrapia.’ Garvan added an explanation: ‘Arrapia is a city to the north.’ Lasel continued and Garvan translated. ‘He is called Otravinicus. He is a scientist. A doctor. Doctor Otravinicus. He wrote a book about a mythical place called the Room of Doors.’ Junk was drawn deeper into her story with every word. He sat up a little straighter as he listened. ‘The Church wasn’t happy with the book. The Room of Doors is supposed to be a very sacred and holy place. There was much argumenting.’
‘Arguing,’ corrected Junk.
Garvan nodded and continued. ‘Much anger. It was very famous. The Church put him on trial. I’m surprised you don’t know about this.’ It took Garvan a moment to realize Lasel meant that last comment for him. ‘Nenga. Garvan shook his head. ‘Penca tamatay inta vol. Tapar its oot a barrat.’ He looked at Junk. ‘I was explaining that I usually just stay on my island. I don’t hear things about the outside world.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Junk with a shrug.
He looked at Lasel and she resumed her story. Garvan continued his translation: ‘The Church wanted him to be punished because of what he had written, but he didn’t say in the book where the Room of Doors is. Maybe he doesn’t know. Anyway, maybe he could help you.’ She shrugged. That was all she had.
Junk considered what he had heard. He nodded and then looked at Garvan. ‘How do I get to Arrapia?’
‘It’s a long way. You’d have to take a land-ship.’
‘Land-ship?’ asked Junk.
‘Great boats that travel on rails over land, go straight into the water.’
Junk nodded, remembering. ‘I saw one earlier. We almost got crushed by it.’
‘That wouldn’t have been good,’ said Garvan. ‘There’s a station on the outskirts of Corraway.’ He looked at Lasel and asked her a question, which she answered. ‘Lasel says there will be a land-ship we can get tomorrow that will take us to Arrapia.’
‘We?’ asked Junk.
Garvan nodded. ‘You saved me. You didn’t have to do that. You looked after me. You didn’t have to do that either. You could have just left me. I did tie you up after all. I think we are friends. Yes?’
Junk shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘I will help you in your quest,’ announced Garvan.
Junk smiled. ‘Thank you.’ Then a thought occurred to him. ‘Wait. Does it cost money to ride on one of these land-ships?’
‘Yes,’ said Garvan. ‘Of course.’
‘We don’t have any money,’ said Junk.
‘Oh,’ said Garvan.
‘Hupta?’ asked Lasel. Problem?
‘Nenga salli,’ said Garvan, holding both hands open.
Lasel smiled. ‘Nenga hupta.’
11
The next morning Garvan, Lasel and Junk stood on the brow of the hill looking down on Corraway. It was the exact spot where Junk had stood the previous day. They saw the huge land-ship station. There was a ship there waiting, though it was facing south. A second, identical ship was coming in from the sea. The ship at the station had all its sails furled.
The arriving vessel was alive with activity as the captain piloted it towards the land and the crew readied it for the transfer from water to rails. Two small tugboats had come out to greet the land-ship and attached themselves via guidelines to the bow. They were now helping to line the land-ship up correctly. There was little room for error. However, this was clearly something that happened on a regular basis and it went off without a hitch.
A row of wheels ran the length of the underside of the land-ship. Between the captain and the tugs, the ship and the rails were lined up and embedded magnets did the rest. The wheels locked into place with a resounding clank. A pulley system clamped the wheels on to the rail and the land-ship heaved out of the water without so much as a stutter. The crew tied up the sails as it made its way through the middle of Corraway, towering over the low buildings, and came to a stop at the station.
As it did the second land-ship was cleared for departure and it rumbled towards the sea. Gravity took hold as it slipped down the rails running through the town. As i
t went its sails unfurled and an enormous curtain of water curled into the air as the land-ship hit the sea and it detached from the rails. It headed steadily out to sea.
‘Chiva,’ said Lasel and she started down the hill towards the town.
‘Let’s go,’ translated Garvan, and set off after her. Junk followed.
*
They made their way into town and headed to the station. The huge concourse was teeming with life. Fifty stalls dotted the immense forecourt, selling food and souvenirs and everything else a departing or arriving traveller might need.
On the eastern side of the building there were eight gangplanks leading into the body of the land-ship, half for those alighting, half for those embarking; all were choked with passengers. Station officials wore a distinctive orange-and-grey livery that made Junk think of the Swiss Guards of Vatican City, whom he had seen in Rome a year or so earlier. They might not have been as colourfully attired as the red, blue and gold Swiss Guards, but they certainly stood out.
Lasel put a hand on Junk’s arm and drew his attention to an octagonal structure in the centre of the concourse. ‘Tarra dei omm,’ she said.
‘Ticket office,’ said Garvan.
Junk and Garvan followed Lasel a little closer to the octagonal structure. They circled around to the far side where they saw a door ajar. They could see the backs of six cashiers who were facing the windows on the opposite side. Lasel explained the plan and Garvan translated.
‘Inside, to the …’ He faltered, not knowing the correct word, and held up his left hand. ‘This side.’
‘Left,’ said Junk.
‘Yes,’ continued Garvan. ‘Inside, to the left is a drawer. The top one of three. It is unlocked and inside they keep blank tickets. Spares, if you like. All you have to do is get in and out quickly and don’t be seen.’
‘Me?’ said Junk, it not having occurred to him that he would have to steal.
‘I’m too big,’ said Garvan. ‘I think they might spot me.’ He was of course right. Junk looked to Lasel. After all, she was the one who knew what to do. She understood from the look on his face what he was thinking. She frowned and shook her head.
