by David Logan
‘Chuva tapar ante,’ she said.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Garvan, translating.
‘I guess not,’ said Junk, resigning himself to what he was about to do. ‘How about you two go around the front and cause a distraction or something? Try to get everyone in the ticket office looking out the front and not behind them. Yeah?’
‘Seems sensible,’ said Garvan, and he translated for Lasel. She nodded in agreement. The two of them walked away from Junk, who looked down and saw that his hands were shaking. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling his nerve.
‘OK,’ he said quietly to himself, his eyes still closed. ‘One. Two. Three. Go.’ With that, he opened his eyes ready to make a dash towards the ticket office but found himself looking straight at the hulking policeman who had chased him through the market the day before. Junk could see the look of recognition on the man’s face.
‘Tunk!’ he shouted, pointing at Junk, who turned and ran. The policeman blew his silent horn as he sped off in pursuit.
At the front of the ticket office, Garvan and Lasel looked to see what the commotion was all about and saw Junk sprinting away with the red-coated policeman charging after him. Lasel looked to the land-ship. The number of passengers on the gangplanks had lessened considerably. Boarding was almost done.
‘The ship’s going to leave very soon,’ said Lasel to Garvan in Jansian. ‘Find a way to hold it up. I’ll get Junk.’ She was gone, racing out of the station, before Garvan had a chance to argue. He turned to the ship. How on earth was he going to delay it?
*
Junk came hurtling out of the station and took off across the road into the labyrinth of narrow streets where he had lost the policemen the day before. Maybe he could do the same thing again, he thought. He weaved left and right, conscious of the fact that he really didn’t know where he was going. That fact became horrifyingly evident when he turned into a dead end. He stuttered to a halt and did a quick one-eighty, but suddenly his exit was blocked by the policeman. The man was panting hard, sweat coursing down his brow. His lip curled up into an irritated snarl.
‘Criptiktar tunk, ba tunty dattakar,’ he panted. Of course Junk had no idea what he was saying.
The sun was high in the sky and both the policeman and Junk were distracted by a shadow that flitted over the ground between them, but when they looked up neither of them could see what had caused it.
It was Lasel. She was on the rooftops above. She looked around for anything useful and found a length of strong rope attached to what looked like a long-abandoned birdhouse. She pulled it free and stopped for a moment to consider what to do with it. An idea blossomed and she smiled as she started to tie a loop at each end.
In the alleyway below, the policeman had Junk up against the wall. He was holding him in place with one large hand clamped on to the back of Junk’s head, pushing his face into the rough stonework as he patted him down.
‘Dint cascaba?’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Junk, scared. The policeman unsheathed his long leather sap and tapped it against Junk’s cheek with menacing glee.
‘Dusca ba galm?’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ pleaded Junk. He was almost in tears. The policeman liked that. He put his mouth close to Junk’s ear and was just about to say something else no doubt scary and menacing and not at all pleasant when he heard the sound of someone landing on the ground behind him. He spun round to see that Lasel had jumped down from the roof. She was crouching. As the policeman turned she sprang up and grabbed Junk by the hand.
‘CHIVA!’ she shouted. Junk searched his memory. She had said that earlier. What did it mean? But she didn’t give him time to remember. She dragged him away from the policeman, who was momentarily startled by her sudden appearance.
‘TUNK!’ shouted the policeman and set off after them, taking out his shell horn. He didn’t manage to take more than a step before he was pulled up short by the length of rope that he discovered Lasel had looped around his ponytail. The other end was tied to the rooftop and he was held securely in place. He jerked to a stop and the horn flew from his grasp. He struggled to pull the rope free but it was too tough to break, and pulling it only made the loops on either end tighten all the more. He was powerless. Lasel and Junk stopped at the entrance to the cul-de-sac and saw he was impotent. They laughed as they watched his comically manic attempts to free himself.
‘See ya later. Sorry about that,’ shouted Junk as he and Lasel ran away.
*
Lasel led the way as they raced back through the narrow streets towards the station. She was about to explain to Junk that the land-ship was on the verge of leaving and if Garvan hadn’t found a way to delay it they would be too late, but she knew he wouldn’t understand a word of it so she put all her efforts into running as fast as she could, Junk on her heels.
As they came out of a side street and saw the station opposite, Lasel breathed a sigh of relief to see that the land-ship was still in situ. Garvan had done it.
They ran into the station and found Garvan sitting on an upturned bin. There was much activity going on among the orange-and-grey-suited station personnel. They were racing back and forth all over the concourse.
‘You did it,’ said Lasel. ‘You stopped the ship leaving.’
‘And you got Junk back.’ Garvan smiled at Junk, who of course didn’t know what either was saying.
‘How did you do it?’ asked Lasel.
‘They couldn’t very well leave without the captain.’
Lasel frowned. ‘The captain?’
Garvan merely looked down at the bin he was sitting on. ‘Please let me out,’ said a small, muffled voice from within. Garvan thumped on the bin. Lasel said something else that Junk didn’t understand and then hurried away. ‘She’s gone to get the tickets this time,’ said Garvan in English to Junk.
Junk nodded towards the bin. ‘Is there someone in there?’
‘Yes,’ said Garvan matter-of-factly.
‘How come he’s not shouting?’
‘I told him not to.’
The two of them waited in silence. They didn’t have to wait long. Lasel returned quickly and gestured for them to follow her to one of the gangplanks.
Garvan slid off the bin and crouched down next to it. He tapped on the side and said something Junk didn’t catch.
‘Maro,’ came the muted reply from within.
Garvan caught up with Lasel and Junk as the three of them reached the gangplank. One of the station staff looked up as they approached. Lasel held out three tickets. Junk spotted this.
‘You’re coming too?’ he asked, and prodded Garvan to translate, which he did.
‘Maro,’ said Lasel. ‘Nenga rooth tuug.’
Garvan translated back again: ‘Yes. No choice now.’
Junk thought about that. ‘I suppose not. Sorry.’
The ticket attendant smiled broadly at them and handed back the tickets.
‘Zebla jard,’ he said, and ushered them up the gangplank.
*
A short time later and Junk, Garvan and Lasel were settled into a luxurious state cabin with fruit, food and drink laid out in abundance. There were expansive, well-stuffed daybeds and panoramic windows. Junk grabbed a piece of fruit that resembled an apple and bit into it. It was delicious.
‘I can’t believe this is what you got. Is the whole ship like this?’ asked Junk.
‘No, this is first class,’ said Garvan. Lasel said something and Garvan translated with a shrug. ‘She said if we were going to steal tickets anyway, she figured we might as well steal the best.’
‘Well, it makes sense,’ said Junk. Just then there was a mounting rumble and the land-ship started moving with a judder. Junk looked out of the window and saw them leaving Corraway behind as their speed increased.
Lasel opened a door off the main room, revealing a palatial bathroom. She grinned broadly and went inside, locking the door behind her.
‘Bagsy next,’ said Junk to Garvan.
‘Bagsy?’ said Garvan. Not a word he had learned yet.
*
The journey to Arrapia would take several hours with half a dozen stops along the way, but Junk was grateful for the time to relax. He spent the best part of an hour soaking in the bathtub, which was big enough for Garvan to be able to stretch out in, so for Junk it was like lying in a swimming pool.
There was an onboard laundry service so they all sent their clothes to be cleaned and sat around the suite in robes, filling their bellies.
When it was Garvan’s turn to bathe, Lasel and Junk spent the time teaching one another words from their respective languages. Junk had a good ear and quickly started to grasp the syntax and structure of Jansian. He had once learned Portuguese in a weekend, at least well enough to avoid getting into a fight with an eighty-year-old man who wore a penguin costume and swore blind he was Elvis Presley.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Arrapia, they were all clean, fed and rested. Junk felt ready for whatever was going to happen next. However, as he turned to look out of the window of their cabin, he saw the last thing in the world he expected: the Eiffel Tower.
He stood and stared, blinking, trying to force his brain to process what he was seeing. The tower wasn’t standing erect. It was lying on its side as if its legs had buckled beneath it and it had toppled over. Vegetation had grown up and through it, but it was unmistakably the Eiffel Tower. Arrapia, he realized at that moment, was Paris. He wasn’t on an alien world. He was on his world. He was on Earth. Except Earth was an alien world to him.
12
‘How can this be … Paris?’
Junk, Lasel and Garvan were standing in the shadow of the fallen Eiffel Tower. Junk was shaking his head in disbelief.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Garvan. ‘You have one of these in your world?’
‘No,’ said Junk, turning. ‘I have this in my world. This city is Paris. It’s called Paris.’ He was sure of it. He had been to Paris, his Paris, several times over the last three years. Even though the buildings were different, he recognized the layout. The river ran next to them. It was unmistakably the Seine. Though the Pont d’Iéna was missing, as was the Champ de Mars behind them and the Jardins du Trocadéro on the opposite bank. Even though Arrapia was a city compared to Corraway, it wasn’t as built up as the Paris Junk knew.
‘How?’ he said again.
‘I don’t know,’ said Garvan.
‘What do you call this?’ He waved his arms around, gesturing to everything. ‘What do you call this planet?’
‘Jorda,’ replied Garvan, rolling the r.
‘And what does Jorda mean? The word. Translate it for me.’
‘It means “ground”,’ said Garvan. ‘Ground … Or earth.’
They stood in silence until Lasel spoke:
‘Dr Otravinicus will know,’ she said in English. She too picked up languages quickly. Though she struggled to say any more and reverted to Jansian, which Garvan had to translate.
‘We need to work out how to find him,’ Garvan repeated in English. That made sense to Junk. He nodded in agreement.
*
They found a hotel for the night. Lasel paid with the money she had stolen the day before from the bookseller in Corraway. She didn’t bother explaining to Junk and Garvan how she had got the money. The place was cheap and clean and she paid for two rooms. She took one for herself, and Garvan and Junk shared the other. The place catered for people of all shapes and sizes and the beds were easily big enough to accommodate Garvan’s bulk. However, it turned out that he snored like a bulldozer, and in the end Junk took the blanket and spent the night on the balcony outside, huddled into a rickety wooden lounger.
He looked out across the city. The buildings were made of black brick and were much larger and grander than those in Corraway. The scale of the city made him feel small and insignificant. He felt confused, which made him feel alone. He didn’t have his parents to rely on. He was still only fifteen. Even he forgot that from time to time. Because he looked older, people treated him as older, but he was still a kid. The feeling of solitude overwhelmed him and he started to cry. He fought to hold back the tears but it was a losing battle. He hugged his knees and pushed his face into the blanket to muffle his sobs.
Lasel was sitting in darkness on the balcony of her room, one along from Junk’s on the floor above. She had heard Junk come out and had watched him silently. His sadness took her by surprise and she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she say something? What could she say that he would understand? Should she ignore him? Leave him to what was clearly a private moment?
Lasel had been on her own for most of her life. Her mother had left when she was a baby. She had no memory of her. Her father was an angry man. She assumed he was bitter because her mother had left, but maybe her mother had left because of his bitterness. As far as Lasel was concerned, he did the very best he could for her but unfortunately his best was rather pathetic. She was quick-witted, fast to learn new things and she too abandoned him, when she was just seven years old. She assumed this would have made him even more angry and bitter, but she had never gone back to find out. Her old home was not far from Arrapia. Just slightly north-west of the city in a small town called Dissel. Maybe she should go back and find out what had become of him.
She pushed such thoughts away. They weren’t healthy, she told herself. That was the past. Almost ten years ago. Chances were her father was dead by now, and as she had no intention of returning home, what was the point of even remembering it?
She turned her attention back to Junk to distract herself from the memories of her childhood. He was still crying. Still trying to smother the great sobs of emotion that were pulsing through him and gave no sign of stopping. She made a decision and stood up. She swung her legs over the side of the balcony and dropped, catching hold of a baluster as she went to control her descent. She lowered herself on to the balcony below and stepped across the gap between that one and Junk’s.
Junk felt a hand on him and for a moment thought it was his mother, coming to comfort him as she would when he was little. Back when life was perfect. The moment quickly passed and he was sorry to see it go. He looked up to see Lasel. She didn’t say anything and neither did Junk. He wiped his sleeve across his face. Strangely, there was no feeling of embarrassment.
Lasel picked up one corner of his blanket and slipped underneath. She curled her arms around Junk and stroked his hair. He was tense to begin with but that quickly dissipated. He relaxed into her embrace and felt safe. He didn’t question it, even to himself. There was nothing he wanted more in the world right now than the comfort of his new friend. They both closed their eyes and slept.
*
The next morning Junk, Lasel and Garvan walked through the broad streets of Arrapia, wondering how they were going to find Dr Otravinicus. They passed a bookshop and an idea occurred to Lasel. She dashed inside and returned clutching a copy of the controversial book written by Dr Sznarzel Otravinicus. There was a photograph of the man himself on the back cover. He was small and erudite-looking with a long, thin face and a pair of pince-nez perched on the end of his nose. Something about the picture sparked a memory in Junk but he couldn’t recall what it was exactly.
‘How does this help?’ he asked, and Garvan relayed the question to Lasel. She tapped the picture.
‘Harru,’ she said, pointing. Look. The photograph had been taken on a rooftop in Arrapia. Dr Otravinicus was learning against a low wall, trying to smile but not entirely succeeding. In the background was a large, ornate building that looked, to Junk, a little like a church. It had a tower with a spire at one end. It was one of the tallest buildings in Arrapia. Lasel turned and pointed. Garvan and Junk followed her finger and saw the tip of the very same spire rising up behind some buildings at the end of the street.
*
They stood outside the property with the spire and then turned their backs to it. In front of t
hem were dozens of buildings.
‘There’s nothing to say that’s necessarily his house in the photo. Could’ve been taken anywhere,’ said Junk.
‘Have you idea different?’ asked Lasel in fractured English.
‘Nenga,’ replied Junk. They shared a smile. Lasel had been gone by the time Junk woke that morning so he had no idea how long she had spent with him, but something between them had changed. There was a link. A connection. An attraction. Junk didn’t know what it was, but he got a buzz whenever she was near him. He felt stronger just being with her. ‘Palar harru?’ He pointed to the book, hoping he had said, Can I look? He must have been close enough because Lasel held it out to him. He studied the photograph and the buildings in front of him. ‘It’s down that street,’ he said, his Jansian failing him, so Garvan translated. ‘On that side of the road.’ He waved his hand to the left side.
‘Harru … harru,’ said Lasel, taking the book from him. She pointed to a flagpole, the tip of which was visible in the photograph just behind Dr Otravinicus, at a jaunty forty-five-degree angle. They looked along the street and only one building on the left-hand side had a flagpole out front at the same angle. It meant that the photo had been taken on the rooftop of the next building along.
*
They approached the building. It was a seven-storey apartment block made from the same black brick as the rest of Arrapia. There was a large, ornate canopied entrance. So large in fact that Garvan would not have to bend down to enter.
‘What do we say to him?’ asked Junk.
‘We’ll think of something,’ said Garvan.
Junk nodded and stepped towards the door. It opened outwards before he reached it and a huge, silver-skinned man stepped out wearing a military-style greatcoat. Junk gasped and stuttered to a stop. Garvan walked into the back of him and knocked him off his feet. Junk fell to the ground and looked up. It was another Sharlem, like the man who had killed Ambeline. But not the same man.
