by David Logan
‘Palar vestum?’ he said. A phrase Junk recognized. Can I help? He realized that the man wasn’t wearing a greatcoat; he was wearing a uniform. He was a doorman. Garvan grabbed Junk by the back of his jacket and hoicked him to his feet.
‘Carrollotu criptik sonta Vontra Otravinicus,’ said Garvan. We would like to speak to Dr Otravinicus.
‘Lanatar brask?’ asked the doorman with a plastic smile. Do you have an appointment?
‘Nenga.’ No.
The plastic smile became a plastic frown. ‘Vontra Otravinicus nenga harru ambe sonti brask.’ Dr Otravinicus never sees anyone without an appointment.
‘Papakar song brask?’ How do I make an appointment?
‘Sonta Vontra Otravinicus.’ With Dr Otravinicus.
Now Garvan was getting a little confused. ‘Papakar song brask sonta Vontra Otravinicus sonti criptik sonta Vontra Otravinicus?’ How do I make an appointment with Dr Otravinicus without speaking with Dr Otravinicus?
‘Vontra Otravinicus nenga car harru ambe.’ Dr Otravinicus doesn’t like to see anyone.
‘Palar gusk lugh?’ Can I leave a note?
‘Nenga.’ No. Garvan threw up his hands in frustration. Lasel put her hand on his arm and shook her head.
‘Chiva,’ she said. Let’s go.
‘Tub …’ said Garvan, gearing up for an argument but Lasel shook her head more firmly.
‘Chiva.’ They walked away and the doorman made a point of standing and watching until they were out of sight.
*
They found a cafe and discussed their next move. Lasel pointed out that on the plus side they were right about Dr Otravinicus living there. Now all they had to do was work out how to get to him.
Junk was a bit shaken by seeing the doorman. All he could think about was whether or not he had a tattoo of a shark’s fin and five stars on his left bicep. Was he a member of the League of Sharks? Could he lead him to Ambeline’s killer?
‘Junk!’ It was Garvan. Junk hadn’t heard him calling his name repeatedly, trying to get his attention.
‘What?’ said Junk. ‘What is it?’
‘You weren’t listening,’ said Garvan.
‘Sorry.’
‘Lasel was saying we could keep watch on Otravinicus’s building and hope he comes out, but for all we know he’s a recluse. After all the trouble he got into with the Church people, he might never come out.’
‘Maybe. Yeah,’ said Junk. ‘So what do you think we should do?’
‘We get that doorman out of the way and you sneak in,’ said Garvan.
Junk shrugged. ‘OK.’
*
The doorman had a small office adjacent to the lobby. It was big enough for a small desk and a chair and he kept his lunch in a bag on the desk. He rarely spent any time in the office as it was cramped and claustrophobic. The man who had had the job before him had been half his size. It had been fine for him. The doorman had popped into the office to get a brush to sweep up some leaves that were collecting outside when he heard the front door open. He hurried out of his office to see who was there.
He was surprised to find the lobby empty. There was a chest-high counter directly outside the door to his office. This was where he usually sat. From where he was standing he couldn’t see Lasel crouched down in front of it.
‘Occootoo?’ he called, and listened. He heard nothing. He shrugged and went back into the office. Lasel kept low and scampered for the stairs. The doorman was only gone for a moment. He returned in time to see her running up the staircase. ‘AI!’ he shouted and, dropping the broom, set off after her.
The moment he was gone, Junk hurried in and hid behind the counter. He heard Lasel and the doorman coming back down. They were arguing, or rather Lasel was arguing; the doorman hardly said anything. Junk peeked out and watched as he frogmarched her outside.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Junk raced for the stairs. They were broad with deep treads. He took them two at a time, but the muscles in his legs quickly started to burn and he had to slow down.
He stopped and looked down the stairwell to see if the doorman was coming after him. He couldn’t hear anything so thought he was probably safe.
Eventually he reached the top floor. There was only one apartment. There was no name or bell next to the door so Junk decided to just knock, but as he raised his hand, he stopped. He had realized they had made a mistake. He should have been the one to distract the doorman and Lasel should have come up here. He couldn’t speak Jansian and he was pretty sure the doctor wouldn’t speak English. How was he going to explain himself? The Room of Doors. That was all he had to say. He had heard Garvan say it when he was telling Lasel Junk’s story. What was it? Tarra dei omm? No, no, that meant ticket office. It was dei-something though. Dei Varm. That was it. Bosck dei Varm. Room of Doors. He said it to himself under his breath a couple of times to make sure it sounded right, and then he knocked and waited. And waited some more. He knocked again. He waited some more. He knocked again. After all that, Dr Otravinicus wasn’t in.
There was a window at the end of the hallway. He opened it and looked out. It was a precipitous drop but there was a ledge that went all the way to an open terrace that was outside Otravinicus’s apartment. He couldn’t leave without trying absolutely everything. Maybe Otravinicus was in but ignoring the knocking on the door, or maybe he could get into his place and find a clue to his whereabouts. He took a deep breath and stepped out.
He had to close the window behind to clear his path. The wind whistled like a yawn up here, buffeting him against the side of the building. There was nothing to hold on to. The wall was smooth. He faced it, spread his arms out and moved slowly one step at a time. The ledge was narrow, only enough room on it for his toes. He kept moving until he reached the terrace and was able to grab on to the balustrade. He slithered over the top and hugged the wide expanse of stone floor.
Once his heart had stopped pounding quite so aggressively he got to his feet. He looked around and recognized the view from the photograph on the back of Otravinicus’s book. This was the exact spot where it had been taken.
He turned to the large windows and pressed his face up against them to peer inside. Dr Otravinicus’s apartment was a tip. At first, Junk wondered if he had been robbed, but as he looked closer he realized it was accumulated mess. Clothes and magazines discarded here and there. Forgotten plates of food festering. He hoped Otravinicus wasn’t dead in there somewhere. He tried the handle and found that the door was unlocked. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before opening it and stepping inside.
The apartment smelled stale, well lived in. Something was rotting here, but it wasn’t a body.
‘Occootoo,’ Junk called out. He searched his memory for the right words and remembered them. ‘Vontra Otravinicus?’ No answer.
There was a large main room that was a kitchen at one end and a living room at the other. Three doors led off it. The first was a windowless bathroom. Empty. The second an office. Also empty. And the third was a bedroom. Empty. Now what?
Junk started to look around for a clue as to where the doctor might be, but it was pointless. He couldn’t read a word of Jansian, so even if the man’s location was writ large somewhere right in front of him, he would never know. He could either wait in the hope that the doctor would soon return or go back and rejoin Garvan and Lasel in the cafe to come up with a plan B. He decided on the latter and left through the front door, which he discovered had been unlocked all along.
*
‘Well, we could try again, I suppose,’ said Garvan. ‘If Lasel or I go this time, we’ll be able to read through his papers at least. Did you leave the door unlocked?’
‘Yes,’ said Junk. ‘Of course.’
Just then a shadow fell across the table. All three looked up to see a diminutive, bespectacled man with a long, thin face. He sat down without being asked. It was Dr Otravinicus himself.
‘I’ve been sitting three tables away all morning, listening to you a-plotti
ng and a-planning,’ he said, oddly enough in English with a distinctive southern American accent. ‘It sounds like you have been trying very hard to find me. I must say I am intrigued to discover why.’
13
Otravinicus listened as Junk and Garvan took it in turns to recount their story – from the man who killed Ambeline to the reason why they were in Arrapia looking for Otravinicus. When they had finished, he was quiet and contemplative. He nodded and Junk thought he was considering whether their story was true.
‘I believe the story,’ he said eventually, as if he could read Junk’s mind. ‘It’s fascinating. Just fascinating. But if I am correct, you –’ he was addressing Junk – ‘could not find the Room of Doors again.’
‘I possibly could,’ said Junk. ‘It would depend.’
‘On?’ asked Otravinicus.
‘On Garvan. If he knew the exact spot where he caught me in his net.’
‘Well, Mr Fiske,’ said Otravinicus, turning to Garvan, ‘do you?’
‘Yes. I always go to the same spot,’ he said.
‘So the only problem …’ continued Junk, ‘… is that I don’t know how deep I was when I came through, but I assume there’s a bottom to the sea there. I went straight up. So if I was to go straight down again …’
‘In theory we could find an entrance to the Room of Doors. I would be very interested in that, Mr Doyle.’
‘Well,’ said Junk, ‘if you can help me, I can help you.’
Dr Otravinicus didn’t say anything in reply. He just sat staring at Junk and nodding his head. Then he jumped to his feet and threw some money on the table.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to my home. I have a lot to explain to you.’
*
When they returned to Dr Otravinicus’s building, the doorman glared as he saw them. Not them again! He had already had to throw them out. First the girl, and then the boy when he found him coming casually down the stairs as if he belonged there. It took him a moment to realize they were with one of the tenants. This stopped him. He spoke to Otravinicus and explained the trouble these three had caused. He wanted to call the police on them but the doctor waved him away and announced that they were his guests. The doorman did not look happy as they mounted the stairs. Junk wanted to ask Otravinicus about the League of Sharks and the doorman’s possible connection to them, but he felt it wasn’t the best time. It would have to wait.
When they reached the apartment the doctor threw off his coat. It fell on top of some other clothes in a pile by the front door.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Throw your coats anywhere. Can I get you anything? I don’t really have anything.’ All three said no. The doctor opened up the door to the terrace, picked up some newspapers and magazines from one of the large sofas and tossed them into a convenient but already cluttered corner. He threw himself back. ‘Sit anywhere. Just push things out of your way. I’ll tidy up later.’ No one believed that. The three of them found places to sit. ‘Junk – interesting name, by the way. Maybe you and I are kindred spirits. Go to that bookshelf. There’s a book of maps at the bottom. Fetch it here, will you?’
Junk did as requested and found an atlas. He took it over to Otravinicus, who laid it on the coffee table in front of him and opened it up to a double-page map of the world of Jorda. Junk saw immediately how impressively accurate Garvan’s sketch in the sand had been.
‘Where to start? Where to start?’ said Otravinicus. ‘The beginning is always a good place, but in this instance it’s hard to say where exactly the beginning resides. This is a map of the world as it is today. You have of course realized by now that you’re on Earth, that Arrapia was called Paris in your day.’
‘My day?’ asked Junk, frowning.
‘Your day, hard as this may be to comprehend, was some three million years ago.’ He let the words hang in the air. The very idea made Junk’s brain throb. He massaged his temples and shook his head, as if he could make all the hundreds of thoughts currently raging through his mind sort themselves out with a little jiggle. It didn’t work exactly, though one thought did rise to the top.
‘But the Eiffel Tower … ?’ he said, the question finding its own form as the words came out of his mouth. ‘Metal wouldn’t last that long, would it?’ He wasn’t one hundred per cent sure. ‘I mean iron would rust away to nothing over such a long time. Wouldn’t it?’
‘You’re not wrong,’ said Otravinicus, ‘except it’s not iron. It’s not actually the same Eiffel Tower at all. It was replaced at some point in its lifetime, when exactly is unknown, with a synthetic metal called falakite.’
‘Never heard of it,’ said Junk.
‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ said Otravinicus. ‘It would have been a good while after your time. Falakite is virtually indestructible, as far as anything can be. It weakens, hence it being on its side now, but it’ll be there for another three million years and maybe three million years after that. No one knows exactly. There are bits and pieces of falakite all over the planet.’
Otravinicus turned his attention back to the map in front of him. ‘This is what your world looks like today.’ He wafted a hand across the book.
‘Ireland’s gone,’ is all Junk could think to say.
‘Land masses change over such a period of time. Usually with some help. Countries come and go.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Junk. ‘Help? What help?’
‘Technology and industry from your time and for several centuries after, possibly even for millennia, ravaged the planet. Absolutely devastated it. You were a short-sighted bunch. Your cities grew bigger and bigger. You cut down forests. Decimated the ice caps. Sea levels rose. The Final War split continents. I mean that literally. I’m massively oversimplifying thousands of years of misuse and stupidity of course. The thing is, geologically speaking, ape-descended man was a blip. A footnote. We try not to make the same mistakes but end up making brand-new ones.’
‘What do you mean, “blip”?’ asked Junk.
‘There are no ape-descendants on the planet any more. Humans who evolved from apes died out completely about two thousand years after your time. So that would be what? About the mid-forty-first century? Am I correct? I studied your calendar system, but it’s been a while.’
Junk just nodded. This was a lot to take in. ‘So we destroyed ourselves?’
‘Don’t feel bad about it. You would have been long dead by then, and your children’s children’s children’s children would all be dead too. No one’s quite sure now, but they think there were about eighteen billion people on the planet by the end. Earth just wasn’t able to sustain that kind of population. You tried to cheat nature. You tried to play God in so many ways: genetically modified foods and genetically modified people and genetically modified animals. In the end it was a disease, we think, of your own making that wiped you out. Your legacy changed the face of the world to what you see now.
‘Ironically though, many people, myself included, believe that it was your playing God that’s responsible for us –’ he gestured to himself, Lasel and Garvan – ‘being here today.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Junk. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, history is …’ he searched for the word, ‘… patchy at best’ was all he could come up with. ‘You see, a few hundred years ago the Church had a cull of sorts. A cull on the past. The Church doesn’t believe we are the result of scientific endeavour of course. The Church never does.’
‘Same in my time,’ said Junk.
The doctor continued. ‘They tried, and for the most part succeeded in, eradicating history. There are huge gaping holes in our knowledge, but as far as we can tell, you – by which I mean ape-descendants – were tinkering with the DNA of our ancestors. You know DNA, right? That wasn’t after your time?’
‘No, I know all about it. Did a project on it at school. Deoxyribonucleic acid – DNA.’ Junk repeated it for no other reason than that was pretty much all he remembered on the subject.
/> Otravinicus went on. ‘Well, at the same time you were destroying yourselves by perverting your own DNA you were pushing forward the building blocks of our evolution by perverting our DNA. In much the same way that your distant ancestors were apes, I can trace my genetic code to the genus Capra.’
Junk looked blank.
‘Goats,’ said Otravinicus to clarify.
‘Goats?’ said Junk, wondering if this was a joke. Though when he stopped and looked at Otravinicus, he could see something a little goat-like about him. Otravinicus was a small, slight man with a puny, insubstantial body. His neck didn’t look robust enough to be able to hold up his oversized head, which was looking more and more bulbous to Junk now he scrutinized it, but it did, so appearances must be deceptive. His limbs were long but anorexically thin. When the man sat, it was clear through the material of his trousers that his thigh was only a little wider than Junk’s (admittedly muscular) forearm.
‘Mr Fiske here clearly shares his ancestry with the noble elephant.’ No argument there from Junk. That made perfect sense. Otravinicus continued. ‘From his size, I would say genus Loxodonta. For Ms Mowtay, I would hazard a guess at Cervine.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Junk.
‘Deer and the like,’ replied the doctor. He looked to Lasel for confirmation and she nodded. That made sense too. The big round eyes and impossibly long legs. Maybe her agile movement as well, but then Junk thought about it and he assumed his ape ancestors were a lot more agile than he would ever be, so Lasel’s grace was less a product of her evolution than a result of her environment.
Junk looked at Lasel. ‘You’re a deer?’
‘You’re a monkey,’ she pointed out with a smirk. Junk smiled back.
‘We’re no more goat and deer and elephant than you are an orang-utan,’ said Otravinicus. ‘Your descendants gave our ancestors a prod in the right direction. Everything else was evolution.’
‘You know how crazy this sounds, right?’ said Junk. ‘Back in my time, there were still people who didn’t accept that we evolved from apes. Who knows what they’d make of the idea of all animals evolving.’
