Before the Storm

by Sean McMullen

Even Emily had been to enough parades to know that Fox’s salute was not even remotely like anything done on British ships.

  ‘Ah, so you are a sailor, then?’ asked Mrs Lang.

  ‘Sailor, formerly, ma’am! Status, discharged. Employment, local, seeking.’

  It was soon established that Fox had arrived in Melbourne that same day, that his baggage had been stolen, and that he had lost his papers during the rescue.

  ‘Oh you poor boy, and now your clothes have been soaked!’ cried Mrs Lang. ‘What are you to do? You simply must come home with us!’

  Brighton was six miles south of the river, and the doctor drove his gig down St Kilda Road with his four passengers crammed onto a seat designed for two. Emily noticed that Fox looked about continually, and seemed confused and puzzled. Suddenly he stared to the left.

  ‘Imperial War Academy!’ he exclaimed softly.

  ‘No, that’s Wesley College,’ said Daniel. ‘I go to school there.’

  Fox glanced about nervously, said, ’Mistaken,’ then sat back and put a hand to his head.

  ‘There, there, Fox, the excitement has confused you,’ said Mrs Lang soothingly. ‘You will be back to your old self after a hot bath and a good dinner.’

  By the time the Lang family got home it was late in the afternoon. The maid was told to start a fire in the living room grate, and to boil water for three baths. Emily bathed quickly, then dressed while the maid emptied the tub. She entered the living room to find Daniel and Fox sitting with her mother, both wrapped in blankets.

  ‘Next, you are,’ said Fox to Daniel as he caught sight of Emily.

  ‘Oh, that is very kind of you young man, but you are the guest,’ insisted Mrs Lang.

  ‘Being wet, am often,’ replied Fox. ‘Daniel, needs, more urgent.’

  Mrs Lang left the room with Daniel, calling to the maid to fetch dry clothes for him.

  ‘I would be dead were it not for you,’ said Emily awkwardly.

  ‘To rescue, my honour,’ replied Fox.

  ‘You probably think us so pitiful.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Daniel not knowing how to swim, and me able to do nothing but scream. He stood up in the boat, you know. I think it was just to tease me.’

  ‘Myself, money, home, have none. Rescuing, myself, you are.’

  ‘Why Fox, that is a very sweet way to put it.’

  Mrs Lang returned with her sleeves still rolled up. She collapsed into an armchair and put a hand to her forehead.

  ‘Fox, I do apologise again for keeping you waiting in wet clothes, but as you can see, my children are, well, frail compared to someone like you.’

  ‘Acknowledged.’

  ‘And you were a sailor …’ began Mrs Lang, then she realised that all her small talk about sailors was about how rough and dirty they were. ‘I … saw sailors at work on the voyage out here,’ she finally managed. ‘You … are the first sailor I have spoken to, however.’

  ‘Impression, satisfactory, perhaps?’ replied Fox.

  ‘Oh indeed. A good impression, a wonderful impression. But tell me, young Fox, you seem very well spoken, and, ah, well-mannered for a sailor.’

  ‘Acknowledged, ah, on target.’

  Odd, he does not seem to know how to express his thanks to people, thought Emily.

  ‘And your family?’ asked Mrs Lang.

  ‘Family? No target.’

  ‘Your mother and father, your parents.’

  ‘Kensington hatchery.’

  ‘Ah, they were poultry farmers? But Kensington does not sound like a Norwegian name.’

  For a moment Fox looked really tense, and he frowned slightly in thought.

  ‘Ship sank, all died,’ he declared, as if he wished to terminate the subject.

  ‘Oh, I am so, so sorry!’ exclaimed Mrs Lang with genuine horror, swaying a little, as if about to faint. ‘How terrible. But how did you survive?’

  ‘Can swim.’

  ‘Ah, now it all makes sense!’

  ‘So when you saw Daniel and me in difficulties, it reminded you of how your own parents died?’ asked Emily.

  Fox gave her an uneasy, deferential glance.

  ‘Parents, yes,’ he replied, nodding slightly.

  ‘Such a fine young man, and all alone in the world,’ said Mrs Lang, dabbing at one eye with a handkerchief. ‘Well, perhaps we can be a family to you, Fox.’

  ‘Family?’ asked Fox. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes. You simply must accept our help while you get your life in order. You could visit us here, and play with Emily and Daniel.’

  ‘Play?’ asked Fox, as if he had never heard the word.

  ‘Oh goodness, you really have lost your childhood,’ said Mrs Lang. ‘Never mind, first things first. You must have a bath, and while your clothes are being scrubbed and dried, you can wear something from Daniel’s wardrobe and have dinner with us.’

  Daniel called out that he was done with the bathroom, and now Mrs Lang sent Emily to have the maid bring more hot water and dry towels. Fox and Daniel were roughly the same height, so the fit of Daniel’s clothes was not much of a problem.

  With the change of clothes and the towels under her arm, Emily burst into the bathroom … to be confronted by Fox already undressed and sitting up in the bath. Emily saw lurid red stripes criss-crossing his back. He looked around as Emily gasped.

  ‘I … I brought you a towel, and, um, clothes,’ she stammered, so mortified and embarrassed that she stood frozen to the spot. ‘Danny’s clothes.’

  Fox nodded, his face blank. ‘Thank you, Miss.’

  Suddenly Emily realised that the strange, striped pattern on his back was not an undershirt.

  ‘Fox, your back!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Scars, Miss.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Flogged, I was.’

  There was a brief silence as the words registered with Emily. Flogged. That was something that only happened to sailors who misbehaved.

  ‘I, um, yes, flogged,’ she managed. ‘That happens to sailors. I’ve read of it in Danny’s adventure books. I’m not supposed to read adventure books, so I do it in secret.’

  ‘Floggings, happen,’ said Fox.

  ‘But you’re a child … well, a youth, that is, a young man. I mean, like Daniel.’

  ‘Discipline, on ships, strict.’

  ‘Goodness,’ whispered Emily, still staring at the scars. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Insolence. Fifty lashes.’

  ‘Fifty! Goodness. You must be awfully brave. Daniel once got six strokes of the cane at school, he could not sit down without a cushion for days. How old were you when it happened?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘I … goodness! Fifteen. My goodness, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Apologies, not required.’

  Suddenly remembering that she was alone with a naked youth, Emily snatched up Fox’s wet clothes and backed out, then pulled the bathroom door closed behind her. For some moments she stood very still with her back to the door. Fox had been flogged while the same age as Daniel.

  ‘Three reporting, serial K37WCB0542. Trans.’

  The words had come from within the bathroom, and the voice belonged to Fox.

  ‘Accident, boating, saved children. Maintenance facilities, courtly family, offered. Feeding, also. Currency, supplied, shillings, ten. Supplies, medical, available. Returning, estimate, twenty-two hundred. Trans.’

  Another pause. It was as if Fox were talking to someone at the other end of one of the speaking tubes like they had in the big emporium stores.

  ‘Status, neutral. Status, self? Trans.’

  Emily remembered that Fox had referred to himself as Three. There was definitely something military about him, she was also sure of that.

  ‘Understood. Trans end,’ concluded Fox.

  Emily waited until she heard the bath water begin to splash again before she tiptoed away.

  Emily felt very self-conscious as she emptied the pockets of Fox’s clothes. The fact
that there was something very, very odd about him made her curious to know more about who he was, but it felt like spying and nice girls were not supposed to do that sort of thing. The pocket of his shirt contained a silvery thing about the size of a pen, but there was no nib. In his trouser pockets were a few coins, a handkerchief with IWA embroidered on it, and some type of clasp knife. His jacket pockets were empty, but in three places there were faint, brownish singes in the violet material, as if someone had pressed the tip of a red-hot poker into the cloth for a moment. The jacket had a double row of silver buttons with some sort of crest embossed on them. Emily bundled everything into the damp handkerchief, but as she picked up the trousers again, her fingers felt something else in a hidden pocket. She took it out.

  The thing was like a block of smooth, black rubber, trailing black cords and inset with coloured glass that looked like jewels. The word ’Sony’ was embossed in silver along one side. A Sony? she thought, feeling that the name might apply to a toy. She began to examine it, turning it over in her fingers. One of the tiny jewels clicked as she touched it, and a bright light flared in Emily’s face. She dropped the device on the table in front of her.

  A patch of light about a yard square lit up the blank wall beside the table, and it suddenly became a moving picture like in the new cinemas … except that this picture was in colour, and sounds were coming from somewhere within the Sony. Emily stood frozen with astonishment.

  On the wall, images of young soldiers in violet and black uniforms like Fox’s were dashing about. They were carrying short, stubby rifles that shot fire with a squeaking, hissing sound, like a cork being drawn across a bottle. The scene was a blur of flashing lights, running figures, bodies, blood, smoke and flames. Voices shouted orders in the same clipped, precise English that Fox used, and the soldiers referred to each other as numbers. The leader was a thin but stunningly handsome youth with dark hair. There was a long cut down the right side of his forehead, and it was bleeding.

  For all the smoke, confusion, blood and death before her eyes, the sight of the youth that the others kept calling BC drew Emily’s eyes more than anything else. He shouted the precise orders, led the way, and sprayed fire from his strange rifle as they ran. Dark figures appeared at the end of a corridor, figures that fired pretty sparkles of light that began to cut down BC’s soldiers. BC stood his ground, shooting back at the attackers as one more of those beside him fell.

  ‘Squad! Go! I cover!’ he barked, then there was a bright flash and he fell, still shooting. Someone else charged past him, there was a blast of fire, then all was silent.

  Emily suddenly realised that she was watching the scene from the perspective of someone who was one of BC’s own soldiers. It was like the time she had acted in a school play, watching the story as one of the characters would see it. This was definitely no play, however. The watcher glanced about, saw nobody else standing, then hurried through the swirling smoke to where BC lay.

  ‘Three, go!’ cried BC, clutching his bleeding stomach.

  Three! Emily remembered from the conversation heard through the bathroom door that Fox had called himself Three. Three. Fox Essthree? FoxS3? Three bent over BC, who tried to push him away with bloodied hands. Although contorted with pain and smeared with blood and soot, his face was still strangely handsome, almost beautiful.

  ‘Leave me!’ cried BC. ‘Temporan machine, plan follow, NineFive, prevent.’

  ‘Bombs set,’ shouted Fox’s voice. ‘Temporan machine, for two, have configured!’

  ‘Leave me, am dying!’ cried BC.

  ‘Timeslip, in three, detonation, in five!’ replied FoxS3. ‘One, two, three!’

  The scene suddenly changed to the words ’battery low’, then winked out.

  Drained, shaken, unsteady on her feet, and fighting the urge to be sick, Emily added the device to what was bundled in the handkerchief. Next she rushed off to the toilet and vomited up her lunch, the mug of chocolate, and some river water. She was washing her face in a hand basin when the maid arrived.

  ‘Yer father’s ’ome, Miss Emily, and young Danny’s telling him rare, wild stories ’bout Master Fox an’ the rescue,’ she warned.

  ‘I shall go to him too, Martha. Now here are Master Fox’s clothes. Wash them quickly, and put them in the drying cabinet.’

  ‘They’ll be hours dryin’, Miss. Ooh aye! Expensivelookin’ threads, the young master has.’

  ‘He is a sailor,’ replied Emily, confused by the maid’s opinion.

  ‘Odd cut about ’em, too. I reckon ’e’s an officer.’ ’He has just recently arrived, on a foreign ship. They must dress like that in, um, Norway.’

  ‘’Ere, there’s no buttons on ’is trousers! Only … well, they looks like little teeth.’

  ‘Just get along and wash them, Martha!’

  Emily picked up the things wrapped in the handkerchief and made her way to the bathroom. Reaching the door, she hesitated for a moment as something nagged at the back of her mind. She examined the coins again. There were ten shillings in florins, all from the 1890s. An 1897 sixpence looked familiar enough, as did the pennies and halfpennies. She picked out another silver coin, stared at the writing, then very nearly dropped it in surprise. The writing on it declared the monarch to be Charles III. Was Charles the king of Norway? Emily wondered. At that moment there was a clack from the latch of the bathroom door. She dropped the coin back into the handkerchief as Fox emerged. Emily blinked in surprise to see someone else wearing her brother’s clothes.

  ‘Um, Master Fox, I emptied your pockets before giving your things to the maid to wash!’ she stammered as Fox stopped before her.

  ‘Thanks, to you, Miss,’ Fox replied softly, as he accepted the little bundle.

  Over dinner, it was Mr Lang’s turn to question Fox about his background.

  ‘And how did you survive the shipping accident that claimed your family?’ he asked.

  ‘Can swim,’ Fox reiterated.

  ‘Ah, quite so, quite so. And now you are alone in the world, as my dear wife and I would have been were it not for you. How do you cope with the sadness?’

  ‘Training,’ replied Fox simply. ‘Was distraction.’

  ‘Quite so, sensible attitude. Bit of a jog around the football field does wonders to clear the mind and lift the gloom, what? Do it myself. Now, what about work? I could have a word to old Aitkinson, the grocer. He needs a smart boy to do deliveries. Can you ride a bike?’

  ‘Norton 750CC, cadet standard, liaison class, all-terrain …’ began Fox, before he suddenly caught himself and forced his face into a blank expression.

  ‘A bike, lad, a bicycle. Two wheels, you pedal, it moves.’

  ‘Cycle!’ exclaimed Fox in relief. ‘Yes, cycle, for use, am trained.’

  ‘Ah, good, good. Now look here, Fox, I think that the best course is for you to work for old Aitkinson for a few weeks, delivering groceries. It will earn you some shillings to get by while you look around for a proper apprenticeship, so that you can better yourself. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Room, in hostelry.’

  ‘Ah, splendid, but there is a spare room here, bear that in mind. What profession takes your fancy?’

  ‘Electricity, is future.’

  ‘Electricity, eh? Smart lad, smart lad. Good prospects in electricity. But you know, I’ve been thinking. You could do better.’

  ‘Better?’

  Mr Lang got up and walked over to the mantelpiece, above which several guns were mounted. He selected a stubby pistol.

  ‘David!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘Keep that horrible thing away from the dinner table.’

  ‘Please dear, there is no need for formality,’ Mr Lang said as he held the pistol out to Fox. ‘What can you tell me about this, young man?’

  Fox took the weapon and examined it briefly.

  ‘Lancaster, 1882, thirty-eight calibre, four barrels, brake action striker, unjammable, effective usage, close quarters.’

  There was a short silence.

&
nbsp; ‘Astounding,’ breathed Mr Lang. ‘All perfectly correct. And tell me, Fox, what is its use?’

  ‘Circumstances, extreme danger, when needed quickly, fire with certainty, close range.’

  ‘Yes, yes, all quite correct. I knew it! You have an interest in weapons. You are as brave as a lion, as fit as a bull, and you have a natural military bearing about you. Young man, you should consider a career in the army. Once you are a British citizen why, you could become a captain in no time at all.’

  ‘Army, Sir?’ responded Fox suspiciously.

  ‘Oh yes! You have an education, in spite of your halting English. That’s a big plus next to your name. Mind you, people need connections to get ahead in today’s military, but I have those connections. It would be the British army, mind, no future in our stupid little colonial militias. You would have to go to England, but I know people who know people.’

  ‘Am grateful,’ replied Fox with deference. ‘Your offer, shall consider.’

  After dinner Mr Lang retired to his study, and Mrs Lang sat with Fox and her children in the living room, before the fire.

  ‘Fox, would you really go to England and join the army?’ asked Emily as she stared into the hot coals.

  ‘If ordered, Miss.’

  ‘But you are not on your ship now, there is nobody to order you to do anything.’

  Fox looked as if he were about to say something, then frowned. ‘Correct,’ he conceded. ‘Habit, discipline, persisting.’

  ‘Your speech really is very precise and, well, military sounding,’ observed Mrs Lang.

  ‘At sea, years,’ replied Fox slowly. ‘Ship discipline, like military.’

  ‘You are wonderfully well spoken for a foreigner, even if you do sound a little formal,’ said Emily. ‘What are you interested in?’

  Fox froze for a moment. ‘History. Natural philosophy.’

  Suddenly Emily realised that Fox never said ’um’, ’ah’, or ’er’. He thought about what he had been asked, his face blank, then he replied.

  ‘Oh I know all about natural philosophy,’ said Daniel, pleased to discover something in common with his rescuer. ‘Can you name the planets?’

  ‘Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, asteroids, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, the double planet Charon and Cerebus, and Terminus.’