Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency Box Set

by Douglas Adams

  There were definitely fewer still of them now, a mere handful left. He had a distinct sense of people slipping away into the shadows and not reemerging from them.

  He frowned at them.

  The shadows were deep but they weren’t that deep. He began to hurry forward, and quickly threw all caution aside to reach the small remaining group. But by the time he reached the center of the concourse where they had been gathered there were none remaining at all, and he was left whirling around in confusion in the middle of the great, dark, empty railway station.

  26

  THE ONLY THING which prevented Kate from screaming was the sheer pressure of air rushing into her lungs as she hurtled into the sky.

  When, a few seconds later, the blinding acceleration eased a little, she found she was gulping and choking, her eyes were stinging and streaming to the extent that she could hardly see, and there was hardly a muscle in her body which wasn’t gibbering with shock as waves of air pummeled past her, tearing at her hair and clothes and making her knees, knuckles and teeth batter at each other.

  She had to struggle with herself to suppress her urge to struggle. On the one hand she absolutely certainly did not want to be let go of. Insofar as she had any understanding at all of what was happening to her she knew that she did not want to be let go of. On the other hand the physical shock of it was facing some stiff competition from her sheer affronted rage at being suddenly hauled into the sky without warning. The result of this was that she struggled rather feebly and was angry at herself for doing so. She ended up clinging to Thor’s arm in the most abject and undignified way.

  The night was dark, and the blessing of this, she supposed, was that she could not see the ground. The lights she had seen dotted here and there in the distance now swung sickeningly away beneath her, but her instincts would not identify them as representing ground. Already the flickering beacons which shone from the insanely turreted building she had glimpsed seconds before this outrage occurred were swaying away behind her now at an increasing distance.

  They were still ascending.

  She could not struggle, she could not speak. She could probably, if she tried, bite the stupid brute’s arm, but she contented herself with the idea of this rather than the actual deed.

  The air was bad and rasped in her lungs. Her nose and eyes were streaming, and this made it impossible for her to look forward. When she did try it, just once, she caught a momentary blurred glimpse of the head of the hammer streaking out through the dark air ahead of them, of Thor’s arm grasping its stunted handle and being pulled forward by it. His other arm was gripped around her waist. The strength of him defied her imagination but did not make her any the less angry.

  She got the feeling that they were now skimming along just beneath the clouds. Every now and then they would be buffeted by damp clamminess, and breathing would become yet harder and more noxious. The wet air tasted bitter and deadly cold, and her streaming wet hair lashed and slammed about her face.

  She decided that the cold was definitely going to kill her, and after a while was convinced that she was beginning to lose consciousness. In fact she realized she was actually trying to lose consciousness but she couldn’t. Time slipped into a grayness though, and she was less aware of how much of it was passing.

  At last she began to sense that they were slowing and that they were beginning to curve back downward. This precipitated fresh waves of nausea and disorientation in her, and she felt that her stomach was being slowly turned through a mangle.

  The air was, if anything, getting worse. It smelled worse, tasted more acrid and seemed to be getting a great deal more turbulent. They were definitely slowing now, and the going was becoming more and more difficult. The hammer was clearly pointing downward now, and finding its way along rather than surging ahead.

  Down still farther they went, battling through the thickening clouds that swirled around them till it seemed that they must now reach all the way down to the ground.

  Their speed had dropped to the point where Kate felt able to look ahead now, though the acridity of the air was such that she was only able to manage a very brief glance. In the moment that she glanced, Thor released the hammer. She couldn’t believe it. He released it only for a fraction of a second, just to change his grip on the thing, so that they were now hanging from the shaft as it flew slowly forward, rather than being pulled along by it. As he redistributed his weight into this new posture he hoisted Kate firmly upward as if pulling up a sock. Down they went, and down farther and farther.

  There was now a roaring, crashing sound borne in on them by the wind from up ahead, and suddenly Thor was running, leaping over rocky, sandy scrubland, dancing through the knotted tussocks, and finally pounding and drumming his feet to a halt.

  They stood still at last, swaying, but the ground on which they stood was solid.

  Kate bent over to catch her breath. She then pulled herself up to her full height and was about to deliver a full account of her feelings concerning these events at the top of her voice, when she suddenly got an alarming sense of where she was standing.

  Though the night was dark, the wind whipping at her and the pungent smell of it told her that some kind of sea was very close by. The sound of wild crashing breakers told her that in fact it was more or less beneath her, that they were standing very near to the edge of a cliff. She gripped the arm of the insufferable god who had brought her here and hoped, vainly, that it hurt him.

  As her reeling senses began gradually to calm down she noticed that there was a dim light spreading away before her, and after a while she realized that this was coming off the sea.

  The whole sea was glowing like an infection. It was rearing itself up in the night, lunging and thrashing in a turmoil of itself and then smashing itself to pieces in a frenzy of pain against the rocks of the coast. Sea and sky seethed at each other in a poisonous fury.

  Kate watched it speechlessly, and then became aware of Thor standing at her shoulder.

  “I met you at an airport,” he said, his voice breaking up in the wind. “I was trying to get home to Norway by plane.” He pointed out to sea. “I wanted you to see why I couldn’t come this way.”

  “Where are we? What is this?” asked Kate fearfully.

  “In your world, this is the North Sea,” said Thor and turned away inland again, walking heavily and dragging his hammer behind him.

  Kate pulled her wet coat close around her and hurried after him.

  “Well, why didn’t you just fly home the way we just did, but in, well, in our world?”

  The rage in her had subsided into vague worries about vocabulary.

  “I tried,” responded Thor, still walking away.

  “Well, what happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “What on earth’s the point of that?”

  “I’m not going to discuss it.”

  Kate shuddered in exasperation. “Is this godlike behavior?” she shouted. “It bothers you so you won’t talk about it?”

  “Thor! Thor! Is it you?”

  This last was a thin voice trailing over the wind. Kate peered into the wind. Through the darkness a lantern was bobbing toward them from behind a low rise.

  “Is that you, Thor?” A little old lady came into view, holding a lantern above her head, hobbling enthusiastically. “I thought that must be your hammer I saw. Welcome!” she chirruped. “Oh, but you come in dismal times. I was just putting the pot on and thinking of having a cup of something and then perhaps killing myself, but then I said to myself, just wait a couple of days longer. Tsuliwa . . . Tsuwila . . . Swuli . . . Tsuliwaënsis—I can never pronounce my own name properly when I’m talking to myself, and it drives me hopping mad, as I’m sure you can imagine, such a bright boy as I’ve always maintained, never mind what those others say, so I said to myself, Tsuliwaënsis, see if anyone comes along, and if they don’t, well, then might be a good time to think about killing myself. And look! Now here you are! O
h, but you are welcome, welcome! And I see you’ve brought a little friend. Are you going to introduce me? Hello, my dear, hello! My name’s Tsuliwaënsis and I won’t be at all offended if you stutter.”

  “I . . . I’m, er, Kate,” said Kate, totally flummoxed.

  “Yes, well I’m sure that will be all right,” said the old woman sharply. “Anyway, come along if you’re coming. If you’re going to hang around out here all night I may as well just get straight on with killing myself now and let you get your own tea when you’re quite ready. Come along!”

  She hurried on ahead, and in a very few yards they reached a terrible kind of ramshackle structure of wood and mud which looked as if it had become unaccountably stuck while halfway through collapsing. Kate glanced at Thor, hoping to read some kind of reaction from him to give her a bearing on the situation, but he was occupied with his own thoughts and was clearly not about to share them. There seemed to her to be a difference in the way he moved, though. In the brief experience she had of him he seemed constantly to be struggling with some internal and constrained anger, and this, she felt, had lifted. Not gone away, just lifted. He stood aside to allow her to enter Tsuliwaënsis’s shack, and brusquely gestured her to go in. He followed, ducking absurdly, a few seconds later, having paused for a moment outside to survey what little could be seen of the surrounding landscape.

  Inside was tiny. A few boards with straw for a bed, a simmering pot hung over a fire, and a box tucked away in the corner for sitting on.

  “And this is the knife I was thinking of using, you see,” said Tsuliwaënsis, fussing around. “Just been sharpening it up nicely, you see. It comes up very nice if you get a nice sweeping action with the stone, and I was thinking here would be a good place, you see? Here on the wall, I can stick the handle in this crack so it’s held nice and firm, and then just go fling! And fling myself at it. Fling! You see? I wonder, should it be a little lower, what do you think, my dear? Know about these things, do you?”

  Kate explained that she did not, and managed to sound reasonably calm about it.

  “Tsuliwaënsis,” said Thor, “we have come not to stay but to . . . Tsuli—please put the knife down.”

  Tsuliwaënsis was standing looking up at them quite chirpily, but she was also holding the knife, with its great heavy sweeping blade poised over her own left wrist.

  “Don’t mind me, dears,” she said, “I’m quite comfortable. I can just pop off any time I’m ready. Happy to. These times are not to live in. Oh, no. You go off and be happy. I won’t disturb your happiness with the sound of me screaming. I’ll hardly make a sound with the knife as you go.” She stood quivering and challenging.

  Carefully, almost gently. Thor reached out and drew the knife away and out of her shaking hand. The old woman seemed to crumple as it went, and all the performance faded out of her. She sat back in a heap on her box. Thor squatted down in front of her, slowly drew her to him and hugged her. She gradually seemed to come back to life and eventually pushed him away, telling him not to be so stupid, and then made a bit of a fuss of smoothing out her hopelessly ragged and dirty black dress.

  When once she had composed herself properly she turned her attention to Kate and looked her up and down.

  “You’re a mortal, dear, aren’t you?” she said at last.

  “Well . . . yes,” said Kate.

  “I can tell it from your fancy dress. Oh, yes. Well, now you see what the world looks like from the other side, don’t you, dear? What do you think then?”

  Kate explained that she did not yet know what to think. Thor sat himself down on the floor and leaned his big head back against the wall, half-closing his eyes. Kate had the sense that he was preparing himself for something.

  “It used to be things were not so different,” continued the old woman. “Used to be lovely here, you know, all lovely. Bit of give and take between us. Terrible rows, of course, terrible fights, but really it was all lovely. Now?” She let out a long and tired sigh, and brushed a bit of nothing much off the wall.

  “Oh, things are bad,” she said, “things are very bad. You see things get affected by things. Our world affects your world, your world affects our world. Sometimes it is hard to know exactly what that effect is. Very often it is hard to like it, either. Most of them, these days, are difficult and bad. But our worlds are so nearly the same in so many ways. Where in your world you have a building there will be a structure here as well. Maybe it will be a small muddy hillock, or a beehive, or an abode like this one. Maybe it will be something a little grander, but it will be something. You all right, Thor, dear?”

  The Thunder God closed his eyes and nodded. His elbows lay easily across his knees. The ragged strips of Kate’s nightgown bound about his left forearm were limp and wet. He idly pushed them off.

  “And where there is something which is not dealt with properly in your world,” the old lady prattled on, “as like as not it will emerge in ours. Nothing disappears. No guilty secret. No unspoken thought. It may be a new and mighty god in our world, or it may be just a gnat, but it will be here. I might add that these days it is more often a gnat than a new and mighty god. Oh, there are so many more gnats and fewer immortal gods than once there were.”

  “How can there be fewer immortals?” asked Kate. “I don’t want to be pedantic about it, but—”

  “Well, there’s being immortal, dear, and then again there’s being immortal. I mean, if I could just get this knife properly secured and then work up a really good fling, we’d soon see who was immortal and who wasn’t.”

  “Tsuli . . .” admonished Thor, but didn’t open his eyes to do it.

  “One by one we’re going, though. We are, Thor. You’re one of the few that care. There’s few enough now that haven’t succumbed to alcoholism or the onx.”

  “What is that? Some kind of disease?” asked Kate. She was beginning to feel cross again. Having been dragged unwillingly from her flat and hurled across the whole of East Anglia on the end of a hammer, she was irritated at being abandoned to a conversation with an insanely suicidal old woman while Thor just sat and looked content with himself, leaving her to make an effort she was not in a mood to make.

  “It’s an affliction, dear, which only gods get. It really means that you can’t take being a god any more, which is why only gods get it, you see.”

  “I see.”

  “In the final stages of it you simply lie on the ground and after a while a tree grows out of your head and then it’s all over. You rejoin the earth, seep into its bowels, flow through its vital arteries, and eventually emerge as a great pure torrent of water, and as like as not get a load of chemical waste dumped into you. It’s a grim business being a god nowadays, even a dead god.

  “Well,” she said, patting her knees. Her eyes hovered on Thor, who had opened his eyes but was only using them to stare at his own knuckles and fingertips. “Well, I hear you have an appointment tonight, Thor.”

  “Hmm,” grunted Thor, without moving.

  “I hear you’ve called together the Great Hall for the Challenging Hour, is that right?”

  “Hmm,” said Thor.

  “The Challenging Hour, hmm? Well, I know that things have not been too good between you and your father for a long time. Hmm?”

  Thor wasn’t going to be drawn. He said nothing.

  “I thought it was quite dreadful about Wales,” continued Tsuliwaënsis. “Don’t know why you stood for it. Of course I realize that he’s your father and the All-Father, which makes it difficult. But, Odin, Odin—I’ve known him for so long. You know that he made a deal once to sacrifice one of his own eyes in exchange for wisdom? Of course you do, dear, you’re his son, aren’t you? Well, what I’ve always said is he should stand up and make a fuss about that particular deal, demand his eye back. Do you know what I mean by that, Thor? And that horrible Toe Rag. There’s someone to be careful of, Thor, very careful indeed. Well, I expect I shall hear all about it in the morning, won’t I?”

  Thor slid
his back up the wall and stood up. He clasped the old woman warmly by the hands and smiled a tight smile, but said nothing. With a slight nod he gestured to Kate that they were leaving. Since leaving was what she most wanted in all the world to do, she resisted the temptation to say “Oh yeah?” and kick up a fuss about being treated like this. Meekly she bade a polite farewell to the old woman and made her way out into the murky night. Thor followed her.

  She folded her arms and said. “Well? Where now? What other great social events have you got in store for me this evening?”

  Thor prowled around a little, examining the ground. He pulled out his hammer and weighed it appreciatively in his hands. He peered out into the night and swung the hammer idly a couple of times. He swung himself round a couple of times, again not hard. He loosed the hammer, which bounded off into the night and split open a casually situated rock a couple of dozen yards away and then bounded back. He caught it easily, tossed it up into the air and caught it easily again.

  Then he turned to her and looked her in the eye for the first time.

  “Would you like to see something?” he asked.

  27

  A GUST OF wind blew through the huge vaults of the empty station and nearly provoked in Dirk a great howl of frustration at the trail that had so suddenly gone cold on him. The cold moonlight draped itself through the long ranges of glass panels that extended the length of the Saint Pancras station roof.

  It fell on empty rails, and illuminated them. It fell on the train-departures board, it fell on the sign which explained that today was a Blue Saver Day and illuminated them both.

  Framed in the archway formed by the far end of the vaulted roof were the fantastical forms of five great gasometers, the supporting superstructures of which seemed in their adumbrations to be tangled impossibly with each other, like the hoops of an illusionist’s conjuring trick. The moonlight illuminated these as well, but Dirk it did not illuminate.