Restoration

by Guy Adams

  8.

  Ashe kept one hand on the box in his pocket as he moved toward the Intrepid. The rest of it could be transported at the mercy of the locals but the box would never leave his sight again. Not until it had delivered its next victims at least. He recognised the ship immediately and felt a warm sense of love for it. He had only been onboard for a few days but it had been a good time. It was onboard this boat, working its rigging and sweeping its deck, that Alan Arthur had begun to find a man inside himself. For that brief while he hadn't been a walking hole, a shell of neuroses and fears, he had just been a man making a ship move forward.

  "Help you?" came a voice from above. He looked up to see the silhouette of Hawkins looking down at him.

  "You certainly can," said Ashe, "I'd like to hire your ship."

  9.

  Ashe woke to darkness. His throat felt solid as if he had swallowed a brick and the damn thing had become lodged there. In the cool of the night he felt altogether more human, the heat of the sun had burned his face to the texture of dried meat, like a crisp dog treat fashioned from pig hide. He managed to sit up, the back of his head sticking to the wood for a moment before peeling lose with the rip of parting Velcro. He put one hand to the base of his skull, feeling the crisp, matted hair and understanding that he had lost consciousness for a whole day. It was when the ship vanished… he thought, remembering the sight of the Intrepid folding in on itself and vanishing. The water around it had clapped together to fill the vacant hole, his small life boat flipping in the surf. He couldn't believe he had remained upright, battered and drenched, yes but not drowned. His head pulsed and he realised he must have suffered a concussion. His head beating against the wood of the boat until he had slipped out of consciousness and lain there at the mercy of the tide. Don't forget that gull… you nearly ended up on its dinner table. This was true but there was no sign of the bird now, no doubt it was resting somewhere, head beneath its wing, hoping that when the sun rose the meal it had found would finally be served.

  With some difficulty, Ashe looked over his shoulder, hoping to see the lights of land. There was nothing. Who knows how far I've drifted? he thought, could be halfway to Australia by now.

  Knowing it would do him no good but unable to resist, he reached over the side of the boat and splashed water on his face and into his mouth. The saltiness immediately threatened to empty his stomach and that would leave him even more dehydrated. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to be sick. Once sure he had it under control he took another scoop in his mouth, this time not swallowing, just rolling it around in there to ease the cracked skin. He spat it back out and wiped at his chapped lips.

  Dehydrated and concussed. Maybe a dose of sunstroke too. Things are going well.

  The box was lost to him, too, of course. Though he was by no means certain that was a problem, who could tell whether Chester came into possession of it through his intervention or a line of events utterly unrelated to him. He was still here… that offered some hope that time was still on track.

  He scrabbled around in the boat for his oars. There was only one, the other presumably lost during the storm. One's better than nothing, he thought and looked up at the sky. The storm had blown the clouds clear and the stars were bright. Locating the Southern Cross, he estimated east and slowly began to head in that direction. If he hadn't been blown too far off course then east should still see him towards Kupang – or anywhere on the Indonesian coast, he wasn't in the least picky. When planning the trip he had been more than usually conscious of his inability to estimate a return ticket date and had planned accordingly. His train left from a stretch of beach on the south side of Kupang harbour in a week. On the one hand the idea of kicking around waiting for his train had made him squirm, on the other: missing it completely because he was still floating about in the middle of nowhere could be catastrophic. He would wait if he had to, use the time to plan and build up his strength. Certainly it now seemed that he could do with it – plus medical assistance if he could find it – that was if he ever saw dry land again of course, something he couldn't predict with any absolute certainty.

  After about ten minutes of rowing, swaying from side to side as he alternated with the oar, he had to take a rest. He had prided himself on his strength and endurance given his age but there was a limit to any man's abilities and he feared he was beginning to find his. If only his damned head would stop pounding…

  10.

  He had agreed a price with Hawkins, settled on a route and paid the man half upfront. It had been incredibly uncomfortable. All the while he had been wanting to pat the man on the back, ask after Maggie, his wife or Ryan – no, of course Ryan wasn't on the crew yet, they'd picked him up later. Of course he could do none of these things. In Hawkin's future he would sit down with a much younger Ashe, recalling the events that had led to his appearance in the House. Those events had strongly featured an irritable and untrustworthy "archeologist" who, after threatening Hawkins and wife under gunpoint, had driven the captain to such a fury that he had triggered the box during a storm and sent both himself and his ship out of the real world. Ashe had to play his part. He had his role and he would stick to it, however much it may stick in his craw.

  Leaving the port he began to make his way to his hotel. The city was undergoing the change of guard that brought on the night. Day traders packed up their wares to head home and discuss the day's take – or lack of it – with their families. Stalls closed, shops brought in their awnings. The night people came from the shadows and prepared to take over. A man juggled flaming torches, the fire whipping around his emaciated body and throwing shadows around his prominent ribs. The sweet waft of cooking fires and incense crawled over a brightly painted statue of Ganesh, decorated with flickering candles that shone off his lustrous trunk. A party of British soldiers cheered to see one of their party lose a little more money to a young boy who shuffled cards like a seasoned croupier. In the doorways the beggars switched places, the day shift skulking away to have their monies collected by their employers so they could receive their meagre cut.

  Ashe had never been a well-travelled man. Before this he had only visited other cultures on paper, getting a feel for their ways through maps and historical texts. Now, in the middle of it all, his senses were sore. The smell was the greatest of it, that mixture of spice, smoke and sea… it was almost too much to ingest.

  By the time Ashe reached his hotel, the light had faded from the sky to be replaced by flickering lamps. In the small reception, the owner smiled at him over a bushy moustache flecked with coconut milk. "Your key sir," he said, inclining his head deferentially and placing it on the desk. "Can I get you anything else?"

  Ashe considered food but found that he was in the mood for nothing but sleep. So he thanked the man, took his key and went to find his bed.

  His room was on the second floor and, as he turned the key in the lock he hoped the noise from the street below would quieten down soon. It sounded like someone had declared a religious festival right beneath his balcony. Opening the door a hand dropped to his wrist and he found himself yanked into the room, tumbling over the bed and onto the floor the other side.

  A small lamp began to glow and he recognised Yoosuf's face as the trader leaned into the light. "Good evening," the man said. "You will forgive the intrusion but I have been thinking."

  I'll just bet you have, Ashe thought. Had his deception with the jewellery been discovered? The stones revealed to be paste? The metal no more precious than plate?

  "I was thinking that an American with so many riches was bound to have more."

  No, just simple greed.

  "If I'd had any more riches I'd have sold the damn things to you," he said, pulling himself up onto the bed, sparing a glance at the man who had pulled him through the door. He was over six foot, a thick black beard hiding all his features bar the eyes – one of which was blind, a soapy, pearlescent white.

  "If that is the case then I suppose I will have to settle for
the money I have already paid you," said Yoosuf. "But still, you will understand if I convince myself first, yes?"

  He inclined his head towards the accomplice who began to circle the bed. Ashe drew his revolver out of his pocket and pulled the trigger – and that was a defining moment, he thought later, he hadn't tried to threaten the man he had simply sought to eliminate the problem – the hammer fell on a spent chamber. Ashe was out of bullets. The man grabbed him and Ashe did the only thing he could think of, ramming the barrel of his gun into the man's one good eye. He would later remonstrate with himself over the thoughtless cruelty of that too. The man screamed, raising one thick hairy hand to his face and lashing out with the other. Ashe avoided the blow and got in a good one of his own, turning the revolver so that its butt was facing outward he punched his attacker in the belly with it. The big man recoiled backwards, tumbling into Yoosuf who had been getting to his feet, a thin knife pulled from his jacket that caught a piece of the lamplight on its blade and held it there. Ashe rolled back over the bed, yanked the door handle and ran out into the corridor.

  So much for a good night's sleep, he thought. He bounced down the stairs, past the still-smiling man behind the counter and back out onto the street.

  The crowds he had suspected might keep him from sleep were to his benefit now. He pushed his way into them hoping to lose himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more men who had been stood beneath the street lamp opposite his hotel. At the sight of him they moved to cut him off. Yoosuf certainly hadn't come undermanned.

  Ashe could think of no better plan than to head for the port, if all else failed he might at least be safe onboard the Intrepid. The streets that had seemed so resplendent earlier now felt alien and hostile, every face brought the potential for attack, every glint of metal a possible knife or gun. Glancing over his shoulder he could see that he was still being pursued, Yoosuf was not a man to give up on his money so readily – and Ashe could see why he had been content to part with it, it had been no more than a loan…

  He moved as fast as he could, his pursuers drawing closer. Yoosuf held back, his large accomplice stood by his side, a handkerchief turning red as he held it up to his eye. The other two were now mere feet away, either side of the street, moving past to cut him off and force him back the way he had come.

  "Oi!" a voice bellowed in his ear. "Watch where you're going, pal."

  He came face to face with a British soldier. The man's thick sideboards and moustache failed to disguise his tender age. Nor did his smart uniform knock the edge off his thick, Northern accent. "You nearly had me over," the soldier said. "What's your business anyway, barging along like that."

  "Trying not to get a knife between the ribs," Ashe admitted, checking the location of his two pursuers. Both had hung back, keeping their eye on Yoosuf to see what their employer wanted them to do. "I was about to be mugged."

  "What's that when it's at home, then?" the soldier asked, raising an eyebrow as if he'd just been told of a new sexual practice.

  "Robbed," Ashe explained. "A gang of them were waiting for me when I got back to my hotel."

  "Oh aye?" The soldier seemed happy enough to accept this, clearly rather common occurrence. "Still about are they?"

  "Yes, one either side of the road and their boss is the man at the head of the street there, you can't miss him, he's the only one that's got a giant bleeding on him."

  The soldier chuckled as he spotted Yoosuf. "Got a couple of punches in yourself then?"

  "Just a couple."

  "Come on," the soldier turned back the way he had come, "walk with me a bit, we'll see if that doesn't put them off."

  "You're not going to do anything?" Ashe asked.

  "I've no great desire to be stabbed myself," the soldier admitted, "the missus would never forgive me." He gave Ashe a smile. "We can't go kicking up a fuss every time we spot some bugger up to no good," he admitted, "we haven't the manpower. But I reckon you'll find they'll give you a wide berth for now."

  "Thanks."

  "It's fine, we can rustle up some lads to help you shift hotels too if you want, you're obviously not staying in the best of rooms."

  "It was recommended to me by the man who just tried to rob me."

  "Well there's a coincidence," the soldier chuckled. "There's plenty of decent places if you know where to look, don't worry. It's not a bad old place this, whatever you might think right now."

  "Oh I've spent time in worse spots, believe me."

  11.

  As the night wore on, Ashe tried to row as often as he could, checking the sky to keep himself on track. His head continued to hurt and if he rowed for too long his vision started to cloud over.

  "Not good," he told the ocean, "not good at all."

  The prospect of another day of that sun beating down on him didn't help his mood. In fact he wondered if it might be enough to finish him off. Shaking such thoughts loose – they didn't help after all – he made his slow way across the waves, pushing his broken body as hard as he dared.

  12.

  After watching Yoosuf's men peel away – with the trader offering one final scowl before melting into the crowd – Ashe had settled with the soldier in a small coffee shop. They ordered tea and watched the crowds.

  "It's not like Wakefield," the soldier said, "that's for sure."

  "How long have you been here?" Ashe asked, taking a sip of sweet tea.

  "Twelve months now," the soldier replied, "give or take. It's good, I always wanted to see the world, now look at me."

  "But you miss home?"

  "Of course, but when I go back I'll be changed. I'll be bringing back new ideas and new ways of looking at things."

  "The most important of which is?"

  "Sometimes you have to break things in order to make them better."

  13.

  At some point Ashe had fallen back asleep. He woke to the caw of the gull and the heat of the sun on his face.

  "Morning you bastard," he croaked, fixing the bird with a bleary-eyed stare. "I'm not dead yet."

  The gull cocked its head. Just give it time… I can be patient.

  I just bet you can, Ashe thought, picking up his oar. The sun was still climbing which confirmed his estimation of east. Slowly he dragged the boat towards it.

  For a while he imagined the boat was climbing through the air, making its slow ascent towards that fat, malevolent sun. Soon, he thought, I'll reach it. I'll climb my crumbling body inside and turn to dust. What a relief that will be…

  The gull continued to maintain its watch. After a while it began to talk and Ashe was sure its voice was the same as the Grumpy Controller from the House.

  "You're no use to us dead, you know," it said, "I thought you were strong?"

  "Why don't you take over the oar for a bit?" Ashe replied.

  The bird shook its wings. "With these? You must be dreaming."

  "Yes," said Ashe, "I must be."

  "Do you think you'll ever reach land?" it asked.

  "You tell me, you must have seen it more recently than I have."

  "It's a way off, true." The bird's head shook as if with a nervous twitch. "I think you'll be dead before you get there."

  "Thanks for the confidence."

  "Just saying, you're half in your coffin already."

  "I had noticed."

  The gull fell silent, watching as Ashe worked the oar for a few minutes more then fell back into the boat, once more giving into unconsciousness.

  "Yes," the gull said, looking down on the Ashe's prone body, "it's all looking a bit desperate isn't it?"

  14.

  Ashe had slept at the soldier's billet, a small hotel commandeered by the British forces. Rising early, he had been accompanied by a couple of NCOs to try and retrieve his belongings from the hotel. Ashe had been quite sure that the crate would no longer be there and Yoosuf hadn't disappointed him. Left with only a few hours to replace the belongings, he secured a crate from the port and filled it with the cheapest,
most worthless items he could gather from the stalls close at hand. None of it mattered, it was cover, nothing more. In a few days it would be thrown overboard and never seen again.

  He arrived at the Intrepid, even more regretful that he couldn't confide in the captain than he had been the day before. His act as a non-communicative and surly client wasn't hard to pull off. If he wasn't able to talk pleasantly then he would rather not talk at all and his frustration was easily mistaken for rudeness.

  He sat in the small cabin Hawkins had provided him. Looking around he was sure it was the same one he had been put in when – some months into their future – the crew had fished he and Sophie out of the water and looked after them. It made him even more miserable.