From between the aircraft parked at the terminal another figure in black appeared. It paced with purposeful determination towards the crumpled Inquisitor. It held something in both hands and directed it towards the man and his dog. He looked beaten.
Then her view was obscured. The airliner gained altitude and they were swallowed up by the cloud cover. Anaïs saw no more.
Inflight
Marilyn pressed the little witch. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes,' said Anaïs. 'Well, actually no. I just saw something.'
The shade studied the little witch's face. 'You look worried.'
'I am.' Anaïs squirmed in her seat. 'Didn't you see it?'
'No.'
'You're sitting at the window,' said Anaïs. 'You should have seen it. It was down there on the runway,'
'I wasn't looking out the window.' Marilyn turned and watched white wisps of cloud swirl on the other side of the glass. 'I had my eyes closed. To be perfectly honest when we took off it freaked the hell out of me.'
'I gathered that.' Anaïs looked down at the shade's hands. During take-off Anaïs had managed to free herself from the shade's grip. She had transferred Marilyn's hand to something which could cope with the cold. The shade still gripped the plastic armrests so intensely the whites of her knuckles shone through her camouflage.
'You can let go,' said Anaïs, nodding at her hand. 'We won't be landing for a while.'
Marilyn looked down. 'Oh, yeah.' She released her grip and flexed her fingers.
'He was there again with his dog,' said Anaïs.
'Who?'
'The guy you pointed out to us back in the city. The one we saw on the street when we first met.'
'Oh him? I wouldn't worry about him.'
Anaïs snorted. 'How can you not worry about that?'
'I told you before, they don't bother me. I always get away.'
'That may be so, but I'm not sure you'll be able to do that forever.' Anaïs rubbed her eyes. The stark whiteness of the cloud outside half blinded her. She squinted and looked up at Marilyn. 'You seem pretty blasé about it. I've seen what they can do. Aren't you afraid of them?'
The shade sighed. 'Child, if I spent my time being afraid I would have no time to enjoy life.'
Anaïs screwed up her face. 'You seemed pretty afraid before. And you're not alive.'
'Ok, you have a point. But I don't know a better way to describe it.'
Marilyn twisted in her seat and looked down her nose at the little witch.
'Listen, I've experienced enough in my time to know you should be happy with what you've been given. Believe me, it doesn't get any better than what you have right now. This particular moment is all you have. You should live it to the full. You can't waste time worrying about what might be. You never know what will come or if you'll have a chance to do it anyway.'
'But you were someone really famous. You got there with hard work, didn't you? It didn't just come of its own accord. You had to work at it.'
'Sure, but fame is fleeting. And I'm not convinced it's worth all the effort. It's ok once you have it, but I'm telling you, maintaining it is not easy. Anyway, I wasn't referring to fame. I'm just saying you shouldn't worry about stuff in general.'
'Ok, then I'll try not to worry. I'm not convinced I shouldn't though.' Anaïs furrowed her brow. 'Whoever it was down there is not going to stop until they have what they want.'
'And do you know what that is?'
Anaïs shook her head.
'Then why worry? That’s his problem. He's the one who has to worry about whatever it is that he has to get done, not you.' Marilyn elbowed Anaïs in the upper arm. 'You'll cope when the time comes.'
Anaïs rubbed her arm. She reached out and played with the latch on her tray table. 'I suppose you're right.'
The shade settled into her seat and looked around the cabin.
'I'm puzzled,' said Anaïs. 'How do you know all this stuff? Not what you just told me, but everything. Like who you are. How do you remember? The last shade I met had no idea who he was.'
'I'm not sure,' said Marilyn. 'I like to exercise my mind. I always did. I used to read heaps. All kinds of stuff. I guess it helped.' She gave Anaïs another nudge. 'And I'm a woman. I have a memory like an elephant.'
Anaïs smirked. 'That could be a curse as much as a benefit.' She pulled a serious face. 'Sometimes I wish I could forget.'
Marilyn nodded and stared out the window. The aircraft had climbed above the clouds. The sun hit the fuselage and winked off the wings. It lit up the white mattress beneath them.
'Me too,' she said.
Airborne
People will tell you time travel doesn't exist. They lie. It's easy and it's everywhere. It is a relatively new development but accessible to all. Anyone with a bit of pocket change can do it in principle. Some people do it daily. Most call it flying, but if you think about it you are actually travelling through time.
It will come as no surprise that witches played a role in the development of powered flight. Not specifically the getting airborne part. Naturals have had an obsession with becoming birds since time immemorial. This has been much to their own detriment. The human body is in no way constructed for flight. It is pretty good at falling, though. Witches merely intervened to prevent further carnage. Naturals need to be protected from themselves more than anything else. That's a full-time job in itself. Witches decided enough was enough and gifted the Wright brothers with the relatively simple concept of a steering mechanism. Flying is one thing. Anybody can do that. Crashing was the thing which needed to be avoided in order to make the short-lived thrill of soaring through the air less painful.
Once gifted this small device to prevent undue harm, naturals have continued further in their endeavour to conquer the sky. The drive to fly higher and faster has developed to a point where they can now warp time. Even witches did not see that one coming.
Intercontinental flight is like space travel. It's otherworldly. In some ways it's interstellar. Whenever I flew I would go to where one of those huge doors were, usually at the back of the aircraft. You can lie over the bulkhead and look out through the window. You can shut out your surroundings and the cabin around you. You are in a cocoon.
I would press my nose up to the window. My entire head would feel as if it was almost outside the aircraft. I could even feel the cold. Outside it's minus fifty degrees Celsius or something. I would look at the stars. They would seem so close, all around me, as if I was floating among them. I would listen to the purr of the engines and the rush of the jet stream. The moon, if there was one, would be so bright.
You see, you don't have to go as far as the edge of the atmosphere and beyond. In these days of modern air travel anyone can be an astronaut. When you board any jet aircraft and soar to the underside of the Heaviside layer you practically become a spaceman. You might not feel the effects of less gravity but you are certainly leaving the earth. Even if it is only temporary.
Not only this, by leaving the planet's surface for a long period and then returning to it, you are playing with time. You are juggling it. In principle if you keep winging in one direction around the planet you can make time stand still. Not only that, you can also travel back in time, or, conversely, zip into the future. It's a modern miracle. It's magic.
Furthermore, touching down can be a seriously alien experience. It's almost as if you take off on one planet and hours later land on another. Especially if you land somewhere completely foreign. Nobody speaks your language, they look different, they dress different. Sometimes they are eating the weirdest stuff. The smells, the sights, the sounds can all lead to a sensory overload. Couple all that with the warping of time and, well, it's quite an eye-opener. That is, of course, if you can keep your eyes open. Long-distance air travel takes its toll.
Time itself can be manipulated. In the end it will return to normal if we so desire but it is not necessary. We can bend time. However, at some point we will lose it or gain more than we can use. We do
n't even have to leave the safety of solid ground to do it. Time even moves in one place. For some reason seasons have been given their own time. So, even standing still, time is fluid, moving this way and that around us.
There are costs associated with toying with time. They are not purely financial. If you skirt the globe and dodge the sun your body will experience it. You will suffer physically. Night will become day for your physical clock. You will spin out. You will lose all sense of place and time.
And you think witches talking to the dead is strange. The world of the living is far stranger.
Bambina
Naples International Airport was small and relatively deserted in comparison to Barcelona. To call it an international airport was stretching the truth. It consisted predominately of a collection of prefabricated sheds. The terminal was badly in need of an upgrade. This had its advantages. As there were very few services in the terminal, people didn't hang around for very long. Even the shade population was absent. It seemed nobody in their right mind had any reason to be there longer than necessary. Even the security personnel were running a skeleton crew. Those that were there were noticeably lethargic.
Nobody batted an eyelid at them. Both Immi and Marilyn blended in with their overstated attire. Even more than they had in Barcelona. They were not out of place in the company of other purveyors of Italian fashion. They even received a few jealous looks from a pair of middle-aged women coated in heavy make-up and sipping espressos at a coffee counter.
The advantages of travelling within the European Union were apparent. All the security checks had occurred at departure. Upon arrival they grabbed their bags and walked out of the terminal. After surviving the flight, Anaïs was relieved that some part of their journey ran smoothly. Only now they were at a loss as to where to go.
Anaïs marched out of the terminal. Deserted or not, being in the enclosed space made her uncomfortable. Her gut feeling was that as long as they kept moving they would be safe. But where should they move to? Sojourner had bundled them onto the plane to Naples but had not given them a final destination.
The arrival terminal's automatic doors slid shut behind Anaïs. She stood on the footpath and looked to her left and right. There was not a car in sight, only signs directing them to where they could get a taxi or shuttle bus. She had secretly hoped the magical Morris Minor might miraculously appear once again. Just as it had in France.
The librarian had followed Anaïs out of the terminal. She stopped beside her and surveyed the deserted parking lot.
'Great, now what?' exclaimed Immi.
Anaïs shrugged. She turned to face the librarian. There was a sour look on her face. Anaïs lost it. Exasperated, she berated the woman. 'Stuffed if I know! Why do you keep asking me what to do anyway? I have no idea!'
The librarian took a step away from the little witch, pretended to be insulted and folded her arms. 'Sheesh. It was just a rhetorical question.' She rocked her head from side to side and jibed Anaïs. 'What's got you all uppity? Get a grip!'
Her face flushed, her ears burning, Anaïs fumed. She took a deep breath and mustered her outrage. She opened her mouth and went to let the librarian have it.
'Stop!' Nan yelled in Anaïs's head. 'Enough!'
Instinctively, the witch clapped her hands over her ears. This caused them to burn even more. She spun and shot a look of irritation at the shade. She went to give Nan a mouthful but thought better of it. She held her tongue.
'Maybe we should all just calm down,' said the caretaker. 'And have a good think about our next move.'
Anaïs regarded her for a moment. 'Ok, Nan,' she said.
The librarian nudged the little witch. 'What did she say?'
Although she found it difficult, Anaïs maintained her composure. 'Nan said we should cool it and have a think about what to do next.'
'Wise advice. Well, we're here to fix your book. Maybe we should look for a bookshop?'
'Bookshops don't fix books. At least I don't think so.'
'Ok, fine, perhaps you're right.' The librarian scratched her head. 'Maybe somewhere else? I don't know. A printer?'
'Maybe, but can you speak Italian?'
The librarian shook her head.
'I know a bit,' said Marilyn.
'Great! Then you can translate.' Anaïs grinned at the shade. 'What do you know?'
'I know ciao and prego and bella and—'
Anaïs rolled her eyes. 'Thanks, but I think we need a little more than tourist Italian.'
Before the shade could respond there was a loud, sharp beep of a car horn. They all turned to face the origin of the sound. Parked on the curb was the smallest car Anaïs had ever seen.
Marilyn shrieked in a high voice. 'Oh, how cute. A Bambina!'
'Oh, how cute. A Bambina!' echoed the librarian in a similar voice, with a broad grin.
Anaïs looked from one woman to another. Were they twins? She turned her attention back to the car.
The Fiat 500 was painted the brightest tone of yellow. Canary yellow to be specific and, due to its size and shape, resembled the bird in some way. This comparison was further emphasised when both its doors swung open like wings. It was inviting them in.
The librarian bent forward and looked inside. 'I'm assuming this is meant for us?'
Anaïs examined it closely. It was going to be a squeeze to fit all of them in. After the flight she didn't think she could handle sitting in a shade sandwich anymore. She had even borrowed the librarian's coat to insulate herself. Her body temperature was only now returning to normal.
'I think you're right,' she said.
'Do you think it's related to the Morris Minor?'
'Possibly, but how do we know who sent it? It could be a trap.' Anaïs looked around. There were a few people unloading bags from a taxi further down the road. Other than that, their little group was alone. After her experience in Barcelona and the black car which had followed them through France, she had concerns.
She pulled out her promptuary. There was no change. Except she could have sworn the pulsing light in the star looked a little brighter. She pressed it but there was no response from the book. She dropped it back in her beret.
The librarian walked around to the driver's door. 'Let's just get in and see what happens.'
'You trust it? I thought you were glad to be rid of small cars?'
'I've decided it's much better to go with the flow.'
Anaïs raised an eyebrow. She turned to Nan. The shade shrugged. 'Maybe she's right. What else do we have?'
'Nothing I guess,' said Anaïs and ran her eyes over the car. 'Fine, let's get in.'
The librarian tilted her seat forward and ushered the shades into the backseat. Marilyn had problems negotiating the small opening and hesitated.
'Please, just get in,' said Immi. 'I know it's probably not up to your usual standards.'
'At least I have standards,' she quipped. She turned her back to the car and stepped into the vehicle butt first. She pulled her legs and arms in after her. The librarian tilted the driver’s seat back into position.
It was a lot warmer than it had been in Barcelona. Anaïs removed the librarian's coat, opened the passenger door and tossed the coat in the floor well. She stuffed her gloves and scarf into the pockets of her own coat. She opened her anorak and turned her face to the sun. It filtered through the clouds and had a pleasant warm edge. She stood for a moment and let it heat her body. She hoped the confined surrounds in the car would be just as warm and she would not suffer from shade freeze once again. She kept the anorak on just in case.
Anaïs tilted her seat forward to allow the caretaker to get in. Nan performed a similar trick to Marilyn. Anaïs smirked at her. She slid into her own seat and the librarian did the same. Immi searched the console around the steering wheel and found keys hanging in the ignition. She pulled her leg into the car. Immediately, both doors slammed shut and their locks engaged.
The librarian snapped her head around and looked at Anaïs in panic.
'Maybe we made a mistake?'
The witch's face flushed with the same concern. Then she recalled Marilyn's words in the plane about avoiding worry. They gave her confidence.
'If we have, it's too late now,' said the little witch and forced a wry smile.
The Sorrento Coast
Surprisingly, the Fiat was a less erratic driver than the Morris Minor. Anaïs had expected that, with its Italian pedigree, there would be a bit of fire in its fuel tank. But no, the Fiat was a very careful driver. It crept through the streets, winding its way through tenement housing estates and industrial areas. It had an aversion to main roads and preferred to keep to the back blocks.
Occasionally Anaïs caught glimpses of the great crescent-shaped Bay of Naples between the houses. The calm waters of the Mediterranean glinted in the afternoon sunlight. The ever-constant bulk of Mount Vesuvius overshadowed them as they skirted around its base. Anaïs leaned forward in her seat and peered up at it through the windscreen. The mountain was huge. It seemed to be pressing down on them. It made the little car feel even smaller than it actually was.
The vehicle picked its way fastidiously through the last streets to the edge of the urban sprawl. Eventually it was forced to resort to using the only road available. A narrow highway hugged the coastline, carved into the side of the steep mountain range which bordered the bay. It was only on this road that the Bambina showed a hint of speed.
Anaïs felt safe in the car. Its motor had a comforting hum. The car negotiated its way carefully, cruising in a fluid motion through the serpentine curves of the road. It was so smooth. Anaïs sensed it was protecting its precious cargo. Whereas the Morris Minor had been fixated on speeding to its destination, the Fiat took its time. It was meticulous, precise and pedantic. There was no rush. There was calm. She had no idea where they were heading but Anaïs trusted they would be brought to their objective in one piece.
Apart from the purr of its engine, the car was almost silent. There was no stereo blasting out of its dashboard. The vehicle didn't even possess a sound system. Everything about it was basic. Everything was functional.
The Promptuary Page 15
