by Carl Purcell
“Another time, perhaps.” Mal smiled up at Roland. “Now go find your friend.”
“Thanks again, Mal.” Roland got out of the car. As soon as the door was closed, Mal was back on the road and driving away, the car quickly becoming a purple dot on the horizon before disappearing completely. Roland took a look up each side of Salem's main road. A river bisected the town, crossed by a wooden bridge that looked ready to collapse under anything heavier than a bicycle. The majority of the town was built up on his side of the river but that wasn't saying much. A sign by the road read:
Salem, New South Wales
Population: 800
The little collection of stores, houses and empty plots of land looked more suitable to a population of about twelve. Where were the other seven-hundred and eighty-eight people living? Roland shrugged and let the issue out of his mind. The long drive had left him feeling thirsty. He looked around for the pub and spotted it by the river. He took a step towards it, then hesitated. If he went in, would he ever come out?
“Coffee,” he said. Turning the thought into a word seemed to make it more real. It was no longer a consideration; it was a promise to whoever might be listening. “I'm going to get some coffee.”
Chapter 18
Griffith reached Salem in the dead of night and breathed a relaxed sigh. He'd made it. Though time was short and he had much to do, his body had been tense for so long that he was exhausted and sore. He'd driven as fast as he could go safely, laws be damned. Now he had reached Salem and all he had to do was navigate its unfamiliar streets in the dark. There would be time to be exhausted later.
Griffith turned off the highway and away from Salem's main road and into the maze of houses. His bag sat next to him on the passenger seat. Griffith reached over to it and fished around in the pockets, trying to stay focused on the road. He found what he was looking for in the front pocket of his bag. Griffith took the envelope out and held it up in front of him. The envelope had been crumpled but the hand-written address was still legible. But an address was only so good when he didn't know his way around.
But the town was small – how many streets could there be, really? He could find it if he was determined. And he was determined. Time was short, after all, and he couldn't waste it on half-arsed efforts. Sure enough, with some driving around, and a little bit of luck, he found the right address. He reached the end of the street and paused at the intersection. There was nobody else out, so he had the roads to himself. A momentary panic hit Griffith: What if nobody was out because this town had been put under the same sleep spell? He shook his head and reassured himself:
“Everything is quiet because it's night,” he said. “Everyone is asleep.” Feeling more at ease, Griffith turned the car around and drove back to the main road. “I made it to Salem and soon it will all be over.” When he reached the main road he found a place to park outside the one building that still had its lights on: The hotel.
He left the car and crossed the sidewalk to the pub. Large gold letters above the door named it the “Salem Hotel”. The building looked fairly new and not at all as impressive or old as some of the pubs he'd seen on the way to Salem. But it had the virtue of being the only hotel Salem had to offer. He checked himself in for the night, asking:
“I don't suppose you do room service?”
“You're joking.” The desk clerk waved him off.
Griffith shrugged. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”
“Kitchen is closed anyway. But if you go around to the bar you can still get a microwave pie and there's a nut machine there, too.”
“Thanks.” Griffith decided not to waste any more of the clerk's time and headed for the bar. He ate one pie, and that one cold, greasy, hard pie was one too many. No amount of lemonade would wash the taste from his mouth. He went to bed unsatisfied in a bed that was almost as cold and hard as the pie. But a nagging suspicion hung at the back of his mind. The night felt incomplete, as if he was missing something or forgetting something. There was something he over-looked or something he had to do, he was sure. But it would have to wait.
Griffith fell asleep almost instantly, exhaustion beating the discomfort of the bed into submission for the night.
The sound of a vacuum cleaner in the next room woke Griffith late the next morning. Griffith tried to block the sound out with his pillow but the walls were so thin that it felt as if the vacuum cleaner was pressed right up against his head. Griffith abandoned the sleep plan and stumbled into the bathroom to shower, hoping his day would fast improve.
After his shower, Griffith found a cafe serving breakfast. He ordered and took a seat outside. The only other customers in the cafe were an American couple looking at a road map and quietly arguing over directions. The cafe looked out of place in the little country town, like somebody had gathered up all modern sophistication of the whole town and crammed it into one little building. In a city, you couldn't go ten steps without tripping over a cafe like this, but in the country, they were few and far between. Griffith sat sipping at orange juice, waiting for his breakfast and watching the world go by.
Life in Salem appeared slow and quiet. People out on the streets were few and far between and the only car he saw drive through was an old purple sedan that stopped briefly outside a grocer before moving on. Griffith watched the car closely for lack of any more interesting spectacle. When he saw Roland get out, he nearly dropped his glass mid-sip. Roland watched the car leave and then stood staring up the road for a while before turning and walking directly towards the cafe and Griffith. The waitress came and gave Griffith his food as Roland passed behind her and up to the counter to order. The waitress rushed back to meet him. Roland paid the waitress and scanned the cafe. Griffith watched him until Roland's eyes met his. They shared a long, uncomfortable stare. Griffith thought, for a moment, about pretending he hadn't seen him and staring intently at his breakfast until it was all over. But Roland came towards him and stopped at the table.
“Hi,” Roland said. Something about that one word seemed to embody the whole awkward situation. “Can I sit down?”
“Sure.” Griffith spoke quickly and shut his mouth tight before he could say anything else.
“I'm glad I found you. I wanted to...” Roland paused. Inside the cafe the espresso machine screeched while it frothed milk. Roland waited until it was quiet again. “I'm sorry. I said some pretty mean things and you didn't deserve it.”
“What?”
“I'm serious. I think I was horrible right from the start and I shouldn't have been like that. I'm sorry.”
Griffith smiled. “All right.”
“All right?”
“Yeah, it's all right. I forgive you.”
“Just like that?” Roland asked, wide-eyed.
“Sure. Why not?”
“I don't know. I just feel like this should have been harder or something.”
“That's not how it works, Roland. If you're really sorry, then that's good enough. In fact, I'm glad you're here. But I have to know: why did you come back? Why did you come at all?”
“At first I did it because I hoped that you or your new master could help me forget. There are memories, memories of people and stuff I did, that I'd like to forget. I wanted to forget it all and start again.” Roland sighed. “And maybe I still do. I don't know. But helping you get here gave me some kind of purpose and I haven't had that in a long time. We had a deal. I want to see that deal through to the end.”
“Well I'm glad. Things have changed—”
“And there's something else,” Roland cut in.
“Huh?”
“Just while I'm being honest, I should tell you: I'm sick, Griffith. I don't know what it is but it seems pretty bad. If you or your new master can help, then—”
“It is bad, Roland. It's worse than you think. I was going to tell you but you walked off. Listen, things have changed since you left and we both need help.”
“What do you mean?”
Griffith filled Roland
in on what had happened in Gravesend, what happened to Caia and what Lloyd had said as he died. While he was talking, the waitress delivered Roland's coffee. Roland listened and considered until Griffith was finished.
“So the disease that killed Caia and is killing you is...”
“Afraid so, buddy.”
“This was never about finding a master to teach you, was it?”
“Of course it was.” Griffith shook his head, almost shouting. “I didn't lie to you, Roland. I just left some things out. I hoped they wouldn't come up.”
“But you thought they would. Back when we first met, you said I could call myself a body guard...”
“I knew Lloyd was hunting me. I thought I could keep ahead of him but he found me in Armidale. But I swear...”
Roland breathed deep and sighed. “This is all fucked.”
“I never thought it would get this bad. But I'm sure if we can find the master, we'll be able to stop Lloyd's disease and wake up all the people. He'll heal us both and probably even help with Pentdragon.”
“Alright, but how do we find him?”
“If he's here, we'll find him.” Griffith reached down under the table to his bag and searched until he found the crumpled envelope buried at the bottom. He passed it to Roland who turned it over in his fingers and examined it. It had a wax seal on the back imprinted with the image of a bird's feather. On the front it was addressed to Master Yasu and beneath the name was a Salem street address.
“Have you had this the whole time?”
“Yes. It's a letter of introduction.”
“This is why you had to get your bag from Pentdragon.”
“I was going to try without it but, when the chance came up, I had to try. If Master Yasu is here, this is where he'll be.”
“Well, what are we doing here?”
“Eating Break—” Griffith stopped. That's what he'd been missing. He'd been in a rush all night to find Master Yasu's house and, when he had, he turned around and went to bed. It felt so normal at the time. There was nothing strange, but he had wasted all that time. “I don't know.”
“Well, we shouldn't waste any more time,” Roland said. “Let's find out where this street is and go.”
“You're right. And I already know where the street is. I looked for it last night.”
“So you found Master Yasu's house?”
“I don't remember.” Griffith tried to replay the events of the night in his head. “I remember finding his street and looking for the house and then I came back to the main road to check into the inn.” Griffith braced himself for Roland's insults. Roland took his time to respond.
“Waking him up probably would have been a bad first impression, anyway. But let's go see him now.” Roland's words seemed almost forced, as if he'd wanted to say something else. Griffith could guess what he really wanted to say but he was impressed that Roland had managed to be nice, even if it was a little insincere.
They left the cafe and took the hearse for the short drive to Master Yasu's house. Salem, having grown organically as people came and added to it as they pleased, was built without any kind of planning. The streets had been built and paved with no sense of order and they twisted and over-lapped like a cartographer's practical joke. Griffith wound through the nearly empty streets and then suddenly brought the car to a sudden stop at the intersection of two roads.
“What's the problem? Are you lost?” Roland asked
“No. It's just that this is the end of Forrest Street.”
“And?”
“Master Yasu's address is number seven, Forrest Street. We've gone past it,” Griffith explained, as if it were one of the world's great mysteries.
“Well, turn around and go back to it,” Roland suggested. Griffith did so. But he kept driving until Roland spoke again: “Stop!”
Griffith hit the brakes..
“What is it?” he asked.
“We're at the other end of the street. You went past it again.”
“Oh. I did too. Sorry, I was just looking for a place to park and I guess I got distracted.”
“You got distracted looking for a place to park on an empty street? What were you distracted by?”
“I don't know. I was just thinking about stuff and I forgot what we were doing.”
“You forgot?” Roland sighed. He rubbed at his temples and said nothing.
“I forgot. I don't know how, I just did.”
“That's okay. There's just countless lives at stake, mine included. Just park and we'll walk up to his house. What number did you say it was?”
“Seven.” Griffith reversed the car to the side of the road and turned off the engine. He and Roland got out and started back up the road towards number seven.
Roland counted the letter boxes, touching each one as he went past. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Ten?
Roland stopped. He turned and looked back down the street. A navy blue, rectangular letter box stood like all the others with a golden number seven plate screwed to the side. He'd seen it, his hand had touched it and he'd kept walking.
“We've gone past it,” Roland called to Griffith, who was still walking. Griffith stopped and walked back to meet him.
“How did we go past it?”
“I don't know. I was counting each one as we went past.”
“Did you count number eight?”
“Yeah. Isn't Master Yasu number seven?”
“Oh right. Did you count number seven?”
“I don't think so. I missed it.” Roland looked at his dust-covered hand and wondered if he'd even touched the letter box. Had he really just walked right past it? A gap existed in his memory where house number seven should have been.
“That's the sort of thing I'd do. But what's your excuse?” Griffith asked.
“I don't know.” Roland said. “I hope spending all this time with you hasn't turned me into an idiot, as well.”
Griffith didn't answer.
“Sorry.”
“That's all right. You're been doing well.”
“Anyway, why are we standing here? Let's go see Master Yasu.”
“Right. Let's go.”
Roland started forward again first and Griffith followed a step behind. This time he made sure he touched the blue letter box of number seven and he turned towards the front door and walked up the path. He stopped short of the door, turned to Griffith and said:
“I'm feeling kind of thirsty. Do you have any water?”
“I think there's a bottle in the car but it's not mine so I wouldn't trust it.”
“I might go back over to the shops and get a bottle of water.”
“All right. I'll come, too. My toothbrush has gotten pretty disgusting and I think it's time for a replacement.” They left the house and marched single file back towards the hearse. On reaching the road, Roland stopped dead in his tracks and Griffith, who was not paying attention, ran straight into him. “What's the matter?”
“Where are we going?” The realisation that they'd been distracted hit Roland almost as soon as he was out of number seven's yard.
“The supermarket, I guess?”
“Why?”
“Water and toothbrush.” Then it dawned on Griffith, too. “Oh. Hey, Roland, why are we going to the store?”
“I don't know. I was just about to knock on the door when I started thinking about how thirsty I was.”
“Of course.” Griffith smiled and pulled Roland's hand up to his eyes. “Look!” Roland's ring was glowing.
“Magic?”
“Magic! Master Yasu must have put a spell on his house; maybe the whole property is enchanted. Think about it: What better way to be a hermit than to magically make sure nobody ever comes to your house? It's not just hard to notice or easy to go by. We've been pushed away from the house with magic.”
“That explains it. So can you break the spell?” Roland asked.
“No, but now that I know it's there, I can resist it.”
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Roland's expression made it clear he didn't understand.
Griffith explained: “Unless you know exactly how a spell works, it's hard to remove it or break it. But sometimes a sorcerer can turn the spell away from him. It's like matching your will against the will of the spell.”
“So am I supposed to just stay outside while you talk to Master Yasu?”
“No, we just need to get inside. I doubt he's got the same spell inside his house. So I'll lead and, instead of thinking about the house and Master Yasu, just focus on following me. In fact, keep one hand on my shoulder the whole time and keep reminding yourself to follow me.”
Roland nodded. “I can do that.”
“I'm sure you can.”
Griffith walked forward first. As he passed, Roland grabbed him by the shoulder and turned his head down. He walked in time with Griffith and stared intently at the younger man's shoes. He contemplated each step as it came and walled everything else out of his mind. Everything except how old and worn his shoes were. He really needed to throw them out. Maybe he could get some in Salem. Roland looked up and wondered why in the hell he was holding Griffith's shoulder.
Griffith knocked on the door. The lock clicked and the door creaked open a little.
“Master Yasu?” Griffith asked.
“Nani?” The curt voice belonged to a woman.
“I'm sorry?”
“What do you want?
“I've come seeking Master Yasu. Does he still live here?”
“She.” The woman's voice corrected, sounding just a little insulted.
“She?”
“Hai. She still lives here.”
“Oh.” Griffith's cheeks reddened. “I'm sorry. Master Yasu, I've come here because I was told you are one of the greatest sorcerers in the world and unmatched in your powers over life.”
“Sorceress,” Roland whispered. Since Yasu answered the door, he'd found it much easier to focus.
“Sorceress. I meant sorceress. Sorry.”
“Are you sick?”
“Me? Yes. But there are a lot of people in a town called Gravesend, not far from here who have it worse. Please, let us in and I'll explain everything.”
