Summerhouse Land

by Roderick Gordon

  This new space dwarfed the cellar they’d just left and resembled something from an ultramodern manufacturing plant, with conveyors and devices with mechanical arms dotted around the floor. Sam couldn’t help but look in amazement as he took it all in.

  ‘This is where I do most of my work,’ Curtis said. He turned to what appeared to be a bank of computer terminals. ‘With this equipment, I can make just about anything. I simply input what I want and it does it for me.’

  ‘Like robots?’ Sam asked in wonder.

  ‘I suppose you could call them that,’ Curtis replied. ‘It’s certainly a quantum step up from the old days … I can delegate what I need doing now, and they take over.’

  Sam was still peering around at the machines. ‘So you made all this?’

  ‘Yes, with a few pointers from the data I picked up as it came through the cliffs.’ Curtis waved vaguely at the end of the large space where there was some sporadic activity from the machines there. ‘But they’ve reached the stage now that my devices develop themselves if I allow them. And I leave them to look after things in the valley, so they’re always quietly working away in the background, always repairing, always improving.’

  Sam was frowning. ‘People don’t know this?’

  ‘They don’t want to know,’ Curtis said, then pointed at a chair surrounded by an array of incredibly complex looking electronics. ‘This is for you. Stage one is to put you in the rig and take some accurate readings. I need to quantify what you’re capable of.’ He suddenly struck out at something as it buzzed by his head. ‘I swear that blessed thing is following me!’

  ***

  ‘What are we waiting for? Why don’t we move on him right now?’ Morgan rasped, his blood-pink eyes glued to the screen. It was displaying the fly’s view as it banked tightly to avoid Curtis’s hand, then soared to the heights of the workshop. Jane used her controls to maneuver the fly onto a ledge and the scene steadied to an overhead view of Sam as the boy climbed into the chair. She and Morgan continued to watch as Curtis moved in and out of picture, powering up the devices positioned around the chair.

  In the damp room of the Monastery a third figure was observing from the murky shadows behind them. ‘Patience,’ it urged. ‘He needs to finish this work for us. Otherwise I’ll never get here, will I?’

  Morgan wasn’t pleased. He growled threateningly, his rotting vocal chords sounding like damp cloth tearing.

  But the figure behind him was unperturbed. ‘Look, you’ve waited sixty million years for this. What’s a few weeks more?’ The figure sniffed with distaste. ‘I’m going outside for some air. You two smell really bad.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Despite Curtis and Joely’s rather odd relationship, Sam felt welcome in the house, as if he was being entertained by an eccentric aunt and uncle who he had never met before and was only just getting to know. Only getting to know Joely was problematic because she so very rarely spoke and certainly never to him. And with the passing days he often wondered why she was so remote, but could never find the right moment to raise the matter with Curtis because it felt too personal.

  Then something happened one morning when Sam came upstairs for a break from the endless tests Curtis was carrying out on him. He entered the kitchen to find that Joely was at the sink, rinsing the soil from a batch of vegetables she’d just dug up. They exchanged glances as he helped himself to a glass from the shelf, then waited awkwardly for her to finish at the sink. After a few moments, she stepped aside so he could use it.

  ‘Don’t feel you have to do everything he asks,’ she said, as Sam ran the tap.

  ‘I—’ Sam began, so surprised that he fumbled the glass and managed to deflect the jet of water all over himself.

  ‘He has a habit of treating everything and everyone as an experiment. And if one of his experiments doesn’t succeed, he simply chalks it up to experience and moves on. It’s his way.’

  Sam was about to reply, but Joely had taken a towel from the side and was using a corner to gently dry his face and neck. He stood there and let her do it, noticing how kind her green eyes were and how concerned she seemed to be.

  ‘I just don’t want you to be hurt. Don’t allow yourself to become a casualty of one of his madcap schemes,’ she whispered.

  ‘Thank you,’ he finally managed. ‘Um … why don’t you talk … usually?’ he ventured.

  She leaned back against the table, folding the towel and quite at ease as if she and Sam were old friends. ‘How do you think someone who’s been around longer than the pyramids, who’s seen everything under the sun so many times that only the little things in life like gardening and rearing dogs have any meaning, would answer that?’ she put to him.

  ‘Er … I …’ he mumbled. Then, with a shrug, he asked, ‘How?’

  She parted her lips as if about to speak, but then curved them into a quick smile and hurried from the room, leaving Sam wondering if the exchange had really taken place.

  ***

  ‘Here.’ Curtis dropped yet another small block of iron onto Sam’s palm, its faces dull and encrusted in places with carbon as if it had been recently cast. ‘You know the drill – hold it tight and concentrate on it.’ Curtis went back to his screens, studying them.

  ‘It’s still there,’ Sam said from the chair, stifling a yawn and wondering how many more of these interminable tests he would have to endure. He’d had a whole week of being monitored in the sensor rig while Curtis pored over the results. Sam had gone along with the various tests with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, although he had no idea what they were actually achieving. ‘But this one tingled a bit at first,’ he added.

  ‘Yes, I picked up on that,’ Curtis replied. ‘There was a minute energy surge.’

  Because Sam had been sitting for so long his muscles were cramping up and he shifted position to ease them, all the wires from the sensors moving with him. ‘Should these pieces of metal disappear or something? Is that what you’re expecting?’

  ‘Please … keep still,’ Curtis said, though not unpleasantly as he concentrated on the displays. ‘No, I’m not anticipating that. As you know yourself, transferences don’t happen very often, although with some practice you could probably increase your hit rate if that’s what you wanted. No, what I’m trying to establish with today’s tests is the effect the composition of these different blocks has on you.’ He turned to regard Sam. ‘You see, the blocks channel the energy that you’re discharging, and focus it. It’s the same principle as placing metal inside my Gondola.’

  ‘If I can learn to do that – make these blocks disappear – does it mean I won’t burn up?’

  ‘No, it’s not enough,’ Curtis replied, then punched a button. There was a rumble of activity from somewhere deeper in the workshop. ‘The amount of energy dissipated each time wouldn’t be sufficient to save you.’ He was at the chair now, removing the sensors from Sam. All of a sudden there was a sound, as if something had opened, and steam burgeoned from a corner of the workshop. ‘It’s ready,’ Curtis said.

  As they reached the corner, Sam saw where the steam had originated. It still hung about one of Curtis’s machines which resembled a long steel cabinet. Curtis wafted the clouds away and then reached in and took out what looked like a slim cord of shining new metal. It was flexible, swinging as he held it up to examine it.

  Sam could feel the immense heat emanating from the cabinet and saw that the metal cord was burning the skin of Curtis’s fingers. Worse still, he could smell the singed flesh.

  ‘Isn’t that terribly hot?’ he asked, but Curtis didn’t seem to care as he hurried over to another cabinet, vapor issuing from his hands, which had already begun to heal. He impatiently yanked the door open of this second cabinet to lift out a small rectangular box.

  ‘As I told you, I input the system with what I want, and it does it for me,’ Curtis said. ‘All perfectly engineered.’ Sam watched as he slid back a tiny panel on the small box and pushed a series of buttons below an LED
display on it. ‘Excellent,’ he whispered.

  ‘But what is it?’ Sam asked, as Curtis blew on the metal cord several times.

  ‘It’s cooled down now,’ Curtis said, then slotted both ends of the cord into the small box so that it formed a band. ‘Look at that,’ he exhaled, admiring his handiwork.

  ‘But I don’t understand what it is,’ Sam said in frustration.

  Curtis simply passed it to Sam. ‘Your passport through the cliffs.’

  ‘It is?’ Sam couldn’t comprehend how this device could possibly help him. It couldn’t be as easy as that. ‘What do I do with it? How does it work?’

  Curtis grinned, although his eyes were distant, as if his mind had already moved on and he was thinking of the next step. ‘I needed to come up with a design you could carry on yourself without drawing undue attention. Because if you lose it back in the world, you’re marooned there.’ He took the device from Sam and with a deft twist of his hand detached one of the ends of the cord from the device. Then he stepped behind Sam and placed it around his neck, linking it back together again. ‘Voila! You won’t lose that, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ Sam replied, running his fingers over it. ‘Although I’ve never worn a necklace before.’

  Curtis wasn’t amused. ‘It’s not a necklace. I don’t make necklaces. Okay, now try to take it off.’

  Sam did was he was told, although it took him a while to untwist and open it. He finally managed it, handing the device back to Curtis.

  ‘In order for it to function, it has to be secured to your cranium,’ Curtis said.

  ‘What do you mean secured?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Around it. The polyalloy band has a degree of elasticity,’ Curtis explained, pulling on both ends to demonstrate that it could stretch. ‘I had to engineer some give in it because your condition will resume immediately you’ve returned to the world, so it needs to accommodate any cranial growths.’

  ‘Great, I think,’ Sam said, not liking the sound of that at all. ‘But you don’t know for certain that I’m going to get ill again, do you?’

  Curtis pressed his lips together grimly. ‘I wish I could tell you otherwise, but you will. The field energy you accumulate will start to build up immediately you’re through the cliffs, and so your deformities will manifest again, with a vengeance. Your symptoms will be accelerated, and you’ll experience them within days, not months.’ Curtis took a breath, focusing on his device. ‘And there’s something else you need to know … a downside is that when it’s attached to your cranium, the polyalloy needs to be in direct contact with your skull. It does this via four protrusions … four spikes.’

  A downside? Sam looked wide-eyed at the man. ‘You said spikes … in my head? This just gets better and better!’

  Curtis nodded matter-of-factly. ‘Yes, in your head. The polyalloy senses its orientation on you, then extends the protrusions to anchor itself. Do you want to test it out?’ he suggested. ‘The insertion points will be minimal in size and the wounds will heal before you know it. The valley will take care of that.’

  They returned to the chair at the other end of the workshop and Sam sat down, trying not to show his trepidation in the face of the other man’s enthusiasm. He couldn’t help but recall what Joely had told him.

  Don’t feel you have to do everything he asks.

  Sam hadn’t breathed a word of his conversation with her to Curtis for fear of rocking the boat – how could he say anything about it without revealing her advice? – but her words would keep repeating in his head.

  Don’t allow yourself to become a casualty.

  Sam steeled himself. ‘Suppose I’ll have to try it sooner or later,’ he said, tensing as Curtis looped the cord around his head and attached the end to the rectangular box.

  ‘Ow!’ Sam burst out in alarm, as in the next moment the band contracted, and he gripped the arms of the chair tightly while the four small points sank into his head. It wasn’t so much the pain – that he could handle – but the noise as the points ground into his skull. ‘Jiminy! It’s like being stuck with thorns.’

  ‘A crown of thorns?’ Curtis said. ‘Maybe that’s what we should call it. The crown.’ He walked around Sam, inspecting the device and checking how snugly it fitted with a clinical detachment. ‘There’s a little bleeding,’ he said, taking out a handkerchief to dab at the two thin stripes of blood rolling down each of Sam’s temples, then those on the nape of his neck. ‘Nothing major.’ He folded the handkerchief over and passed it to Sam who wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘How does it feel now?’

  ‘Tight, but it’s okay, I suppose,’ Sam mumbled.

  ‘Good. It works in a similar way to the block of metal in the Gondola; by releasing the field energy in you, the envelope will be opened long enough for you to pass through the cliffs. The resistance of the polyalloy band is set via the controls, which dictates when you’ll reappear back in the world. Precisely when – well, that’s something we can calibrate … fine-tune after your first transference. That’s really all there is to it.’

  ‘I’m really glad it’s off,’ Sam said, after Curtis had flipped up the panel on the control box and pressed a button to release the tension, then disengaged the end of the cord. As a few curls of white vapor lifted from his head, Sam probed the wounds which had instantly begun to heal.

  ‘Sorry for the discomfort, but I couldn’t think of another way to go about it. You see, if instead I attempted to surgically implant the device into your skull, the valley would simply reject it and push it back out as part of the healing process. It wouldn’t be feasible. But when you cross through to the world, of course there won’t be any instant healing there. The four incisions will be something you’ll just have to deal with best you can.’

  Curtis held his finger up as something else occurred to him. ‘Another thing you should be aware of; when you take Damaris with you to fetch Rachel, she’ll be able to pass through the cliffs as long as you maintain physical contact. Your field will be sufficiently strong and diffuse enough to transport her and anyone with you. But there must be physical contact at all times during the crossing. Are you clear on that?’

  ‘Physical contact? How?’ Sam asked.

  Curtis smiled. ‘Hold her hand. Simple enough, isn’t it?’

  Sam nodded, for the first time allowing himself to believe that all this was really going to lead somewhere. ‘So once I’ve helped Rachel, this crown is how I go back to my time again? How I go home?’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘Yes, home.’

  Curtis appeared confused. ‘You mean to your parents? For good?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sam replied. ‘I have to get back to them again.’

  Curtis didn’t speak for a moment. ‘I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood why we’re doing this. You want to save your friend, and I understand that perfectly, but you can never go home again. Well, not for any length of time, and certainly not to your parents.’

  ‘Why?’ Sam croaked, indignation welling up inside him. ‘I have to!’

  ‘Because it’s not meant to be,’ Curtis replied sternly. ‘You can’t return to a point in time before you died because you’re already present there, and certainly not to a point after your death either. Both are completely out of the question.’

  Sam looked at him, not believing what he was hearing. ‘But why not?’

  ‘Can you imagine the consequences if, all of a sudden, you rose from the dead and showed up back at your house in London. You’re already in the ground there, a name on a gravestone.’ He locked eyes with Sam. ‘How are you ever going to explain you’ve returned from the great hereafter?’

  He left the question hanging as Sam tried to think of a response.

  ‘Come on – tell me how that would pan out?’ Curtis pressed him.

  ‘But … I …’ Sam began.

  Curtis spoke over him. ‘Let’s start with your mother and father – how will they react when their dead son wanders out of the night, alive and very mu
ch kicking?’

  ‘They’ll be happy th—’

  ‘No, they won’t. They’ll be scared out of their wits because they won’t begin to understand how it’s possible. And even if you somehow manage to talk them round, what about everyone else? There isn’t a lie big enough to explain your reappearance. And once your secret is out, you’ll be regarded as some sort of freak of nature.’ Curtis shook his head. ‘The government will spirit you away, then put you under lock and key so they can study you. You’ll never see the light of day again.’

  ‘But my parents will think of a way to explain it,’ Sam countered. ‘They can keep it secret.’

  ‘It won’t work, and anyway remember what happens to Rachel. When she eventually does go back, she dies, doesn’t she? You’ll be the same. Your condition will return again, so your future there will be short-lived.’

  Curtis took a sharp breath. ‘And what if the government uses you to get access to the valley, and all of a sudden we’re invaded by the army or, worse still, overwhelmed by their blooming scientists.’

  He was shaking his head even more vehemently now. ‘There’s no way I’m going to play right into the lying, deceitful hands of those state-sponsored lackeys again. I’ve already been down that road once before with Morgan. We’ll lose our freedom here, annexed to a country across time. Think about your friends, Damaris and Tom and the rest of them, and how they’d be affected. They’ve earned their peace here.’

  Curtis waved his hand in the air. ‘But all that’s beside the point. It’s not right to tinker with fate like you’re suggesting. The repercussions could be disastrous. Some things are just meant to happen, and I regret to say your death was one of them.’

  Sam was shocked by the intensity of Curtis’s reaction. ‘But then why are you helping me save Rachel? Isn’t that tinkering with fate too?’

  Curtis answered as if he’d been expecting the question. ‘Yes. I’ve been running that over and over in my head ever since you showed me the photograph, and I have to admit I’m a little surprised with myself that I did – or will – help you with her. But, on the other hand, Rachel does return home to die and so fate is eventually satisfied, and any knock-on effect is contained and minor. Her parents clearly didn’t go round shouting about it, did they?’ Curtis waited a beat before he added, ‘But there’s no guarantee that yours won’t.’