16
The secret task
Danyl ran until he reached Aro Street, then stopped to catch his breath and inspect his reflection in a shop window. Not good. Not good. His face was still bruised from Campbell’s ambush in the park—hard to believe it had only happened a few hours ago—and he was bedraggled and soaked after his adventure with Steve. He ran his hands through his hair, brushing away the leaves and spider-webs and larger twigs tangled in there, and flicked most of the scone crumbs from his dressing gown. Better. But his lack of trousers was still of concern. Should he run home and change? Which was more likely to impress Stasia? Showing up on time or wearing pants? Danyl liked to think he knew what women wanted, and it was probably the latter, but—he scowled at the wet streets—his pants would be soaked.
He took a deep breath. Calm. He needed to think. To plan. The expert in warfare, he reminded himself, knows that strategy is everything and that opportunities multiply as they are seized. He meditated on this thought, then stood on a nearby bench and looked around for opportunities.
The solution presented itself almost instantly.
Danyl crossed the road to the western side of Epuni Street, looked about then trotted up the steps leading to a handsome, gentrified bungalow. He climbed over the fence and stole through the yard, keeping to the shadows. From the windows of the house came the flickering babble of the television. He ducked down as he moved along the side wall, keeping his head below the window-frame. The washing line lay just beyond the back of the house. A brightly-coloured array of pillowcases, clothes, towels and undergarments fluttered in the breeze. A sheet of perspex attached to the wash-house had sheltered them from the rain.
Danyl crept up to the line, crouched beneath it, and after testing the items for dryness he stole a blue shirt and some khaki pants. He ducked behind the wash-house to change. It wasn’t theft. He would leave his trusty dressing gown behind as compensation, so this was just a non-consensual exchange of goods. He checked his pockets for incriminating clues that might reveal his identity, but found only bits of lint and a collection of used ear-buds, which he left behind for the gown’s future owner to enjoy. He hung it on a convenient nail and changed into his new outfit.
He returned to Aro Street and inspected his reflection again. So much better. The shirt was an odd fit—it was short and tight around the arms and shoulders but loose across the chest—and the pants were far too large. A consequence of the modern obesity epidemic, Danyl thought grimly, clenching his hand in his pocket to hold the trousers up around his waist.
He crossed the road and entered the Dolphin Cafe. It was an old residential home converted into a restaurant, in violation of every council ordinance. Danyl walked down a candlelit hall, past locked doors through which he heard the muffled sounds of chefs chopping and frying and threatening waitresses, into the dining garden out back. This area was sheltered by a row of sturdy pohutukawa hung with fairy lights. A dozen tables arranged about the space were each tucked into their own secluded part of the garden.
Danyl looked around and saw Stasia sitting at a far table, gazing off into space. All his other thoughts and concerns melted away. Stasia. So beautiful. So perfect. Why shouldn’t she fall in love with him? Practise her dark, mystical, erotic secrets upon him? Relentlessly? Then take him in and care for him while he wrote his next book?
He hurried over to her. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ He kissed her cheek and began to sit down when her hand shot out and cupped his jaw.
‘What is this?’ Stasia demanded.
Danyl found it hard to talk with his chin trapped in her vice-like grip. He mumbled, ‘Whab?’
She turned his face to the light. ‘Dry blood.’ She declared. ‘Bruises. Black eye. You have been attacked.’
He tried to look nonchalant. ‘Ib was nobhing.’
She released her grip and he fell back into his chair. ‘Lies. This was something. Who dared do this?’
Danyl hesitated. How much should he tell her? How much did she know? And, when you got past her hot body and adorable accent, who was she? He remembered Campbell’s warning. ‘She is more powerful than you could imagine.’ She certainly had power—his healed ankle was proof of that. But what were her limits?
She expected an answer. ‘It was just this guy,’ he said, waving his hand and affecting a smile as though the subject amused him. ‘And a lot of his friends. No big deal. They know not to mess with me again.’
Stasia did not return his smile. ‘This story is not whole truth.’
‘I left out some minor details.’
‘To leave out part of truth is lie.’
‘Well, that’s a complex philo—’ Danyl yelped as Stasia grabbed his hand and jerked him across the table towards her, scattering the neatly set cutlery.
‘I must have truth. Now.’
‘Welcome to the Dolphin Cafe,’ said a voice. They both looked up. A thin, baby-faced waiter stood by their table, with menus tucked under his arm and a look of anxiety as he took in Danyl’s facial injuries, Stasia’s fingernails digging into his arm, the air of barely restrained violence about their table. He shuffled backwards and said, ‘Maybe I’ll give you some more time.’
‘No. I will eat now.’ Stasia released Danyl’s hand. He fell back, nursing his crushed wrist and the waiter set down their menus and lit a candle in the centre of their table.
They ordered their drinks. Stasia demanded green tea steeped in unfiltered rainwater, and Danyl ordered the same, and the waiter nodded and scurried away.
They studied their menus in silence. Danyl stared at the words uncomprehendingly, planning his next move. He had three goals to work towards:
1. Interrogate Stasia, demanding real answers to his many questions regarding the destruction of his house, her healing powers, and her relationship with the Campbell Walker, and to do this while maintaining a casual romantic atmosphere so as to achieve
2. Make sure Verity’s friend Eleanor—the owner of the restaurant—saw him here with Stasia and reported back to Verity, who would be consumed with jealousy, and
3. Sleep with Stasia.
But the date had started badly. Now he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He looked at her over his menu. He needed to charm her, disarm her with his wit. He cleared his throat and said, ‘How was your day?’
She looked up from the menu. ‘I think you must be very curious.’
‘Yes,’ said Danyl. ‘Very. Very curious.’ He waited. ‘About what specifically?’
‘I sorry about my behaviour before,’ Stasia said. ‘I have no right to demand truth from you. I apologise. And now I satisfy your curious.’
‘OK. Great.’
‘You are wanting to know about your secret task, yes?’
‘Oh, the secret task. Yes. I am curious. I was also wondering—’
Stasia snapped her menu shut. ‘I think I will have beetroot. Now I will tell you part one of your task.’
‘How many parts are there?’
‘Two. I will say and you will perform.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes. Here.’ She leaned across the table. ‘Now.’ The candlelight flickered on her breasts. ‘Part one is for you to say everything you know about the Campbell Walker and the SSS.’
Campbell tapped on the window. The rat waddled across its cage and sniffed at the glass. It looked at Campbell for a minute then turned its back on him and returned to its drink bowl.
‘Intelligent creatures, rats,’ said Campbell. ‘Especially these ones. They’re Wister rats. A specially-bred strain of laboratory albino rat. Very smart. And soon you’ll be even smarter, won’t you, little guy?’ He tapped on the glass again and puckered his lips. He looked like a fish feeding. The rat stared at him with disdain.
Danyl pitied the rats. They lived in a section of the biochemistry labs on the third floor of the tenement building, in dozens of cages stacked
to the ceiling. Their pink eyes followed him as he moved. They were prisoners, the unwilling servants of Campbell’s mad plan. Like him.
‘Writer. Pay attention.’
Danyl turned. Campbell led him to a steel door at the far end of the lab, which he unlocked with the double-bladed white key he kept on a chain around his neck. They entered a room with more rats in glass cages, and a large table in the centre. It was covered with a dust cover, which Campbell removed with a flourish to reveal a miniature maze with a clear perspex lid so the viewer could observe the rats from above.
‘This is how we test variations in animal intelligence. Maze-solving over time. If DoorWay works the way we expect it to, rats administered with the compound will solve the maze many times faster than a control group. Are you getting all this down?’
Danyl pretended to make a note in his book.
‘Now observe this.’ Campbell flipped a switch on the side of the table and the panel over the maze turned black, concealing the passages beneath. ‘Ingenious, isn’t it? There’s a nanofilm embedded in the perspex. We can make the rats run the maze in pitch-darkness. Make a note of that.’
Danyl did not do this. He asked, ‘Why darkness?’
Campbell flipped the button again, toggling the lid from see-through to black to see-through again. ‘Why what?’
‘Why make them run it in darkness?’
‘Oh.’ Campbell looked irritated. ‘I’m not sure of the specific reason.’
‘Aren’t you running this project?’
‘Of course I’m running it,’ Campbell snapped. ‘But I don’t attend to every trivial detail. I think the biochemist suggested this. It’s really not important.’ He draped the dust-cover back over the maze. ‘Let me talk you though the autopsy protocol.’
‘What biochemist?’
‘The biochemist.’ Campbell waved his hand, dismissing the subject. ‘I’m sure I’ve mentioned him. He’s just a consultant. He helps with some of the technical details.’
‘Why doesn’t he ever visit the building?’
‘He can’t. It’s not convenient.’
‘Should I interview him?’
‘No! Why? He doesn’t matter. What’s important here is the project, not the background research.’
Danyl didn’t care about the biochemist, but he relished the chance to agitate Campbell. ‘Research? Did this scientist discover the DoorWay compound? He sounds pivotal.’
‘Pivotal? Him? Ha!’ Campbell rounded on Danyl. ‘The man’s a failure. A disgrace. A fugitive. Anyone can discover something,’ he spat. ‘All it takes is dumb luck. Greatness comes from having the willpower and vision to transform the world with it. That’s what I’m doing. That’s what you’re here to document, writer. To wit.’
The walked over to a stainless-steel bench attached to the wall. Beside it stood a steel tray mounted on wheels, with clean surgical instruments laid out ready for use. A row of pale green surgical gowns hung on hooks. At the end of the bench were two piles of white polystyrene boxes. Campbell snapped a latex glove onto his right hand and picked up a box.
‘We administer the rats with two different dosage levels of DoorWay compound,’ he explained. ‘Ten micrograms and twenty-five micrograms. The ten-microgram rats show moderate intelligence increases and this lasts for several days. But then their problem-solving ability returns to normal, and the animals become listless, which eventually leads to suboptimal organ performance.’ Campbell opened the box. A dead, emaciated rat lay inside it on a bed of ice. Its white fur was matted with dew; its tiny pink eyes were open and empty. Danyl’s heart went out to it.
‘Take heed, writer. This is where moderate intelligence will get you.’ Campbell closed the box and tossed it back onto the bench. ‘The high-dosage rats, on the other hand . . .’ He tapped on the glass of an adjacent cage. Another pink-eyed, white-furred creature stirred within. ‘Not only thrive, they show intelligence outside the previous parameters for their species. And the increased intelligence is permanent. Astounding, yes?’
‘I guess.’ Danyl lifted the sleeve of one of the surgical gowns. The front of the garment was dotted with bloody brown stains. ‘Campbell? Is all of this legal?’
Campbell snorted. ‘Legal? Of course it’s legal. And if it isn’t it should be. We’re doing amazing things here and the rats are only the beginning. Next week we begin clinical trials using human subjects.’
‘Humans?’ Danyl laughed. ‘Half of the rats in the experiment are dead. Taking this drug could be suicide. Who would volunteer for these trials?’
A shout came from the other end of the lab. Danyl looked out through the open door. A group of Campbell’s disciples were attempting to manoeuvre a large gas canister into a storeroom. The canister dropped to the floor with a crash. Yelling and recriminations followed. A shoving match broke out. Danyl looked at them and then looked at the rats waddling around in the cages. He turned to Campbell. ‘You’re going to give this dangerous experimental drug to those nerds?’
‘They’re not nerds,’ Campbell said sternly. ‘I don’t care for that term. They call themselves the DoorMen. They’re brethren. An elite corps. They could be the architects of a new era in planetary intelligence. The progenitors of a new—’
One of the nerds fell and hit his head against the gas canister, and began bawling in agony. The rest of the group scattered.
‘Species.’
Baby vegetables with mint béarnaise. Danyl dunked a plump, crisp baby parsnip into the sauce then ate it whole. Delicious.
Stasia asked him, ‘What happen to these disciples, and this so-called DoorWay project?’
‘It was a disaster. No one knows exactly what went wrong, but Campbell destroyed his laboratory. He threw all of his disciples out of the building and shut himself up inside it, alone. Then he built a gate blocking the driveway and turned the building into a fortress, secure behind high walls and barbed wire.’
‘He is no longer alone.’ Stasia ate with her hands. She bit a steamed beetroot in two, dipped the cleaved halves into her ginger sauce and devoured them, then licked the blood-red juices from her fingers. ‘He has SSS.’
‘I don’t know anything about them. I guess they’re the same nerds from the DoorWay project,’ Danyl said. ‘It’s impossible to tell under the cowls. He must have some new plan they’re all working on.’
‘And do you know what this plan is?’
‘No. I’m the last person Campbell would confide in. To find out you’d have to get inside his fortress somehow. And that’s impossible.’
‘Is it?’ Stasia gently kissed her fingertips. Her lips were stained red. A small trickle ran from the corner of her mouth.
Danyl swallowed. He remembered the gate in the shadowy corner of her garden. The secret path leading to the tower. He thought: she knows damn well it’s not impossible. He said: ‘Perhaps there are ways.’
She wiped the juice from her chin. ‘Yes. Perhaps.’
He thought of the ramp leading into the darkness beneath the building, the mysterious campervan concealed in the farthest corner. Campbell’s secret weapon. But a secret weapon against whom? He sliced his parsnips.
‘I have a theory. I think Campbell has something hidden in the basement beneath his building. Something valuable.’
A cunning, guarded smile flickered across Stasia’s face, disappearing in an instant—but Danyl saw it. He thought, she knows what’s in there.
She replied, a little too indifferently, ‘Perhaps. I cannot say. Some secrets are best left secret. Maybe this is one of them.’
So there it was. Whatever lay hidden in the dark corner of that basement connected Campbell with Stasia. Danyl replied casually, ‘Why are you so interested in Campbell? Do you know him?’
‘Yes.’ She ate another beetroot. ‘I know him very well. And I know it was Campbell and the SSS that attack you in park today, yes?�
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Danyl did not reply.
‘I know Campbell did this because of me. That he warn you not to speak with me, but you disobey him.’
‘He said you were dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ Stasia laughed. ‘I tell you whole story of myself and Campbell. Full truth. I leave out nothing. Then you decide if I am dangerous. Perhaps I will make you afraid, and you will leave. Or maybe you stay and we talk of secret task. And how I can reward you.’
17
The wise man
‘Reward me?’ Danyl chewed a parsnip. ‘I’m listening.’
Stasia looked around at the darkening garden, the tables lit by tiny pools of candlelight, and lowered her voice. ‘I tell you other day about my childhood, and about the starets, the wise man who came to my village and sought me out because of my gift. You remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘This wise man was very kind, and very wise. He taught me many things. But all the time he taught me I could see in his eyes a great sadness. Something haunted him, a burden, a terrible secret he would not reveal. I pleaded with him to share this sorrow with me, but he refused. I was not prepared, he said. I must continue to study and complete my training, to master my gift and myself. Then I would be ready.
‘But just as suddenly as he came, my starets was taken from me. Police came for him at night and arrested him for so-called political crimes. They drove him away in black car, and he vanished. I was stricken with grief. I wanted to search the land for him, but at this time my grandmother fell ill. Ill beyond the ability of my gift to save her. We were forced to leave our clearing in forest and move to city so grandmother could be near hospitals and doctors. But with all their drugs and machines and scientific theories, all they could do was prolong her life and ease her pain.
‘After four year of this she passed away. I was devastate. I had nobody else. But the very morning I return home from her funeral I find letter waiting for me. It had been forwarded from my old village, and it was from the starets. He was in prison, far to the north, and he had finally found a way to smuggle word out to me. Despite my grief I tore letter open and read it.’
Unspeakable Secrets of the Aro Valley Page 17