Schrodinger's Cottage

by David Luddington

  “No,” he said with an air of exasperation. He dropped his lunchbox on the table and continued, “Nuts are alright, they're just not allowed to be in anything. Too much of that anaphylactic shock business going on there was. Some poor sod eats a pizza that's been near a peanut and off he goes like a champagne bottle in a tumble dryer. So they banned all nuts as ingredients to anything else.”

  “Even muesli?”

  “Even muesli, whatever the hell that is.”

  “What about -”

  “Everything,” he interrupted.

  We carefully replaced everything into the chests. Although I did keep out a copy of Billy Bunter Among The Cannibals. I remembered reading a copy of that I'd found in my grandmother's bookcase.

  “What time are we off?” I asked.

  He poured boiling water onto a teabag in a huge mug. “Well, we don't want to meet the others until dusk.” He paused for thought, “So if we leave here around six, it'll take us a couple of hours to get to Black Buoy, the halfway point where we meet. Be dark by then.”

  I mulled over this information in a sort of silent terror. Two hours to the halfway point. That means four hours, in a fishing boat, in the dark.

  “But it only took twenty minutes in the aeroplane?” I said

  “Yes, but we've found stopping halfway to shift stuff from one aeroplane to another can be tricky. Which is why we do it by boats these days.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kevin was fully clothed when we met at the harbour side. I guessed Lee had probably insisted. “So,” I said. “You mentioned things hadn't turned out the way you'd expected?”

  “Yes, I'd rather hoped that the Islanders, given their renowned proclivity for liberalism and individual freedoms, might accept naturism in a slightly more accommodating way than the European Fascist dictators do.”

  “You've had troubles with your... err... lifestyle in England then?”

  “England, France, Germany, even Sweden -”

  “Isn't Sweden a bit...”

  “Yes, but that's not the point. It's to do with rights.”

  “Too many bloody rights, if you ask me.” Lee said over his shoulder as he guided the little boat out of the harbour walls.

  “The European Court of Human Rights says -”

  “They say way too much most of the time,” Lee interrupted. “And anyway, when they wrote their declaration of whatsits, they were probably more interested in torture and slavery than you taking all your kit off in the Anchor Tea Rooms. Right disturbed old Mrs Slipward, that did. Not been the same since, poor old dear.”

  “I didn't take my kit off in there,” Kevin was back to his indignant best. “It was already off when I went in.”

  Lee pulled the throttle levers back as the boat left the harbour and the noise of the engine removed the chance of further conversation. Thankfully.

  After awhile I grew used to noise of the engines and for the best part of the journey I sat and watched the sea roll by and chatted with Tania. The waves lifted the boat in a gentle movement which was actually quite pleasant once I'd got used to it. The smell of fish faded as the clear breeze took it to sea. Lee sat at the wheel drinking endless cups of tea and seemed to go into another world. I pulled my Billy Bunter book from my bag and started to read. After a while the evening drew in and the light made it difficult to read the small comic print.

  I tried angling the book under the running lights for a while until Lee said, “Nearly there.” And the lights went out. After a few moments the engine noise abruptly cut off and all I could hear was the splashing of the waves on the bows and a strange whistling similar to something I'd once heard on a radio programme about sheep dogs.

  A gentle bump indicated the meeting of two boats.

  “Alright, Lee?” asked a muffled voice.

  “Can't complain. Fish are runnin', the beer's good and the missus keeps the bed warm.”

  “What yer got for us then?”

  “A trio of offlanders with no passports.”

  “Send 'em over.”

  I felt hands guiding me across the gunwales. The new boat was significantly higher than Lee's and a degree of scrambling was required. Sounds to my right indicated Tania was being helped aboard by two men although I couldn't see anything in the almost total dark. I wondered how she was managing. A small giggle from Tania, a slight slapping sound and a hearty laugh from one of the men reassured me she was probably managing just fine. There was no sound from Kevin and I guessed the men had declined to help him. We were guided into comfortable seats in the back of the boat. They bid their farewells to each other and I heard the engines underneath me roar into life. This was no fishing boat. The boat lifted in the water as the engine noise increased and I felt wind on my face. The noise and the wind made it impossible to talk, or move, or think. After about thirty minutes the boat came to a stop and I felt a small bump. A torch shone a puddle of light on a concrete surface roughly level with the gunwales.

  “There you go,” said a voice from behind the torch. “Mind the step.”

  We scrambled onto the concrete and by the time we had straightened up the boat was turning away. The engines roared once more and a trail of fading phosphorescence was the only sign it had ever been there. I realised I'd never seen their faces or exchanged more than a couple of words.

  “I wonder where we are?” I said to Tania.

  “Buenos Aires if it's anything to do with you.”

  The moonlight cast a silver puddle across the small concrete pier onto which we had landed. I started edging forward, not entirely trusting my eyes and slid my feet to maintain contact. I felt Tania's hand slip into mine. I assumed for guidance but the familiarity stirred something. Our eyes acclimatised to the night and we stumbled up a steep gravel track that led to a car park. Beyond the car park small rows of cottages drew a stark line across the faint clouds. We ventured up the narrow road and I began to recognise our surroundings. This was Cape Cornwall, only a mile or so from St Just, a cup of tea and a warm bed.

  I managed to persuade Kevin to keep his clothes on and once I'd found the right house, Mary gave him a room.

  Once safely returned to the privacy of my own room, I made Tanis and I a cup of tea. Now I knew that it was not grown anywhere closer to India than Perpignan it explained the lack of taste and body. In fact, the lack of anything that resembled tea. Tania rinsed the cups and we settled for bed. Although we had been lovers once, we managed to nestle into the undersized bed without any actual bodily contact.

  *****

  Morning sunlight burst through the flimsy curtains with no consideration for the hour. Tania's side of the bed was empty and splashing noises came from the shower. I put the kettle on and made us both coffee. I had sneaked a small bag of Blue Mountain from the chest. The rich taste set my system going and the day seemed slightly less challenging. Find the Pope, quick trip up the motorway, navigate the doors and everything's back to normal by teatime. How hard could that be? There was a knock on the door. I opened it.

  “I've decided to go back to Somerset with you,” Kevin announced.

  “Oh, you have, jolly good. And why is that?” The thought of being stuck in a car with Kevin and the Pope for several hours was not my idea of a good time.

  “It's your doors. Emma told me about your doors.”

  “That was nice of her.” I'd have to remember to say thank you to Emma for that. “And what is it about my doors you find so compelling?”

  “Well, if as you say there are many different universes through them, then there ought to be one more suited to my needs.”

  “Several, I shouldn't wonder,” I said. “But being as how there are so many combinations of door, finding the right one might prove tricky. Are you sure you wouldn't be better off here in Cornwall? Somewhere remote for you practise your... err... lifestyle with a bit more privacy?”

  “No. I've decided. I've had enough of this Totalitarian Uberstate that passes for democracy these days.”

  I'd c
onvinced Kevin that staying fully clothed whilst in the hotel breakfast bar was probably a good idea. Mainly by the use of a threat that if he got us thrown out of the Smuggler's Haunt, I was going to leave him behind. He reluctantly complied but I did notice he wasn't wearing socks. Clearly a protest vote.

  As Mary cleared our breakfast plates, I asked her if she'd seen George. Her answer caught me mid mouthful.

  “He's gone where?” I spluttered toast crumbs at her.

  She placed the silver teapot on the table and brushed her white top free of my breakfast debris. “Destiny,” she repeated. “Said he had an appointment with destiny.”

  “What does that mean?” Tania looked at me.

  “I haven't the faintest idea,” I said. “I expect the silly old sod's finally lost the plot completely. Let's hope he hasn't bought a ticket for Rome.”

  “Rome?” Mary gathered up the empty breakfast plates. “Rome? He never said nothin' about Rome. He did ask me how to find the Men-an-Tol though.”

  “They're standing stones, aren't they? I've heard of that. Is it close by?” I asked. I was slightly worried as the last time George had mentioned standing stones I seemed to remember that the concept of human sacrifice had figured in there somewhere.

  “Just up the road aways. Need your hiking boots though, got a few fields to cross. He's probably gone up there for the solstice nonsense shouldn't wonder. Usually get a bunch wierdos dancing around them stones at midday on the solstice we do. They need a job if you ask me.”

  Solstice? Of course, today was the summer solstice. What on earth did he mean by having an appointment with destiny? The Pope, the summer solstice and an ancient monument. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Come on, Tania. We've got to hurry,” I gulped down the last of my tea as I stood. “

  “What? Where? I thought we were going straight back to London?” She looked distraught.

  “Minor detour. Just got to stop the Pope opening the gates to hell. Shouldn't take long. Home before supper. Trust me.”

  Tania gave a little muttered grunting noise I thought best to ignore.

  *****

  Mary was right about the boots. Midsummer's day in deepest Cornwall can be a soggy affair and today was no exception. “You'd think they'd have a miniature railway or at least a decent footpath,” I grumbled. “How do they expect tourists up here when they can't even spare a bit of concrete.”

  “Perhaps they don't want tourists,” Tania said as she marched on ahead of me like a Himalayan Sherpa being paid by the mile.

  “I'm just saying. At least a sign or two wouldn't go amiss. How do we even know if we're going the right way?”

  “Because I can see it up there. Look!” She pointed at yet another hill that inevitably involved yet another muddy field.

  We followed what seemed to be little more than a goat track until I eventually heard the sound of distant voices and something resembling bells.

  “There we are,” Tania announced. “Just there, see?”

  Another fence and two ditches later and we emerged onto a slight rise at the top of which a group of people gathered around a set of three stones each no bigger than an average Ikea wardrobe.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “What did you expect? The Great Pyramid of Giza?”

  As we approached, the gathered masses, of which I guessed numbered at least twelve, fell silent and those who held bells held them still.

  The Men-an-Tol consisted of three stones arranged in a line. The centre stone stood about two metres and was wheel shaped with a central hole. The outermost stones were about the same height but simple standing stones. At each of the outer stones a figure seemed to be tied by rope. Each had a hood over their head. A white sheet was spread on the ground each side of the central stone. I had an uneasy feeling about all of this. The assembled figures all wore capes of either white or blue, I guessed there was a sort of hierarchy involved, but it made seeing their faces difficult.

  “You can't come here. Not today, this is a private ceremony,” a voice shouted from under a blue cape.

  “I'm looking for a friend,” I said. “George, are you there?”

  “Ian?” came a voice from the figure tied to the eastern standing stone.

  The horror of what we had clearly interrupted spread over me like a cold wind in January. They were going to sacrifice the Pope! I was not normally given to acts of impetuous bravery but I couldn't allow the Pope to be sacrificed in some pagan festival. Even if he was only a Dopple Pope. And a cantankerous old git. I ran over to him. The ropes were tight and I couldn't free them. A quick glance around and I noticed a knife laying on the sheet by the central stone. I grabbed it quickly and noticed a loud 'Ooh!” from the pagan hoodies. I tried to hold the knife in what I hoped was a threatening manner and shouted, “Stay back!” It seemed to do the trick as nobody moved. Back to the Pope and I started hacking at the ropes holding him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted through his sack.

  “Rescuing you.”

  “Well just sod off will you. You're going to ruin everything.”

  “It's alright, I can get us away.” The ropes fell away under the sharp ceremonial blade.

  “It's my time,” he shouted. “Destiny!”

  “Who's that at the other stone?” I asked as I pulled the sack off his head.

  “Destiny!” he repeated.

  “Tania,” I yelled. “Take George, I'm going to free the other one.” My adrenaline was running high as I moved with an eye on the pagan monsters and the knife held out in front of me. I cut the ropes holding the other victim and pulled at the sack. A mane of dark hair fell free and tumbled over the shoulders of a petite young woman dressed in a flimsy cotton dress.

  “What's happening?” she asked. “Is it time?”

  “It's alright,” I said. “It's all over now. You're safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “Come with us.” I grabbed her arm and guided her through the menacing throng who had all fallen strangely quiet. They were probably in awe of my heroics. We caught up with Tania and the Pope then scurried down the goat track and across the fields. The Pope grumbled all the way saying I'd ruined his great day.

  We all piled into the little Renault Martin and I locked the doors.

  “We seem to have outrun them.” I glanced all around and could see no sign of pursuing hordes. My adrenaline dump was fading and my hands had started to tremble. I held the steering wheel tight so it wouldn't show. This was the second time I'd had to rescue the Pope from religious lunatics and I hoped it would be the last time.

  “You're an interfering twonk,” the Pope informed me. He was obviously still in shock. “One chance! One chance and you come along and make dog's bollock of it.”

  My trembling subsided and I started the engine.

  “Didn't you get my message? I told that silly old cow in the hotel to tell you,”

  I eased the car into the lane. “She told me you'd gone to meet your destiny. If that's what you mean.”

  “A union with Destiny. I knew she'd screw it up, stupid old tart. A union with Destiny, that's what I told her.”

  ““I don't see the difference. Meet your destiny or union with your destiny. All the same.”

  “Not my destiny, you idiot. This Destiny.” I twisted in my seat and saw he was nodding towards the girl on the back seat with him. “This is Destiny.”

  I looked at the girl. “Hi,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Tania squeaked from beside me and I turned back towards the road just in time to avoid a cyclist.

  “You're Destiny?” I said to the rear-view mirror.

  “Yes,” she said. “My parents were hippies and they conceived me whilst they -”

  “He doesn't need to know all of that,” interrupted George. “Couldn't you have left it just five minutes?”

  “She's Destiny? And you two were going to...” I struggled for words. “You were about to... In front of all those people.
At a religious shrine like that, you were going to... Oh for goodness sake, now there, that image is in my head it will haunt me for years. It doesn't bear thinking about.” I swerved the car again. “And what is it with all these bloody cyclists?”

  We drove back to St Just in silence. Or moderate silence since George continued to grumble from the back seat. I offered to take Destiny home but she informed me 'home' was a misconceived concept that created unnecessary ideologies which could never be fulfilled. So I dropped her just outside the village.

  The church clock struck three which meant it was two in the afternoon, the bar should still be open and I needed a beer.

  As my eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the Smuggler's Haunt all seemed quiet and normal. With the exception of the naked man sat at the seat near the window.

  “Kevin?” I said. “I thought we had an agreement?”

  “Is he with you?” asked the barman, a man with an untidy white beard and unnaturally black eyebrows. “Only he can't sit there like that. Scaring off my regulars.”

  “You were gone so long,” Kevin said.

  “And that necessitated you taking your clothes off?”

  “I don't know why you think clothes are so important anyway.”

  “Get dressed or I won't take you to Somerset. And who's this?” I asked noticing the man sat next to Kevin, thankfully fully clothed.

  “This is Simon. He's an Overlord.”

  “Not actually a full Overlord,” Simon corrected, his eyes gleamed behind his oversized horn-rimmed glasses. “Just an Overlord second class. I need three more Death Hammers.”

  The beer had appeared in my hand with no thought from me. I stared at it briefly wondering how that had happened then decided not to question the gifts of a generous universe and sank it in one.

  “Well,” I said. “Lovely to meet you, Simon but we have to be off now. We have a motorway to catch.”

  “Simon's decided to come with us,” Kevin announced.

  “Oh, he has, has he? And just when did we decide that?”