by David Logan
Lasel seized Junk by the hand and hauled him across to a cluster of packing crates. She pulled him behind the crates, out of sight.
‘They’re here for you and for that,’ she said, pointing to the box.
‘Of course they are,’ said Junk. ‘Listen, it works. We’ve found the Room of Doors. Otravinicus and Cascér are down there now.’
There was an almighty crash and Hundrig landed hard on his back next to them. He was bloodied and bruised but still raring to go. He was about to scramble back to his feet when he spotted Lasel and Junk.
‘Junk! When did you get back?’
‘Just now,’ said Junk. ‘We’ve found the Room of Doors! It’s where I said. We can all get in there. The monks won’t follow – they think they’ll die if they go in. But we need more commust sacs.’
Hundrig nodded towards the top deck at the stern. ‘Whole bag of them up there. Get Garvan and go.’
‘No,’ said Junk. ‘All of us should go. This is my fault.’
‘I won’t argue with that, but you’re a sailor, Junk. You know I can’t abandon the Casabia. Nor would any of my crew. This is our home. Go now. There’s no time.’
‘But, Captain—’
‘Don’t fret about us. We’re tough old birds. A few God-botherers can’t stop us. I’ll see you again, Junk.’ Hundrig put a fatherly hand on Junk’s head.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Junk. ‘Get ready to set sail. I can get them off the ship.’
‘Junk, no …’
But Junk didn’t give Hundrig time to finish. He jumped up and grabbed Lasel by the hand. The two of them sprinted across the deck, heading for the steps leading up to the top deck. They went via Garvan, who was busy punching as many monks as he could.
‘Junk, you’re back.’
‘Come on,’ said Junk. ‘We’re going. Got us a plan. Can you swim?’
‘Course I can,’ said Garvan, following Junk and Lasel to the top deck. ‘I lived on an island. Who lives on an island and can’t swim?’ Garvan paused to punch a few more monks before carrying on.
It was quiet on the top deck, the battle being confined to the main deck. They found the bag of fluid sacs. It took two to coat Garvan. Once all three were covered, Garvan and Lasel gathered together the remaining sacs and all their clothes, as well as those belonging to Otravinicus and Cascér, sealed them in a waterproof sack and slipped silently overboard and started swimming downwards, following the markers as Junk had instructed.
Junk gave them as much time as he thought they needed and then jumped up on to the balustrade surrounding the top deck.
‘BROTHER ANTOR!’ he roared at top of his lungs. Little by little, the battle beneath him stopped and all eyes turned to Junk. Brother Antor stepped forward and Junk held the box aloft. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’
‘Return what you have stolen and I shall spare your wretched life,’ said Brother Antor. He was lying.
‘Sure,’ said Junk. ‘Come and get it.’ And with that he dived off the starboard side of the ship.
Brother Antor ran to the rail and saw Junk enter the water with barely a splash. He didn’t hesitate. He jumped in after him. The rest of the monks, those still standing, jumped in too, following their leader.
In seconds the Casabia was peaceful again. The crew stood around, unsure what to do now.
‘Let’s get her under way,’ shouted Hundrig. ‘Toss the stragglers overboard.’
The crew threw the unconscious monks into the water and the anchor was pulled in. The blood-red sails unfurled and the Casabia set off.
*
Junk powered through the water, going deeper and deeper. He was sure the monks would not follow him for long. After all, none of them were wearing the protective fluid. He glanced over his shoulder and was horrified to see that the brothers were still coming, and what was more, they were gaining. They were protected by their zealotry.
Ahead, two pale blue shapes started to materialize out of the darkness: Lasel and Garvan.
As Junk got closer, Lasel and Garvan spotted him coming, and saw the monks right behind him. Junk waved, pointing them in the direction of the green door. They turned and swam quickly.
The door was ahead of them and first Lasel and then Garvan reached it and went through.
Junk looked behind him, straight into the determined eyes of Brother Antor. He was not going to give up, and Junk wasn’t sure he could get to the door before Brother Antor got to him. Junk put everything else out of his mind and surged onwards.
Some of the monks started to drop back, unable to hold their breath any longer or stand the cold. But not Brother Antor. The power of his faith drove him on. In the distance he saw the doorway of green light. The entrance to the Room of Doors. He had never seen one before. He realized Junk was going to get there before him and then the key would be lost forever. He couldn’t let that happen. He increased his speed.
Junk focused on the door now. Only a few more metres. He was just about to make it when he felt fingertips on his heel. Brother Antor was that close. Junk pushed forward, reaching out ahead of him. His fingers touched the light of the door and he felt the pull of the door’s force. He was being drawn inside.
But then Brother Antor got a hand around Junk’s ankle and pulled. He was more powerful than Junk, and Junk was jerked back, away from the door. Panic crashed through him. Brother Antor increased his hold on Junk. He reached for the netting bag and ripped it free. Then he dug his fingers into the fluid covering Junk’s face and tore it apart. The icy seawater burned as it hit Junk’s skin and his first instinct was to open his mouth. It took all of his willpower to resist.
Brother Antor was on the seabed now. He bent his knees and pushed off with force, aiming for the surface, the netting bag containing the box in his hands. Junk watched him go and then looked at the door. He could make it. He looked to Brother Antor, rising in the water. If he went after the monk, Junk would die. His hands were clamped over his nose and mouth to stop himself inhaling. His oxygen-starved lungs were starting to send urgent demands to his brain for resupply, but there was only one real choice. Junk kicked off the seabed and swam with all his strength after Brother Antor.
Brother Antor didn’t see him coming. Truth be told he had forgotten all about him, dismissed him as a problem no longer, and all his focus had turned to reaching the surface. So when Junk caught up with him and whipped around him without warning, snatching the netting bag from his grasp, Brother Antor, who had been holding his breath for much longer than Junk, gave in to instinct. He opened his mouth to protest and the ocean roiled into him. Junk turned and started swimming back down to the door as fast as he could. His skull felt as if it was about to implode.
He didn’t look back to see Brother Antor convulsing violently as he drowned. When his body stopped thrashing, he drifted downwards. A dark shadow cut through the water, cloaked in a flurry of bubbles. It was Brother Rard. He grabbed Brother Antor’s motionless body by his hood and kicked up towards the surface.
*
Junk shot into the Room of Doors and collapsed, filling his lungs with air. He was panting hard from exertion. His vision was blurred, his brain pounding. He looked behind him at the door, wondering whether any monks would follow him through, but no one came.
Garvan stood over him and helped him to his feet. ‘This place is big,’ he said, always a master of understatement.
*
A short time later, once everyone had dried off and dressed, they gathered to decide what to do next. Junk knew where he was going.
‘First time I went through, I went along that way.’ He pointed. ‘Thirty-nine doors down, took me up there.’ He looked up at the row upon row of doors stretching above them. From ground level the narrow ledges were invisible so the doors looked as if they were hovering in mid-air. ‘Then eighteen along. Two doors side by side. I had to guess which one the Pallatan I was following had gone through. I took the one on the left. Took me to your island, Garvan. The Pallatan must h
ave gone through the other one. If I’m right, the other door should lead to Cul Sita. That’s where I’m going. Anyone’s welcome to come with me.’
‘Now hold on there,’ said Dr Otravinicus. ‘Look around you for a moment. Look at all these … wonderful possibilities.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ said Junk. ‘I mean, you don’t know where any of them go. Wouldn’t it be better to wait till Garvan’s had a chance to decipher the box?’
‘And how long will that be?’ Otravinicus looked to Garvan.
Garvan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Think I’ve almost got it.’
‘You think?’ said Otravinicus, a tone of disdain clear in his voice. ‘Here’s what I suggest: Junk, you go wherever you need to go. Your friends –’ He looked at Lasel and Garvan – ‘can go with you or wherever they want to go, but the box stays with me.’
‘It’s not yours,’ said Lasel. ‘It was me and Junk that got it.’
‘It was you and Junk who stole it. It doesn’t belong to you any more than it does anyone else. I am a scientist, I am the recognized authority on the Room of Doors, therefore it makes sense for me to keep it.’
‘OK, how about this?’ said Junk, trying to sound reasonable. ‘We decide where each of us wants to go – majority keeps the box. Sound fair?’
‘I’m going with you,’ said Garvan.
‘Me too,’ said Lasel. ‘That’s a majority. Box stays with us.’
‘OK.’ Otravinicus nodded sourly, looking from Junk to Garvan to Lasel and back. Nodding continuously as he pondered the best way to handle this. He plastered a plastic smile on his lips. ‘Well, fair enough,’ he said, throwing his hands up in a gesture of capitulation, ‘majority wins. Looks like we’re all going to Cul Sita. Thirty-eight along, nineteen back, right?’
‘Thirty-nine along, eighteen back,’ Junk said, looking up in the general direction of the relevant door. The moment Junk’s attention was elsewhere, Otravinicus snatched the box out of his hands and ran for the doorway nearest to Cascér.
‘Come on,’ he called to her gleefully.
‘NO! Stop!’ Junk started after him, as did Lasel, but it was no good. They wouldn’t catch him in time.
As Otravinicus ran past Cascér he grabbed her hand and leaped for the doorway. The portal started to pull him in and Otravinicus was a split second away from disappearing. Except Cascér didn’t move. She stayed right where she was and yanked Otravinicus back. He looked at her, blinking, not sure why she wasn’t moving. Then Cascér grabbed the box from his grasp, planted her big hand over his face and pushed him backwards through the doorway. The opening sucked him through and he was gone.
Junk and Lasel skidded to a halt, open-mouthed with shock. Cascér held out the box to Junk.
‘Chikka na radoo,’ she said by way of explanation.
22
A rectangle of emerald green light opened on a clear day. The sky was bright blue and the sun hung low in the sky. Junk came tumbling out of the door and found himself falling. The door was floating about four or five metres off the ground. There was a fleeting feeling of weightlessness as he was initially ejected and then he fell. Beneath him was a hillside, pitched at a steep sixty-degree angle. He landed hard on parched brown grass which did little to break his fall and then gravity, proving it really wasn’t on Junk’s side today, started him sliding.
His speed increased quickly and he scrabbled in an attempt to grab a clod of earth or a tussock of grass to slow his descent, but he only succeeded in upsetting his trajectory and he started spinning and rolling as well.
As the world hurtled around him, he became aware that the hillside was about to end abruptly in what, from his revolving perspective, looked like a very high cliff-top. He thrust his heels down, looking for purchase. He clawed at the ground, using his fingernails to dig into the rough, stone-strewn earth that ripped and bit back at him until his hands were bloody, but little by little he slowed until he came to a stop with only his legs dangling over the cliff edge. He lay there panting for a few seconds. Then he pulled himself up and glanced over the precipice to see a staggering drop of maybe a thousand metres. He whimpered in triumph and fear and moved away from the edge.
He turned in time to see Lasel being spat out of the door. Like him she fell, hit the ground and started rolling, her speed increasing. Junk didn’t think. He started powering up the hill towards her. When he got close he launched himself on top of her, hoping that the force of his ascent would counteract the speed of her descent. It didn’t. The pair of them, locked together in an embrace of tangled limbs, tumbled down the hillside, both digging their heels into the gritty sod. Working together, they were able to stop themselves a little further away from the edge than Junk had been able to do alone. They were knotted in one another’s arms and their faces were intimately close.
‘Thank you,’ said Lasel.
‘No problem,’ said Junk. ‘There’s a bloody big drop down there. Wasn’t easy to stop.’ They each became aware of their breath on the other’s face. Lasel’s breath smelled sweet. Junk found he liked being this close to her and his immediate instinct was not to move away.
However, the moment was broken by the arrival of Cascér as she was spat out of the door, hit the ground and started rolling. Junk and Lasel disengaged themselves from one another, jumped up and started running to intercept her. Both leaped on top of her, but it was like trying to stop a boulder by throwing two pillows at it. They just got caught up in her momentum and all three started sliding down the hillside towards the edge. Cascér wrapped her arms around Lasel and Junk and smashed her heels down hard into the ground. Huge clumps of soil were churned up in their path until all three came to a stop, on their backs, looking up at the clear sky.
‘Atcha fanany muunt,’ said Cascér. Neither Junk or Lasel understood and it was probably just as well.
The three of them took a deep, cleansing breath and got to their feet. Then they stopped and exchanged wide-eyed looks of horror. All had simultaneously had the same terrifying thought: Garvan. They turned to see their giant friend coming through the doorway just as they had. He fell just as they did. He hit the ground, but not as they did. Garvan landed squarely and firmly on his own two feet, with a ground-shaking solidity, and started walking casually down to meet them. It was as if he had just hopped off a low wall.
‘Maybe you should go through first in future,’ said Junk. ‘You can be official catcher.’
Garvan shrugged.
They moved cautiously to the cliff edge and looked out at their location.
Far below was a bustling coastal city. The sea that stretched out ahead of them was a rich turquoise colour.
‘Do you know where we are?’ asked Junk.
Lasel nodded. ‘That’s Wotashi – biggest city in Cul Sita.’
‘Cul Sita,’ said Junk. ‘Home of the League of Sharks.’ He had made it.
*
Wotashi, as it turned out, was the headquarters of the League. They were easy to find. Everyone knew exactly where they were. They lived in a shanty town on the western outskirts of the city. The area, known locally as Cuca, which translated as ‘the bloody streets’, was a no-go area. It was a hive of wretchedness, home to murderers, thieves, junkies and the League of Sharks.
They met an old man called Stook, a street vendor selling greasy parcels of unidentifiable meat wrapped in a hard unidentifiable coating that tasted like cheese, albeit crunchy cheese. They were hungry so they bought some. Junk and Lasel couldn’t manage more than a bite each without wanting to throw up. Cascér and Garvan however ate a dozen between them.
Stook told them all about Cuca and the League. He said everyone in Wotashi knew never to wander into Cuca. You would come out without your money or you might never come out at all. Stook, who was small and wrinkled with the blackest of black skin, grinned, showing his pink toothless gums, as he explained that the residents of Cuca, however, knew never to wander into the League’s territory. They occupied a compound on the
far side of Cuca where the shanty met the desert.
When they left the old man Cascér said that she would head into Cuca and take a look around. Lasel and Cascér had discovered that they had a language in common. Both had spent some time in Hooskar, a country in Cul Tayana. Though neither of them spoke Hooskarian fluently, they both spoke it well enough to make themselves understood. Garvan, who spoke fluent H’rtu, wasn’t communicating with anyone until he had figured out how the box worked, so he was of no help.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ said Junk to Cascér, and Lasel translated. ‘You heard what the old man said.’
Cascér smiled and explained that she had spent most of her life in shanty towns just like Cuca. She would fit in and pass unseen whereas Junk, Lasel and Garvan would look like outsiders. Junk didn’t feel comfortable with Cascér taking such a risk on his account. When Lasel translated this for her, Cascér laughed heartily and pinched Junk’s cheek.
‘Toota shhnoova,’ she winked.
Junk blushed.
*
While Garvan remained behind to continue working on the box, Junk and Lasel accompanied Cascér to the edge of Wotashi, where the buildings became more run-down and there were fewer people on the dirty, dusty streets.
As they said their goodbyes, they didn’t notice that they were being watched. A Pallatan sat in the dark interior of a one-room building that was little more than a shack. His name was Itchil Rumanow and he was a big man bearing the symbol of the League of Sharks on his left arm. His head was malformed, the top of his skull flatter than in most of his kind. The shack was a makeshift diner. Rumanow had just finished eating and was taking his time, sipping a fermented curdled yoghurt drink that was a local favourite. Cascér’s shapely looks caught his eye and he liked what he saw. He barely glanced at Junk and Lasel as they left Cascér and she carried on towards Cuca. Rumanow threw some money down and left.
*
Cascér knew how to walk through places like Cuca so that she didn’t provoke the interest of strangers. She had never stopped to consider what it was before. Too much eye contact and you invite attention, not enough and you look like you’re hiding and therefore invite attention. It was looking without looking.