by David Logan
Junk went to return the box to the formation that Garvan had left it in, when something cut him. He pulled back quickly and sucked the blood from a razor-thin line on the pad of his forefinger. At first he couldn’t see what had inflicted the injury. He tilted the box slowly in all directions and then he noticed that there was another layer inside. It was made of glass fibre and was so thin that it was virtually invisible. On closer examination, he discovered that each face of the cube had a second transparent face. That meant there were twelve faces and not six.
Junk tapped one of the ‘glass’ faces gently with his fingernail. Because it was so thin, he assumed it was extremely delicate. But he was wrong. It made a tinging noise as he tapped it, so he tapped it harder, and harder again. It felt solid despite its insubstantiality.
He opened out all twelve faces and then started to slot them together. Almost as if they were designed to find their mate, they snapped into place with ease until Junk had made a twelve-sided polyhedron. If he’d known anything about geometry he would have been able to identify it as a rhombic dodecahedron. However, he didn’t, so he didn’t identify it as anything. As the last side slotted into place, the light that had glimmered when he had depressed the corners in order to open the doorway that had taken them to the Room of Doors bloomed to life. It flooded through the grooves and fissures on the solid sides and continued along the translucent faces as black lines.
Junk held it in his hands, marvelling at what was happening. The lines of illumination crept around the twelve-sided shape until they all met up, and suddenly it pulsed and a vast multidimensional map was projected all around the room, all around Junk. It was like being in a planetarium. He revolved slowly, gazing in wonder at lines and circles that floated all around him. It was like being surrounded by a map of the London Underground, though not as colourful but with many more train lines.
He set the dodecahedron down on the floor so his hands were free and reached out, trying to touch the light projection. To his astonishment, when his finger brushed through one of the many circles it reacted to his touch. It turned green and a green beam shot out from it, seeking out another circle. The one it found was at the heart of the projection.
The door to the bathroom opened and Lasel stepped out wearing a towel. She gasped at the sight that greeted her.
‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘Think I might have figured out how the map works,’ said Junk. ‘Look, you press one of these.’ He touched another circle, which did the same as the first one. It turned green and connected via a beam of light to the circle in the centre. ‘I think the circles are the doors wherever they are. And this one …’ He pointed to the middle of the projection. ‘… This, I think, is the Room of Doors itself. All lines go there.’
At that moment, Garvan returned. ‘I did breathing,’ he announced as he entered. Then he saw the projection and stopped. His jaw bobbed slackly.
‘What did you do? You solved it!’ He looked down at the dodecahedron and pointed. ‘It has more sides. Where did they come from?’ His questions were all rhetorical. He stepped further into the room and stood next to Junk and Lasel so the projection enveloped him too. The three of them stared in awe, turning on the spot.
Garvan reached out and prodded the circle at the heart of the projection, the one Junk thought represented the Room of Doors. The moment he touched it, bright beams of light shot out from it and joined together to create a doorway just like the one they had passed through to reach the Room of Doors. Once it was complete, it started moving towards them, picking up speed. They had only a split second to panic, not long enough to react or move, and then it flashed past them and suddenly they weren’t in the Wotashi hotel room any more. They were in the Room of Doors itself.
They were in a different part to where they had been before. It felt as if they were in the centre of the Room now, whereas before they were out on the periphery. Everything looked much the same here: thousands of green doors shimmering in the metallic darkness. However, there was a raised platform in front of them. A feature they had not seen before. Junk looked down and nudged Lasel. The dodecahedron was sitting on the ground with them, and though it was still humming with life and illumination, the projection had vanished. Junk picked it up and tucked it under his arm protectively.
‘I’m just wearing a towel,’ Lasel pointed out to the others. Junk waved her concern away. They would return to the hotel soon. He stepped up on to the platform and Garvan and then Lasel followed.
In the middle of the stage was a column about a metre and a half high. There was an impression on the top that looked like it was made for the dodecahedron. Junk felt sure he was doing the right thing when he slotted the quietly humming shape into the hole. It fitted perfectly and the moment it snapped into place the box exploded with light and the projection that had filled the hotel room returned but expanded a thousand-fold or more. It lit up the entire Room, marking each and every door that stood before them.
‘Wow,’ said Junk.
‘Chul,’ said Lasel, which was her equivalent.
‘If you could decipher this, Garvan,’ said Junk, ‘we could go anywhere. We could go to Tremmelleer just like that.’
‘Tremmelleer,’ boomed a mighty disembodied voice, making all three of them jump. It continued in English. ‘Temporal information required.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Junk.
‘Temporal information required,’ came the reply.
‘You speak English.’
‘I speak every language. Temporal information required.’
‘Criptik Jansian?’ asked Garvan. Do you speak Jansian?
‘Maro. Criptiktar vara criptik.’ Yes. I speak every language. Taking this as a challenge, Garvan repeated the question in every language he spoke, and every time the disembodied voice answered him in the corresponding tongue.
‘I think we can take his word for it,’ said Junk. ‘Who are you?’ he called out.
‘I am the Gatekeeper,’ came the reply.
‘Are you real?’ shouted Junk. ‘Can we see you?’
‘I am all around you. You are looking at me.’
‘You’re the Room?’ said Junk.
‘I am the Gatekeeper. Temporal information required.’
‘Temporal?’ Junk considered what this meant. ‘Time. You want a date?’ He looked at Garvan and Lasel. ‘He’s asking for a point in history. Err …’ Junk thought about it and then said, ‘Present day.’
A line in the projection flowed quickly out from where they were standing and made its way to a door seven levels up and a couple of dozen doors along. ‘Location: Tremmelleer. Present day,’ boomed the voice.
‘Can I change my mind?’ said Junk. Instantly the line receded to where they were. ‘Tremmelleer. One hundred years ago.’ Another line shot out from their location and made its way to a different door, this time nine levels up and twenty-eight along. ‘Wait a second. How does your … dating stuff work?’ Junk wasn’t sure how else to term it.
‘I am aware of all calendar systems.’
‘Murroughtoohy, 23 March 2004.’ Again a stream of green light shot out from the column and raced to a specific doorway.
‘What’s that date?’ asked Lasel.
‘The day Ambeline was born.’ Junk surprised himself picking that day out of all the dates he could have picked. For years he’d thought of it as the worst day of his life, but now he realized that there was a part of him that wanted to go back and start all over again and be a better big brother this time, be a better knight. Of course that wouldn’t stop scarface killing her. Maybe he should go back to that night, the night he came to their house, then lie in wait and kill him before he ever got inside. ‘How precise can I be with the time I want to go to?’
‘To the second,’ came the Gatekeeper’s reply.
‘That’s impossible,’ said Garvan. ‘You’d have to have trillions of doors to cover every second in history.’
Lasel looked around. ‘Maybe there
are trillions. Haven’t you noticed that no matter where we are, we never see a wall? Maybe the Room just goes on forever.’
‘Or it’s more likely,’ said Garvan, ‘that the Gatekeeper controls which door takes you where and when.’
‘If that’s the case, why not just have one door then?’ asked Lasel. Garvan furrowed his brow. He didn’t have an answer. ‘And how come he wasn’t here when we went through before?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Garvan. ‘I know as much about it as you do. Junk?’
Junk hadn’t been listening. His mind was still thinking about the night Ambeline died. He didn’t know why scarface did what he did. He knew the League of Sharks were mercenaries. What if he had just been hired to kill Ambeline? That sounded daft. Who would hire anyone to kill a little girl? He could always ask him then. Scarface would be on his own and Junk would have the element of surprise. It would be perfect. ‘Murroughtoohy, 14 December 2010, 2 a.m.’ Ambeline had come into his bed just past midnight that night, and he was certain at least two or three hours had passed before scarface came.
Junk waited but nothing happened. ‘Murroughtoohy, 14 December 2010, two a.m.’ he said again but still nothing happened. He, Lasel and Garvan exchanged puzzled looks. ‘What’s wrong?’ Junk called out.
‘That date is forbidden,’ came the disembodied Gatekeeper’s reply.
‘Why?’ asked Junk, but the Gatekeeper didn’t say anything else.
‘Listen,’ said Lasel, ‘can we go back to the hotel now? I’m wearing a towel.’
Reluctantly Junk agreed. They asked the Gatekeeper to return them to Wotashi, and in the blink of an eye the gargantuan Room of Doors vanished and was replaced with their hotel room.
*
After Lasel dressed, she headed out to get some food to bring back to the hotel for them all. Junk paced the room. Why was going back to the time and place his sister died forbidden? Was there something larger and more sinister at play here? Was the Room of Doors part of a grander conspiracy? He knew how ridiculous such thoughts sounded, but then he was talking about a room that connected every point in history for the entire planet and perhaps beyond for all he knew. Maybe the entire universe. The whole thing was fantastical. He shook his head to clear it and focused on what needed to be done next. He had come a long way and the finishing line was within view.
‘I’m going to go to Tremmelleer first thing in the morning,’ he said to Garvan. ‘If there’s an army there capable of defeating the League of Sharks, then Tremmelleer is where I need to be. I’m going to go alone though.’
‘Why?’ asked Garvan.
‘There’s no need for you and Lasel to be exposed to any more unnecessary danger.’
Garvan snorted derisively and shook his head. ‘We’ve come this far with you, Junk. We’ll go to Tremmelleer too.’
*
Lasel was walking back with the provisions and not paying attention to her environment. Her mind was elsewhere, thinking about the Room of Doors and what was to come next. She didn’t notice that she was being watched. A shadow stepped out into her path. Rumanow.
‘I know you,’ said Rumanow in H’rtu, which Lasel didn’t speak. ‘I saw you with her.’ His hand shot out and grabbed Lasel by the throat. She dropped the bag as he lifted her off the ground. ‘Who are you?’
Lasel didn’t understand what he was saying. She squirmed and struggled and shouted for help but Rumanow was too strong for her.
*
Up in the hotel, Junk and Garvan heard Lasel’s cries and ran to the window in time to see Rumanow carrying her away, heading in the direction of the shanty town.
‘Oh no,’ said Junk. His mind was racing, trying to work out what to do. He made the decision quickly and didn’t question it in case he managed to talk himself out of it. ‘Use the Room,’ he said to Garvan. ‘Go to Tremmelleer, try and get help’. Junk moved to leave.
‘We should think about this,’ said Garvan.
Junk shook his head. ‘No time.’
‘What are you going to do?’
Junk shrugged. ‘Distract them until you can get there.’
‘What if the Twrisks won’t come?’ Junk didn’t have an answer. At least not one he fancied articulating. He left.
Garvan turned to the box and started to open it out.
24
Junk ran out of the hotel and raced through the dark streets of Wotashi, heading west towards Cuca. Wotashi was not a lively town at the best of times, but after nightfall it almost completely shut down. Junk didn’t see another soul. Everything was quiet and closed up for the night. He couldn’t see the Pallatan who had carried Lasel off or hear her shouting any more.
As soon as he reached the outskirts of the shanty town, it was as though he was in a different place altogether. As he drew closer, he heard laughter and music and loud voices. There were bonfires on every street corner. The residents of Cuca were sitting outside their rickety two-room homes eating and drinking, talking with their neighbours. Children of all ages were playing in the streets. It was like a party was being held in every one of its narrow, dirty alleyways.
The bonfires cast long shadows and Junk was careful to stick to the darkness. He was quite sure he wouldn’t pass for a local if anyone noticed him. It wasn’t easy. The shacks were pushed up against one another and there wasn’t much space that wasn’t occupied. But Junk kept his head down and moved briskly.
The closer he got to the League’s territory, the quieter it became. Finally he reached the high patchwork outer wall. He saw the dilapidated outbuilding that Cascér had scaled, but she was considerably taller than him and even if he got up on to the roof, he wasn’t sure he could then make it to the top of the wall. He stood staring up at the towering slab before him, trying to work out how to breach it. Cascér had said it was the same all the way around. Getting over it was going to be quite some task.
Then he had a flash of inspiration. What if he went under it? Maybe it was designed with people the size of Pallatans in mind. Would someone as small as Junk even be considered a threat by the League? He dropped down on his hands and knees and started scraping away the dirt at the base, hoping that they hadn’t planted the foundations too deeply. He was in luck. The boulders that made up the bottom strata of the wall were only buried a metre and a half down. The dirt here was dry and it only took Junk about ten minutes to dig a small passageway beneath the wall.
He slid under, arching his back and pushing his way through. Loose soil rained down on him, getting into his eyes and mouth. He came up inside the compound and was careful to stay low, looking around to get the lie of the land. It was dark here so he was hidden from view. However, the first thing he noticed was that there was no one around. There were twenty or so single-storey buildings in small groups of three or four on either side of a crooked path. Everything was quiet and still. Then, just as he was about to carry on, he registered movement out of the corner of his eye and he froze. He turned to see a yadi – he recognized it from Cascér’s description – come padding around the corner. It stopped and looked in Junk’s direction. Its fur was patchy, there was crusted blood on its snout and one ear had been bitten almost in half. A flap of cartilage clung on stubbornly. If this was one of the beasts that Cascér fought with, then she had possibly come off the better.
After a few moments of seeming to stare straight at Junk, the animal walked on. Junk watched as it entered a small barn just beyond the single-storey buildings. He moved quietly to the barn and peered inside. There were a dozen similar animals. Most appeared to be asleep or on the brink of nodding off. Junk reached out and pushed the door shut. There was a bolt on the outside, and he slid it across quietly.
Then he stood up and looked around. Where was everyone and, more importantly, where was Lasel?
The buildings inside the compound were much the same as those outside: poorly constructed shacks. There was another group, a dozen or more, dotted around an open-air exercise yard. As Junk drew closer, he heard low voices murmurin
g and one dominant voice. Junk rounded one of the shacks and found himself looking out over the entire assembled League of Sharks standing in a broad circle under the stars. There were about twenty-five Pallatan men, all branded with the League’s symbol: the shark’s fin and five stars. Most sported numerous other tattoos as well, on their bodies and hairless heads. Junk was reminded of Russian gangsters he had seen (and made sure to avoid) in the waterfront bars of Arkhangelsk in northern Russia, when he had been working on a trawler in the White Sea. Their criminal history and life story was written on their bodies through tattooed symbols, such as cupolas signifying prison sentences and a ship expressing a desire for freedom, among dozens of others.
Junk moved around the back of one of the shacks in order to get a better view. The sight that greeted him filled him with horror. A metal stand that looked like a gallows stood in the centre of the yard. It was five or so metres high, and hanging by her ankles from an arm at the top was Lasel. Two of the Pallatans were swinging her back and forth, making her spin. Junk recognized one of them immediately. He was the one with a fish tattoo on the top of his head. The one Junk had followed into the Room of Doors. The other was Rumanow. Most of the rest looked on, muttering to one another, their eyes following the swinging girl. One of the Pallatans was standing in front of Lasel with his back to Junk. He was the one speaking. He spoke Jansian. His voice rode over everything else.
‘My patience wears thin, girl,’ he said. ‘Where is she? Tell me now.’ Junk knew he meant Cascér.
Rumanow spoke: ‘Let me ask her, Jacid. I will get her to talk.’ Then the man in front of Lasel turned and Junk saw his face. He recognized him at once. It was scarface. The man who killed his sister. The man he had come here looking for. And now he had a name. Half a name anyway: Jacid.