The Space Between

by Scott J Robinson

  “[A job?]”

  “[Looks like you could sit back with your feet up and watch.]”

  Keeble handed them each a mug and sat on an overturned metal bucket. He sipped his coffee, boiling hot and strong, and sighed contentedly. But when he'd finished drinking, Mona and Colin were still talking. Just like a dwife. Stand around doing nothing and stop others from working as well. He shook his head and made his way over to the door.

  After spending most of his life in a cave, he discovered that the sight of the sun in the morning was a wonderful experience. Such clarity and color. Out in the alley he looked up between the canyons of the buildings to the piercing blue of the sky. A scatter of clouds raced for the east.

  And there, overtaking them all was a flying machine. Keeble smiled, hardly able to stop himself from running after it. Shading his eyes, he watched it go. It was a long way away but still seemed to move so quickly. It banked to the left, smoke streaming out behind, and disappeared behind the brown stone of the workshop. "A flying machine." He rushed back inside. "Colin."

  "Yes."

  "Flying machines? How do they work? Do you have one?"

  “[Sorry?]”

  "The flying machines." Keeble stretched his arms out to either side and sailed about the room, banking from side to side, bending his knees and stretching up on his toes. "The flying machines."

  “[Planes?]”

  "Planes. Yes..." He knew the words. "How work?"

  “[Well, ahhh...]” Colin scratched at his cheek and stared at the ceiling as if searching for inspiration. “[That really depends on the plane, Keeble. There are normal planes, and there are jet planes.]”

  Keeble didn't understand much of that at all, and he decided that he'd never learn if he relied on Colin to teach him. He would have to find out for himself. He waved. "Goodbye."

  “[What? No, stay. There's no need to rush off.]”

  "I go plane workshop." Keeble struggled through the sentence.

  “[You just got here. Have another coffee.]”

  "I want see planes." He waved again.

  Mona started searching through the leather bag she carried over her shoulder. “[At least take this, Keeble.]”

  "What?"

  “[It's money.]” She handed him a small bundle of paper, closing his hand around it tightly.

  Keeble didn't know the word. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “[It's money,]” Colin said. Then to Mona: “[Show him a coin, he might know one of them.]”

  The dwife searched through her bag again and pulled out a small metal disk with a face on one side and another picture on the other. A coin. So, maybe the paper was money. Keeble unfolded one of the pieces of paper and examined it. And the same face was on there. Money it was then.

  “[One of those notes there will get you a coffee, love.]” Mona pointed at the note Keeble was examining then pointed to the coffee cup Colin still held.

  Keeble smiled and thanked them but his mind was already on the planes. "Planes?" he asked.

  “[Well, Hucknall Airfield is,]” Colin pointed, “[that way, I guess. I wish you would stay though, Keeble. We'll give you a job and all. So you can earn some more money.]”

  "Planes. Thank you. Goodbye." He hurried out into the street.

  Out on the main street, Keeble paused to look around. He'd forgotten how many dwarves there were, and cars and things. Everywhere he looked, something was happening.

  He could see smoke between two buildings. Away to the northeast, bats swirled through the air like burnt leaves. Planes came and went, stitching the sky. But it all seemed so far away.

  Another plane passed silently overhead, snapping Keeble's attention back to his mission. He wound the gears to adjust the angles on his hand.

  "How far is it to the plane workshops?" he asked himself. "Which is the best way to go?" He looked one way along the street, then the other. And both ways looked much the same. Tall, rough looking buildings. Abnormally tall dwarves. Cars. He was about to choose a direction at random when a large car with a sign on top pulled up nearby. He'd seen similar ones before. An old dwife climbed gingerly out, struggling with a pair of bags and a walking stick.

  Before he could decide where to go, someone put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Mona standing by his side.

  “[It's only a couple of miles, but you'd just get lost. I'll give you some money for a cab.]” She hurried over to the car with the sign and spoke through the window with the driver. She handed him some money.

  “[Come on. Get in.]”

  Keeble didn't understand a word of it, but Mona motioned for him to get into the car. "What? Why?"

  Mona pointed to the sky where a plane was racing across the blue. "Airport," she said. "Plane."

  Perhaps the driver was going to take him to where they kept the planes. The airport. "Thank you," he said to Mona as he hurried to climb in the car. He sat on the edge of the seat, straining to see exactly how it was that the driver made the vehicle go, the rhythms that gave the actions life. Mona waved, and he waved vaguely in reply.

  Clutch out, fuel down...

  He licked his lips and wound the prongs on his hand in and out. The driver started to talk and didn't stop for the entire journey. Keeble liked him.

  At the airport, Keeble jumped out almost before the cab came to a halt. He ran across the parking area and stopped at a high fence, fingers gripping the wire mesh tightly. Planes were parked nearby, lined up beside a large shed. Keeble smiled as he looked about for the easiest way in.

  "Where's the gate?"

  A building filled a break in the fence, allowing access from the car parking area to area beyond.

  "There we go."

  Inside, he found himself in a small, carpeted room. Pictures adorned the walls. One of a plane in flight. One of what must have been the airport from a plane. Another of a dozen men in front of three planes. There were some blue plastic chairs under the photos, and a yellow plant in a large pot in the corner. A counter took up one end of the room.

  He tried a glass door that would lead him out to the planes.

  "Locked." He sighed. The only other visible door was behind the counter. "I'm probably not allowed back there, though."

  He went to the counter and waited. He could barely see over the top, but there didn't appear to be anything worth seeing anyway. He waited some more.

  "Hello?"

  No answer.

  There was a sign on the counter with an arrow pointing to a button. Keeble looked at the sign, looked at the button, and looked at the sign again. With a shrug, he reached up and pressed the button. He was rewarded with a wonderful, mechanical buzzing sound from beyond the door. He left his hand near the button, his short fingers gripping the edge of the counter. No response, so he pressed the button again, and once more a few seconds after that. Finally the door opened and someone emerged.

  A dwife. Always a dwife. Keeble grunted in disgust.

  “[I'm sorry.]” She paused for a moment when she saw him. “[I was just on the phone.]”

  "Phone." Keeble said in the local language. He smiled, holding his hand up to his ear and nodding.

  “[What can I do for you? I'm sorry, but with all that's happening we aren't sending any planes up today. Or anytime soon, probably.]”

  "Plane. Me fix plane. Work good."

  “[You... Which plane? What are you talking about? I would like to help you, sir, but I don't know what you mean.]”

  "Me..." Keeble looked at her.

  “[Yes, I understand the words you are using, sir, but...]”

  "Fix... plane."

  “[You're looking for work?]”

  "Yes. Me work plane. Fix."

  “[I'm sorry sir, we aren't hiring at the moment.]”

  Keeble didn't know how to explain to her. She was a dwife, so how was she to understand? He decided he'd sit down on one of the blue chairs and wait until a dwarf came so he could talk to him. Keeble sat down to wait.

  “[I am sorry, sir, b
ut I think you should leave. We aren't hiring. There are no positions available.]”

  Keeble swung his legs, examining the tip of each boot in turn as it came into view. Scuffed left, shiny right. Scuffed left, shiny right. He wondered how his left boot had gotten into such a terrible condition when his right still looked so good.

  "I'll have to fix that first chance I get."

  “[If you don't leave, sir, I'll...]”

  Left, right. Left, right. Keeble could have waited all day, but he didn't have to wait long at all. The dwife left the room and returned a moment later with a large, bald dwarf. Keeble recognized him from one of the pictures, though he had certainly aged since it had been done. He jumped up and shook the dwarf's hand, smiling.

  “[Good morning, sir. I believe Tanya asked you to leave. If you don't leave right away...]”

  "Me fix plane. Work good."

  “[All our planes already work. Now if you could —]”

  Keeble dug in his pocket and pulled out the money Colin and Mona had given him. "Me fix plane." He forced the notes into the dwarf's hand.

  “[You want to pay me to let you fix a plane? What, are you kidding?]”

  "Me watch. Learn. Fix plane."

  “[Look, you'd need to pay me more than twenty three pounds to let you near one of my planes. All right?]” He put the money pack in the Keeble's hand and ushered him towards the door. Keeble thought of resisting for a moment, stating his case again, but he knew it would be useless. He'd have to try something else. Perhaps when they went home.

  13: Tourist

  Keeble watched as James tumbled from his stool and landed in a puddle of ale on the floor. A cheer went up from those still gathered.

  "You lot can't hold your ale," Keeble said. Nobody understood him, but he thought they got the general idea. They all cheered again, and Keeble raised his glass to them before draining away the last of his drink.

  He'd been drinking the stuff for almost three hours and couldn't feel the effects. All that money, and he might as well have been drinking water. He was just glad he hadn't paid for most of what he'd drunk. His own money had run out before he'd wet his palette, but the locals had taken pity on him, strange foreigner that he was, and kept his wheels lubricated for the rest of the evening. He'd drunk three of them under the table and was looking for a fourth.

  Keeble had waited by the airport until night fell and the last cars pulled away from the parking area. Not long after that, just when he was preparing to go over the fence, he spotted a uniformed dwarf, much like the one who threw him from the train. The dwarf wandered lazy, random patrols with a big dog. He rattled doors and shone a light-stick in windows before moving on to do it all again. Keeble had decided it wasn't worth the risk and wandered away, disappointed and wondering what to do.

  He'd walked along quiet back streets, turning left then right and left again, until finding a busy road and the bar. Since then he'd attempted to drown his sorrows with little luck.

  "If only they could brew a decent ale."

  Every tall dwarf he met was hardly a dwarf at all. They couldn't brew ale. They worked slowly, as if there were no more jobs to do when there were always more jobs. And they couldn’t explain the simplest piece of technology. Keeble was starting to have his suspicions.

  While he waited for someone else to buy him a drink, he turned to watch the television. The little black box sat on a shelf behind the bar, offering up an array of pictures. For most of the night he'd watched dwarves chasing a ball around a rectangular field in a game of 'football', whatever that meant. Most of the rules eluded him, but those playing the game seemed to enjoy themselves, when they weren't lying on the ground squirming in pain. And the other patrons in the bar shouted themselves hoarse with every bit of action.

  That had long since ended, replaced by two people sitting at a bench, apparently talking about other games of football. Or perhaps it was the same game, only in different colors. If they were different games they all looked much the same to Keeble.

  Now, there was another dwarf and another desk. He was not talking about games though, Keeble quickly realized. He didn't seem any more serious than those talking about football, but the little short sections of action were all quite different. Some people at the top of a set of stairs, surround by other people. A dwife by a flooded river. A huge room with dozens of people sitting around talking. Keeble suspected that what he was watching was important, but since he couldn't understand much of what was being said, he might as well have been watching the football.

  Then there were the big, black bats, shot down out of the sky, and suits of colorful armor split open, revealing what was inside. Except the bodies had already been removed and the suit was too far away to show much detail. Keeble wished the dwarves of this world could speak a real language. He tried to follow the voice on the television but gave up in disgust. Where was Meledrin when you needed her?

  Keeble was just wondering how he might go about finding Meledrin and Kim when he saw them, up on the television. They were being hustled through a large crowd, away from a big ugly building with an eagle on top, and into a car.

  He grabbed the arm of the nearest dwarf and pointed up at the screen.

  "Where?" he asked.

  The dwarf squinted upwards as if that might help clear his ale addled senses.

  The barman answered first. “[That's the American Embassy, that is,]” he said as he polished a glass.

  “[How do you know that?]” Keeble's barstool neighbor asked.

  “[See that big eagle? Dead giveaway. And besides, the reporter just said that it's been unusually busy at the American Embassy today with lots of comings and goings.]”

  “[Yeah? Who was coming and who was going?]”

  “[Well, Ministers and the like," the barman said. “[Plus lots of others that nobody recognizes.]”

  Keeble hadn't understood any of what had been said. "Where?"

  “[American Embassy. Down in London somewhere.]”

  "American Embassy?"

  “[That's right.]”

  "How?"

  “[How do you get there? Don't know, really.]” The barman got a drink for someone down the other end of the bar. “[Train first, I suppose, then a cab.]”

  A train then a cab, perhaps. "Pay?"

  “[Yeah, course it'll cost you. Don't know how much, though.]” He continued to polish the glass as he watched the television. He added nothing more.

  Keeble watched the screen as well, but it was already showing a different picture.

  “[So, you want to go to the Embassy, do you?]” The dwarf sitting at the bar beside Keeble turned to look blearily at him. “[Here, I can give you... three pounds.]” He straightened out some of the paper money and carefully placed them on the bar where he flattened them out again. “[Has anyone else got some money so our short friend here can annoy some Americans?]”

  “[What? Where's he going?]”

  “[The American Embassy.]”

  “[He isn't a yank, is he? Doesn't look like one.]” But the stranger pulled out some money as well and added it to the pile.

  A third dwarf, one of the few remaining who was still sober, joined them. “[Do you have any idea how much he'll need?"

  “[Nope. Where is the American Embassy?]”

  “[Mayfair.]”

  “[Mayfair? So how much will that cost then?]”

  “[I don't know.]”

  Keeble tried to follow the flow of the conversation without luck. All he knew was that another couple of men added money to the pile and he now had about ten pounds, if he had all the symbols right.

  “[What has he got here?]” The sober fellow picked up the pile and counted. “[Thirteen quid.]” He added some more from his own pocket. “[Eighteen. Phil, put in for Keeble, will ya. He want's to go to the American Embassy.]”

  A dwarf over in a corner, holding a glass in one hand and a dart in the other, turned to look. “[What's he a tourist, is he, or what?]”

  “[I don't
know. He wants to go to the Embassy though.]”

  “[That's down in London. That'll cost about fifty pounds to get there.]”

  “[Well, we've got eighteen.]”

  Phil threw his dart at the board and went to the bar to add his own money to the pile. “[Little bugger's been drinking for free all night, and now we pay for him to get to London as well?]”

  Keeble had no idea what was being said, so he sat silently and awaited the outcome. Up on the television, the people behind the desk had gone and another game was being shown. It was not football this time. The ball was a different shape and the players were allowed to use their hands. They were also allowed to stomp on each other's heads, apparently. Keeble couldn't understand the rules of this game either, but it seemed like a lot more fun than football.

  The barman told him the game was rugby. Keeble continued to watch while the little pile of money in front of him continued to grow.

  * * *

  Keeble carefully placed the little piece of paper in his pocket with the remains of his money before sitting down. He made himself comfortable beside an old dwarf who looked like he'd been doing hard labor every day of his life. Keeble smiled and nodded. "Hello."

  The other dwarf ignored him. Keeble sighed.

  Outside the window, James, hardly able to keep his feet, waved. Keeble gave a slight nod in reply as the train pulled away from the station. Moments later, both James and the station were gone from sight and the train was rattling along a strip of darkness between the buildings of the city. Then, even they were gone and only occasional islands of light sang counter point for the stars.

  Keeble checked the timekeeper on his wrist. The barman had found it in a 'lost property box' and said he could have it. At the station, when he was buying the ticket, James had explained that the train would arrive at a place called St Pancras Station when the little hand reached the seventh number if everything went well. Just less than two hours. With the dwarf by his side ignoring him, Keeble settled back and tried to get some sleep.

  When he woke, the sun was up and a disembodied voice was telling the passengers that the train had arrived at St Pancras. At least Keeble thought that was what it said. He checked his timekeeper and it seemed about right, so he jumped to his feet and followed the rest of the crowd out onto the platform. He would have liked to stop there for a moment to get his bearings, but the rush carried him onwards and upwards. At a little gate, a dwarf stopped him and Keeble dutifully held up his little piece of paper like everyone else and was allowed to continue on.