Engines of Empathy (Drakeforth Series Book 1)

by Paul Mannering

  ‘No, this is just a place I wanted to visit, specifically to punch you in the face.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Ascott dabbed his tender nose. ‘It hardly seems fair to punch me in the nose because you are angry with an ancestor of mine.’

  ‘Well, I am having an entirely different encounter with your sister,’ Drakeforth explained.

  ‘Please, don’t try to explain the quantum nature of perception to me again. It makes my head ache worse than my nose.’

  Drakeforth ignored the request. ‘Simply put, at a quantum level, everything is taking place at the same time. While I am here, drinking tea with you, I am also drinking tea with your sister, Charlotte.’

  Ascott groaned and sipped the blood-flavoured tea.

  Drakeforth watched Charlotte’s younger brother wince. There was a definite family resemblance. They both had hair that black-brown shade of the possibly still edible bits of burnt toast. He decided to delay the bad news for a moment longer.

  ‘What do you actually do here?’ Drakeforth said, looking around at the bamboo-walled hut.

  ‘I sleep with fish,’ Ascott said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Drakeforth spoke with exaggerated slowness. ‘Why do you sleep with fish?’

  ‘Because to truly know a fish, you have to interact with them completely. Swim where they swim, eat what they eat, sleep when they sleep. The more we know about the natural world around us, the more we can know about ourselves and our place in the Universe.’

  ‘What if I told you that fish exist only to make more fish. The only reason they are so dedicated to making more fish is that bigger fish eat them all the time. There’s your parallel to humanity’s place in the natural order of things right there,’ Drakeforth said.

  ‘I’ve seen species do things that no one has ever observed before. I’ve learned about their mating habits, their life cycles, the way they protect themselves from predators. I’m sure that they know more than they’re letting on.’

  Drakeforth stared at the thin, slightly unkempt young man who had Charlotte Pudding’s eyes and a swollen nose. ‘Have you told anyone else about these ideas of yours?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m writing a book on it. A study of the fish species of the Aardvark Archipelago.’

  ‘Good for you. I suppose you survive on a diet of fresh fish and milknuts?’

  Ascott blushed slightly. ‘I don’t eat that much fish. There’s a girl, Shoal, who comes from Montaban every couple of weeks with frozen pizzas.’

  The parrot flew up and landed on the table, where it tested the strength of one of the tea mugs by biting it.

  ‘Get off the table, Tacus,’ Ascott shooed the bird with a waving hand.

  ‘Bithcuith,’ the parrot said.

  ‘Your bird appears to have a speech impediment,’ Drakeforth observed.

  ‘Nobody’th perfect,’ the parrot squawked.

  ‘Tacus, this is Vole Drakeforth. Say hello to the nice man.’ Tacus hopped from foot to foot and kept his beak shut.

  ‘He is an excellent judge of character,’ Drakeforth said.

  ‘Are you hungry? I can heat up a pizza?’

  ‘Bithcuith!’ Tascus squawked.

  ‘Not necessary, the tea is quite sufficient,’ Drakeforth said.

  ‘I really did see you walking across the ocean?’

  ‘Hardly,’ Drakeforth said with a snort. ‘I flew into Montaban, then I got directions from some fishermen, then I hired a small boat which-’

  ‘I’m sure I saw you walking on water,’ Ascott said.

  ‘-Which sank. From there I walked.’

  ‘From Montaban? That’s twenty miles.’

  ‘From some point between here and Montaban, it was far less than twenty miles.’

  ‘That’s still quite an achievement,’ Ascott said.

  ‘It is possible that instead of walking I could have simply materialized on your doorstep and punched you in the face. However, doing that would have been far too easy and it’s nice to appreciate something that you have actually worked for. Besides, it was a nice day for a stroll.’

  ‘Now that you bring it up,’ Ascott said thickly. ‘This may be a silly question, with an obvious answer, but why in the Hibiscus did you come all this way to punch me in the face?’

  ‘You’ve been here since your parents died?’ Drakeforth asked.

  ‘Pretty much, I ran away after their funeral.’

  ‘Leaving Charlotte to take care of things?’ Drakeforth made the accusation sound like a throwaway remark.

  ‘She is good at taking care of things.’

  ‘Yes – if the manuscript she hasn’t written yet is to be believed, she will soon be taking care of your great-grandfather.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You haven’t been paying attention.’

  ‘I have, but mostly to the fish,’ Ascott said.

  ‘Your sister, Charlotte, is dying. She is also presently uncovering a grave conspiracy to enslave the world and discovering the truth about many things, including the true source of empathic energy.’

  Ascott’s mind reeled with cold shock. ‘Charlotte always has been good at multi-tasking,’ he managed.

  ‘So I am seeing,’ Drakeforth agreed.

  ‘Charlotte … is dying? I need to go home.’ Ascott stood up and turned in a complete circle while trying to decide what to do next. He didn’t have anything to pack other than the elderly typewriter and hundreds of pages of notes, drawings and manuscript.

  When he turned back around, Drakeforth was gone.

  ‘Bithcuith!’ Tacus squawked.

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