‘What’s the coloured goo, guv?’ asked Barry, holding a jar as Fox spread a blue paste on the edge of the wound with a salt spoon.
‘Thorenzaline-dermo-bethanalide, skin, stretching, for purpose of, wounds, sewing,’ replied Fox.
At this point Daniel fainted. Barry dragged his friend over to the window, and looked relieved to have something to do that removed him from what was happening on the improvised table. Emily knelt beside Fox as he worked.
It was only when Fox was preparing to bandage BC again that Emily realised what was odd about his body. It looked like the paintings of the Greek and Roman gods, because the muscles stood out hard and firm beneath the skin, yet that skin was smooth and hairless. This brought home to Emily how very young BC really was, yet there were scars here and there, and on the lower rib cage was the mark of an old burn the size of Emily’s palm. A battle-hardened child, thought Emily. What sort of army has battle-hardened children? At last the bandaging was done, and Fox sat back on his heels. BC lay limp.
‘Danny boy, all over,’ said Barry, who was kneeling beside Daniel. ‘You can open yer eyes now.’
It was only noon by the time the operation had been completed. As BC lay resting, Fox fed the remaining evidence of the operation into the fire, and Barry left to steal lunch for them. By the time some clock tower was ringing out two o’clock, BC decreed that it was time to go to wherever they were taking him.
‘Your, ah, home?’ he asked Emily. ‘Can stay? Recover?’
‘We would have to explain you to my parents,’ said Emily, admitting to what was quite a serious problem.
‘That could be awkward,’ agreed Daniel.
‘Oi, my old man wouldn’t notice if his bum had been stolen,’ announced Barry. ‘BC, mate of mine, ya can stay in the parcels room at the station. That way one of us could always be to hand, in case ya has a turn.’
‘Turn?’ asked BC.
‘That means to become ill very suddenly,’ said Emily.
‘To train, as is, BC, to walk, difficult,’ Fox pointed out. ‘Must carry.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ asked Barry.
‘To carry, need reason.’
‘No problem there, Foxy.’
Soon BC had his trouser leg rolled up and a bandage around his ankle. This declared to everyone that he could not walk because of some minor accident, and so had to be carried.
‘Now then, Fox, can you carry BC to the station?’ asked Emily.
‘Undignified,’ protested Fox. ‘Battle Commander, is.’
‘Fox, listen to me, this is a good plan,’ insisted Emily. ‘Can you carry BC to the railway station?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then, do so!’
‘Oh lor, this is stranger than some of old Aitkinson’s French postcards,’ said Barry unhappily.
Into Barry’s bag went the small collection of strange objects from beside BC’s improvised bed.
‘Of that, take care,’ said Fox, indicating the plasma lance rifle. ‘Dangerous weapon.’
‘Very dangerous weapon,’ added BC.
‘Look, er, I don’t think I’m, like, qualified to carry this sorta stuff,’ Barry said.
‘You will carry it as your duty to the British Empire, and that’s the end of it!’ ordered Emily. ‘Fox, pick up BC. Danny, you will open doors and buy tickets. If anyone tries to stop us, I shall deal with them.’
With that Fox swept BC up, Daniel opened the door, and then they were on their way.
‘How far could you carry BC if we have to walk further than the station?’ asked Emily as they descended the stairs.
‘As needed, so far,’ replied Fox.
They were barely out of the door when the gang that had robbed Daniel appeared from an alleyway nearby. The youths began to spread out.
‘Wot’s ’ere, then?’ said one wearing an oversize cap. ‘It’s dirty little boy an’ all.’
‘Got ’is own push,’ said a rather thick-set youth with a cigarette at one corner of his mouth.
‘Then that’s another push in our parish,’ said the youth in the cap, who appeared to be their leader. ‘Gotta teach ’em wot ’appens to invaders.’
Three of the five had knives out by now, and one had a cane. Emily drew breath for a scream, then caught herself. Within Barry’s bag was a weapon that could kill them all in moments … but that seemed like going too far. She could threaten them with it, but to them it would look like a toy, so they would not take it seriously until it was too late. On the other hand, she also had Fox.
‘Fox, threat, remove!’ barked Emily, hardly realising that the words were leaving her lips.
In a single, fluid movement, Fox turned and draped BC over Daniel, then kept turning and swept his foot up to strike the knife hand of the nearest youth. The knife went spinning out of sight. Meantime Daniel collapsed under BC’s weight, striking his head against a brick wall. Emily turned back to Fox in time to see him cross his arms to ensnare the descending blow from the cane while striking out with a kick that was more like a punch to catch another youth in the face. Having secured the cane, he drove the butt up into the jaw of its owner. Incredibly, BC had somehow summoned the energy to fight too. A delicate flick of his foot sent a push boy’s knife spinning away, then a strange, flat kick to the stomach doubled him over with a thud like a sledgehammer driving fence posts. With a curiously graceful hop-step, he darted forward to take the youth by the hair before driving a knee into the side of his face. The youth collapsed.
A push boy tried to pin Fox from behind. Fox dropped his weight and ran backwards, slamming the youth against a wall. Fox now twisted free, pinned his attacker’s arm and snapped one of his fingers, so that he shrieked with pain. Emily saw the two other gang members huddling together, wide-eyed with fear. One of them was taking out a little pistol.
‘Fox, gun!’ warned Emily, and Fox somehow flipped the youth he was holding through the air, to bring him crashing down on his friend with the gun. Fox closed with him, and his elbow crashed into the youth’s jaw with a loud snap.
By now the fifth member of the push was out of the lane and gone. Emily glanced around. BC was leaning against a wall and panting heavily. Daniel shook his head and blinked his eyes. Barry was backed against a wall, clutching his bag, his mouth hanging open. Fox was uncurling from a crouch, still holding the cane and wary of whether or not there was still a threat.
‘Emily, gun, collect,’ panted BC.
Emily picked up the little pistol – and the fifth member of the gang reappeared, with three policemen.
‘That’s ’im, that’s the cove wot’s murderin’ me mates!’ cried the youth.
Emily thought very fast. Explaining all of this to the police would involve her parents finding out about their adventure. Worse, Fox would probably have to make statements to magistrates, have to produce papers that he did not have, explain where he came from … and worst of all, have to prove it. As for the problems that accounting for BC would involve, it did not bear thinking about. Emily made her decision, then thought, Am I being a bad girl or a great leader?
‘Fox, attack!’ she barked.
The cane whirled into Emily’s field of vision to strike the leading policeman on the forehead. Even as Fox charged the man beside him, BC flung something at the third policeman, who dropped his baton and clutched at Mr Lang’s letter opener, which had embedded itself in his shoulder. Fox swept his foot into the back of a knee, collapsing the policeman so that he struck the back of his head against a wall. By now the remaining policeman had pulled the letter opener from his shoulder, and attempted to threaten BC with it. BC brought his hands down on the policeman’s wrist with his fingers splayed wide, spun his entire body around so that the man’s arm was twisted up behind his back, then elbowed him on the side of the head. He collapsed.
The fifth member of the push had watched all of this with his eyes bulging, and once again he turned to run. He found his escape blocked by Emily. She was holding the push captain’s pisto
l in both hands.
‘You just put your hands up, you horrid little boy,’ declared Emily in the most menacing voice that she could manage.
With no visible emotion whatsoever, Fox seized him by the collar and slashed downwards with his strange little knife. The youth’s clothing peeled away neatly, leaving him standing in just his boots and socks. Fox pointed down into the alley from where the push had emerged.
‘Hide!’ he ordered.
The youth ran and hid. Emily tried to work out whether she was feeling more traumatised from holding a gun for the very first time, or from having seen her very first naked boy. Fox took Mr Lang’s letter opener from the unconscious policeman’s hand, wiped the blood from the blade, and handed it back to BC. BC was on his feet, but leaning against a wall and looking unsteady. He turned his disturbingly sharp eyes on Emily.
‘Safety catch, release, next time,’ BC commented, waving the letter opener at Emily’s gun. ‘On trigger, place finger, also. Not trigger guard. Returning dagger, yours. Nice balance.’
Before another quarter minute was past, the five of them were out of the lane, again with Fox carrying BC. They had reached Flinders Street Station and were sitting on a bench by the time police whistles began sounding in the distance.
‘Do you think we shall be arrested?’ asked Daniel nervously.
‘Nah, the coppers will say they ’ad a stoush with that push, and that they won,’ said Barry, whose nerve seemed to be returning. ‘Scabby coves will get arrested.’
‘Serves them right for robbing me the other day,’ said Daniel.
‘You never told me that!’ cried Emily.
‘Train’s comin’,’ said Barry, hoping to prevent raised voices that would draw attention to them.
‘BC, can you walk to board the train?’ asked Emily as she stood up.
‘Asleep,’ said Fox. ‘Will carry.’
After all that had happened in the city, the train journey was remarkable for the fact that nothing happened at all. Barry’s father was busy selling tickets at their home station, so that it was no problem to hide BC in one of the small storerooms.
‘The old man thinks stores is too much like ’ard work, so I does it all after school,’ explained Barry. ‘Come Christmas, I’m outta school for good an’ in me career.’
Emily and Daniel went home for blankets and a pillow, and when they returned Emily made up one of the shelves as a bunk. BC had been lying in a corner on old mailbags, but now he sat up and shook his head.
‘Somnulacillian, two tabs,’ he said to Fox, who turned to Barry.
‘Bag,’ Fox said softly.
Barry produced his bag, and from this Fox took all of the strange things from the room in Flinders Lane. This included the tiny kit of medical supplies. He dissolved two pinhead-sized tablets in a glass of water, which BC drank, then he lifted the youth onto the bunk and put the stubby rifle in his hands. BC lay back and closed his eyes.
‘Healing coma, twenty-five, induction of,’ he explained.
‘What’s he mean?’ Barry asked Emily.
‘The tablets will make BC sleep, um, so that he heals faster,’ Emily guessed.
‘Oi, with all the sleepin’ me old man does, you’d think he’d be the fittest cove in Melbourne,’ replied Barry, then he raised his finger at the sound of a distant bell. ‘Train comin’. I gotta do the gates, now I’m ’ere. Back soon.’
Neither Emily nor Daniel said much while Barry was gone. Fox busied himself with tidying his tiny medical kit and other supplies, and occasionally checked BC’s pulse. Presently Barry returned.
‘Bad news,’ he announced. ‘Lurker was in the dogbox on that train.’
‘And who is Lurker?’ Emily interjected, by now feeling vaguely annoyed about something, but not sure what it was or what to do about it. ‘If it’s that horrid Lurker the Worker –’
‘Yeah, it’s him. Lurker lurks around and hears stuff, like. Anyhow, Lurker heard that a station inspection’s on Wednesday. We gotta have BC out by then … for a day, anyhow.’
‘But he cannot be moved!’ protested Emily.
‘Benzothoractine, one tab, in reserve,’ announced Fox. ‘Battle-ready, renders, duration, five hours.’
‘Um, so you have a medicine that allows BC to walk about normally for five hours?’ asked Emily after thinking about the words.
‘Did say.’
It was now that BC turned over on the bunk and opened his eyes.
‘FoxS3, Barry, Daniel, leave,’ he said softly, his voice already slurred with the sleeping mixture.
Having been given an order, Fox walked straight out. Barry and Daniel took their lead from Fox, and filed out behind him. Now BC turned to Emily.
‘Must speak, ah …’ Strain twisted BC’s face, and for a moment Emily thought he resembled the boys trying to gather the courage to ask her for a dance at the school balls that she attended. BC actually looked embarrassed. ‘Must speak, courtly!’ was what BC finally forced himself to say. ‘Is like, your speech, being. No alternative, complex matters, must explain. Battle standard, is limited. Scholarly, too complex. Speaking courtly, is presumption. Apologies. No choice. Important thing, to ask.’
‘BC, please, speak courtly,’ said Emily. ‘I’ll never tell anyone.’
BC closed his eyes, then lay still for some time. Finally he turned his head on the pillow, opened his eyes, and stared unblinking at Emily.
‘You must understand, this is unimaginably embarrassing for me,’ BC whispered in English that was close to flawless. ‘I am stepping out of my role as a battle commander, and being BC is all that I have left.’
‘Oh no, you have me!’ babbled Emily, then immediately wished that she had said nothing. ‘I am your friend,’ she added hastily, hoping that he would not get the wrong idea.
‘Friend,’ echoed BC. ‘That word is forbidden to the battle, scholar, and command classes. I am of the command class, we are born to lead. We speak courtly because we must kneel before the nobles and royalty, as well as stand with soldiers.’
‘I never knew it was like this in Britain,’ breathed Emily.
‘I am not from Britain as you know it, neither is Fox. I am from a place … that does not exist. Should fortune smile upon us, it will never exist. In that place, I was made a Deputy Boat Commander at the age of seven, and a Boat Commander two years later. When I was just eleven years of age I was promoted to become the youngest Battle Commander in history. I was to be presented with the Imperial Youth Cross by King Charles himself.’
‘You speak so well,’ said Emily when BC paused for breath.
‘Thank you Miss, you are very kind. I speak D-field, D-tech, D-comm, and D-regal, of course, and I speak the ally languages French, Spanish and Japanese as well.’
‘What are the D languages?’ asked Emily, her head whirling and her mind barely assimilating the strangeness that she was hearing.
‘They are the German versions of battle standard, scholarly, and courtly. The BBC tutorvids say that the Germans stole the idea of language classes from us, but who can know what the truth may be? The Germans have a command language too, but we do not. I can only apologise for speaking to you this way, but as you must be aware, I have no choice. In your world, everyone speaks courtly. I find it profoundly unsettling.’
‘Please, don’t feel bad!’ insisted Emily. ‘This is Victoria, even someone as uncouth as Barry is allowed to speak, er, courtly.’
BC’s head fell back on the pillow as the somnulacillian’s effect washed through his mind.
‘Why is he called Barry the Bag?’ he asked, his mind losing focus and his voice slurred.
‘Oh, because of that horrid, tatty bag he carries everywhere. All sorts of things vanish into it, such as bottles of my father’s wine. As for what comes out, well!’
‘Well?’
‘He has French postcards. They are unimaginably naughty!’
‘Why should postcards from our occupied French allies be naughty?’
‘I …’
Words failed Emily. She lived in a world where one had to say postcard from France if one meant a French postcard that was actually not rude. She searched for words to describe what everyone should know.
‘They have pictures of ladies – well, women – who are wearing no clothes,’ she managed at last.
‘Is that because they are very poor?’ asked BC innocently, all the while fighting to stay awake.
‘No!’ snapped Emily, again exasperated and floundering for words.
Suddenly Emily realised what BC must be going through, having to speak courtly. In his society, this was probably the rudest thing possible. Emily took a deep breath. If BC could cope with embarrassment, she could too.
‘The women are showing their bottoms and titties,’ she managed. ‘Boys like to look at them. They are called French postcards, but I am sure that some of the girls are Australians just pretending to be French.’
‘Ah, bonding revels,’ said BC, who seemed to be struggling with the concept of what it meant to be rude.
‘Bonding revels?’ asked Emily.
‘Yes. The seats do it, once they are over twelve years of age. Everyone gets a turn at taking off their clothes and dancing on a table while others throw food, and laugh and cheer.’
‘Oh!’ gasped Emily, shocked almost speechless. ‘Did, er, you ever do it?’
‘I am command class. It is my place to attend bonding revels, but not to participate.’
The onslaught of alien values was by now on the very edge of what Emily could cope with. Her head spinning, she sat down heavily on a large package. He is a different person when he speaks in courtly, thought Emily. Something about that hard, precise, unforgiving battle standard language gives those who speak it a focus and intensity that is almost a weapon by itself.
‘You said you had something important to ask me,’ prompted Emily.
‘Ah, my apologies,’ said BC, his voice slurring again. ‘The allure of speaking courtly … and the pain from the operation has … muddled my thoughts. Nearly asleep, but must tell you … save last benzothoractine tablet … in case I have to fight … or you must …’
Before the Storm Page 7