The Weaver Fish

by Robert Edeson

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘My friend said that you might assist me with stationery, that sort of thing.’

  ‘What is your friend’s name?’

  Worse stayed silent, looking at the man as if there hadn’t been a question.

  ‘What is your friend’s ... affliction?’

  ‘Headaches,’ Worse replied without hesitation. The other smiled slightly.

  ‘How are his headaches, poor man?’

  ‘Bad. Every time I speak with him, he’s getting one.’

  ‘Ah. He must find you ... perplexing.’ It was Worse’s turn to smile.

  The owner latched the door to the street, and invited Worse into a rear room, instructing him to stay there while he disappeared down a hallway. He returned with a parcel in plain paper, and handed it to Worse, gesturing for him to sit down in an armchair. Before sitting, Worse held the package for several seconds, as if appraising its contents by weight. He then sat down and unfolded the paper carefully. Under the paper was a new oilcloth wrapping, which Worse unwound like swaddling, all the time feeling the weight, feeling the balance as he held it. He knew exactly what was in his hands before seeing it, and was pleased. It was his favourite weapon, a Totengraber 9 with integrated Prussica sight; like Zheng’s, but a model variant.

  ‘Your friend chose.’

  ‘He is a good friend.’

  Worse opened the breach and held the barrel to the light. He removed the ammunition clip and checked it was full. With the magazine empty he squeezed the trigger, listening and feeling, his eyes closed in concentration. It released with the purest German accent that only a Totengraber could sound. Then he held it to the light again, backwards, squinting to compare the diffraction symmetries in the barrel and the sight.

  ‘Not many ... do that.’

  Worse acknowledged the comment with the slightest tilt of his head, and brought the weapon close to his nose; he was smelling the metal, the oils, and for residue. Satisfied, he held the clip up questioningly.

  ‘Only one. Your friend said you use ... punctuation ... sparingly.’

  Worse smiled as he reassembled the pistol and wrapped it. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Your friend paid.’

  Worse stared at him, then put the package in his backpack. Standing up, he offered his hand, which the other took, before leading Worse back into the shop and unlatching the outer door.

  ‘Wait,’ he said to Worse, and stepped across the shop to collect the Madregalo etching. At the counter, he wrapped it in tissue paper and placed it in a thin brown carry bag.

  ‘This is ... from me,’ he said, handing it to Worse.

  Worse stared at him again. It was rare to meet a man and learn almost nothing about him, except that he was good.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Worse stepped onto the street and set off quickly toward the car. Nicholas saw him in a mirror and unlocked the car as he approached.

  ‘Successful?’ Nicholas looked doubtfully at the carry bag as Worse settled into the passenger seat.

  ‘Yes. It’s a very fine etching of Madregalo, dated 1916.’

  ‘Tøssentern will enjoy looking at that,’ said Nicholas. He started the engine and pulled out into the traffic.

  At the entrance to their hotel, a valet took their car. Nicholas went up to his room, which he was sharing with Millie. Worse seated himself in the lobby to observe comings and goings for a while. Satisfied that they had not been followed, at least into the hotel, he went to the elevator station.

  When he rang Nicholas’s room bell, he was pleased to see Millie open the door—at least she was well enough to do that. She invited him in and closed it behind him.

  ‘Nicholas is having a shower. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. But how are you? Did you get a good rest?’ It was really to make that enquiry that Worse had come to her room.

  ‘I feel completely fine. Whatever it was, gone.’ Millie made a dismissal gesture with her hand as she walked into a kitchenette to make tea.

  ‘Has Nicholas told you about our day?’

  ‘Some. Not all, I’m sure. I want to see the fountain that held you in thrall.’

  Worse smiled at the language she, or Nicholas, used to describe him.

  ‘I think you will be held in thrall, too. It’s very subtle, which I know to be your preference.’

  ‘And the treaty thing tomorrow. Are we going?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Worse. ‘Any news of the others?’

  ‘Edvard phoned from Hong Kong this morning. Their connection looks good. They should be landing about now. We’re planning to have dinner together, just in the hotel. Is that okay for you?’

  ‘Absolutely. Thank you,’ Worse added as Millie handed him tea. He almost dropped it in surprise as she reached up to kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘Let’s sit in there.’ Millie led the way into the entry sitting area. She pointed to Worse’s carry bag.

  ‘What have you got there?’

  Worse took the framed etching and slipped it out of its tissue wrapping. He handed it to Millie.

  ‘I found it in a philately shop.’

  ‘It’s very large for a postage stamp,’ was her first comment. ‘It’s charming. Is this where you were today?’ She was examining it minutely.

  ‘It is where we were today, nearly a century removed.’

  Worse finished his tea, and realized he was quite tired.

  ‘I’m going to rest for a while. What time were you thinking for dinner?’

  ‘Say, seven? Nicholas and I thought we should do it as room service. It will be more private. They can set up for five people in here.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. I’ll be back at seven unless I hear otherwise. Thanks for the tea.’ Worse stood up, and his voice changed in tone. ‘Millie, make sure you use the door lens before opening, please.’

  ‘I will.’

  To emphasize her compliance, she used the lens before opening the door to let him out.

  A few hours later, at seven o’clock, she opened it again, to let Worse in. Nicholas joined her at the door to welcome him.

  Room service had provided an attractive table setting, and brought in comfortable dining chairs. Tøssentern and Anna were already seated, and both stood as Worse entered. Nicholas introduced them, invited everyone to sit, and offered drinks. Worse had been carrying his backpack in one hand, and he placed it on the floor to one side before taking the vacant space next to Anna. She smiled at him as he sat, but said nothing. Tøssentern addressed Worse.

  ‘We’ve been told about some remarkable adventures in Perth, Worse. We clearly have you to thank for saving these two wonderful people.’

  The others joined in a chorus of appreciation. Worse looked across the table to find Millie giving him a joyful smile.

  ‘Everyone played important parts,’ Worse said quietly, and conspicuously altered his posture as if that might change the subject. Anna sensed its meaning.

  ‘Have you been to the Ferendes before, Richard?’

  Worse was slightly startled; only Sigrid called him Richard. He didn’t mind, but wondered about its purpose. Nicholas had presumably explained that he was travelling as Richard Magnacart, and he supposed that Anna, quite reasonably, was acknowledging that identity. (Millie, too, had entered the Ferendes on false papers; concerned for her safety, Worse had provided a passport in the name of Millicent Ropey.)

  ‘No. I might say, though, that I have been well inducted by Nicholas during twelve hours of cultural immersion.’

  ‘You have an excellent tutor. Nicholas knows more than any of us about this mysterious place,’ offered Tøssentern.

  Anna had continued to hold Worse’s attention during this interruption, and spoke again. ‘I hope you saw the Fitrina fountain.’

  ‘I am told a witness account has it that I was in thrall.’ Worse looked from Anna to Nicholas, and back. Anna smiled.

  ‘Not surprisingly. Do you know about its fabrication?’
/>
  ‘Nicholas explained it a little. An ensemble cast, you might call it.’

  Anna smiled again. Tøssentern leaned forward.

  ‘Or matryoshki perhaps, in glass. Extraordinary.’

  The others were quiet, accommodating this new image to the object. It was almost impossible not to be drawn into the abstraction, to bring metaphor to, and take metaphor from, Fitrina’s masterpiece. Nicholas was the next to speak.

  ‘They say there is an invisible hollow network, like a maze, throughout the casting and that if you could find the entry or exit and pump coloured dye into it you would see writing and it would be the magical words that let you escape from inside, escape from the weaver fish.’

  ‘So Fitrina cast a spell. Surely that’s apocryphal,’ rejoined Anna.

  Worse appreciated the play; it was something that Sigrid might have said. In fact, Anna reminded him of Sigrid in many ways.

  ‘Invisible within glass. How are we to trust our senses?’ mused Tøssentern.

  It was Anna who had raised the subject of the fountain and, as the others talked, its metaphoric reach was taking form for her. Those troubling meditations during dinner with the two Penelopes had left her seeing Thornton’s greenhouse differently. It was a built emblem of the forced cohabitation of opposites, like winter and summer, the expressed and the private, the fictitious and the real. And glass, that most illusory of materials essential to its making, far from contributing clarity, gave concealment to the paradox.

  And here was Fitrina’s brilliance, nesting glass inside glass, hiding conceit within conceit, refracting fable into fable; complete with the promise of some authorial thread coursing through, to make sense of it all.

  Anna thought of something else that had troubled her from that evening in Chaucer Road. It might also be sculptural, made layer on layer: Edvard’s interminable progression of masquerades spilling forward into the figment, or the person, of Barnabas Bending. Tøssentern was speaking again.

  ‘By the way, Worse, I think you know Rodney Thwistle. He was very keen for me to give you his regards. Whenever your name comes up, he goes into a sort of fugue state and talks about pixelation, for some reason.’

  ‘The defective pixelation algorithm. We had a short correspondence on the subject, years ago. So he’s still worrying about it. That’s surprising.’

  Worse sounded sympathetic. He liked Thwistle, and made an instant judgement. After all, even equipped with the algorithm, decryption required information about the error statistics. And it was only a matter of time before someone else discovered it. Fiendisch apparently had, or was very close.

  ‘When you next see him, please pass on my regards, and say that I have a solution for the DPA that he is welcome to study. Only, he will need to come to Perth, make a holiday of it.’ Worse knew this was a mischievous offer.

  ‘But Rodney has never been further than Oxford!’ Anna was reporting the legend that they all had heard.

  ‘Yes, well. I’m not emailing it. And I’m not publishing it. He can weigh up the choice of lifelong fugue states against unthinkable travel to a beautiful city, including an escorted side-trip to a famous wine region. My expense,’ added Worse with a flourish of munificence.

  Tøssentern looked at Worse with enormous respect. Within memory, no one had been able to entice RT to venture further than a genteel bicycle ride from Nazarene College, but this might very well work.

  ‘I will deliver that ultimatum with the greatest sensitivity.’ Tøssentern could hardly contain his anticipation. Anna was smiling. PH-D would assist in this campaign, she was sure.

  ‘Somehow, I feel cheated of the Margaret River experience,’ said Nicholas with good-natured complaint, as he refilled wine glasses. ‘Bound and gagged, imprisoned, only Vex and Bad Warden Stronk for company.’

  ‘What about me? Sped through town in the dead of night, no wine, no food, no rest.’ Millie also had a case for compensation.

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s only fair that you two come back as well, and we’ll try to do the wine tour more conventionally. No explosions, for example,’ said Worse.

  ‘Explosions? We haven’t heard about those,’ said Anna with interest.

  ‘Oh, Millie blew up a winery. Total write-off. She knows she mustn’t do it again,’ Worse said.

  ‘There was also an exploding car, remember. Your doing, entirely,’ said Millie.

  ‘My God, that does sound fun. I suppose I will need to moderate my travel pitch to Rodney,’ calculated Tøssentern aloud. ‘Explosions, he may not wish for.’

  ‘You two might think about a holiday there as well.’ Worse directed the suggestion to Anna.

  ‘Perhaps we will.’

  Anna had developed the habit of measuring alternatives according to how they might impact on Edvard’s depression. At the moment, she felt good. She had known all along that Edvard would return to the Ferendes at some point. He was driven to do so, and it could well be integral to his recovery. Now it had happened, she was completely sure that she had made the right decision in accompanying him.

  The last visit to Mingle Lane had presented an unexpected development. As Edvard was leaving, he sheltered briefly from the weather in the entry to the professional suites. There he studied for the first time a series of framed architectural drawings adorning the walls, and was shocked to discover the history of Clement House. As a child, he had heard the name Oriel Gardens in hushed tones, but never had any idea of its location. The realization that he had been entering that building week after week, unaware that a few floors above was the room where his stepsister had died, was unbearable. He had told Anna that he could not return, and she had been trying to make alternative arrangements for Barbara Bokardo to consult with him elsewhere.

  But now they were here, and many things had changed for the better. Nicholas had come back as part of the LDI team. The ‘Chinese problem’ in the north for which Edvard felt responsible had proven to be part of a much larger canvas, drawing in help from others including, it seemed, investigators in Australia. Moreover, for the present at least, these developments appeared to have displaced Edvard’s fixation on locating the wreckage of Abel to examine its fish traps. Finally, there was this man sitting beside her, Worse. He seemed like a valuable partner in their company.

  While she was absorbed in these thoughts, Tøssentern was giving Worse a very brief account of their discoveries concerning the Asiatic condor, as well as an internet address for his Lindenblüten lecture on the weaver fish, for Worse to access at his own convenience.

  The conversation was interrupted by room-service maids arriving with fresh coffee. When the staff had left, Anna asked about plans for the next day. Nicholas had been told by the café manager in the Kardia that the signing on the pier was scheduled for two o’clock in the afternoon, but there would be hours of celebration leading up to it. Everyone expected large crowds in Madregalo. After a discussion that seemed to lack resolution, Worse decided to take control.

  ‘I suggest that we leave here at half past six, all in the one car, Nicholas driving. We find a comfortable café on the waterfront with a good view of the pier, close to Ahorte, and base ourselves there for the day. Breakfast, lunch, gossip, binoculars, books, mobiles, hats, insect repellent, maps, medications, walking shoes. We meet in this room at six-fifteen and go down together. I’ll have the car brought around ahead of time.’

  To the others, Worse’s suggestion sounded more like an instruction. Four faces were watching him silently, conveying, ‘Really? That early?’

  Worse glanced around the table with an implicit definiteness that replied ‘Really. That early.’ The result was a general murmur of agreement, and a reluctant realization that this should not be a late night.

  34

  KENIJO

  The following day had been declared a national holiday by the Palace, but La Ferste might well have been another country. Taking road traffic as a surrogate measure, observance in the economic capital seemed negligible. La Ferste was getti
ng on with profitable business, leaving the ceremonial, the anachronistic and the irrelevant to its monarchist sister, Madregalo.

  But when they reached the start of the dilapidated intercity highway, it was clear that driving conditions were worse than on the previous day. Evidently, many of those who considered themselves too cosmopolitan to be interested were drawn to the spectacle in Madregalo, after all.

  Progress was slow, and it was after eight o’clock when Nicholas finally parked the car close to where he and Worse had left it the previous day. Worse had memorized his map, and led the way through backstreets to the pier. He was deliberately avoiding the Kardia, because he expected it to be crowded and have excessive security, and because he wanted Millie to see the fountain when there was more time to appreciate it.

  When they entered the southern end of Ahorte, Worse headed to the start of the pier. There was a tram station and, on the west side, an adjoining restaurant called Felicity’s that he had noted the previous day. He arrived first, as the others had fallen behind, and was fortunate to commandeer a table, open to the beach, that could accommodate five. When they caught up, muttering things like ‘single-minded’ and ‘cracking pace’, they finally felt well rewarded for the early start. Before them was an uninterrupted view of the pier and the lower section of Ahorte, where the royal tram would appear on its journey to the signing ceremony.

  The other tables were all taken. Everywhere, the Ferende flag was flying, hanging, draped or spread, and Ferende national colours decorated most available surfaces, including children’s foreheads. The menu was special for the day, and music and commentary were provided by a Ferent language radio station.

  They ordered breakfast, and settled in to enjoy the day. Worse, seated between Anna and Millie, took out binoculars to scan meticulously everything within range, including the destroyer in the bay.