With an effort she stood and fetched a kerchief. She handed it to him. “Blow your nose and you will feel better.” Inside she wondered when she had become her mother.
She picked up the notepad, smoothed some bent corners and returned it to him. “Keep drawing,” she said. “And when I can I will find you better materials, something especially for drawing.”
“What materials?” He sounded out the word carefully.
“Special pencils and paper.”
He nodded and looked at what was in his hands. “I like these.”
“Then when you have used them up, I will buy you more of those.”
She found the letter, which had fallen between the cushions, and sat down again. Izak lay on the floor and started another picture.
Maliha used her nail to break open the envelope as she did not have an opener to hand. She unfolded the letter.
Dear Miss Anderson,
It is customary to commence such a letter as this by stating the sender’s hope that the recipient is in good health. Such a statement seems redundant and, perhaps, insulting where we are concerned.
By now you will understand the consequences of daring to interfere with my business. Your health is no doubt far worse than you would have hoped and is deteriorating.
I would very much like to meet you in person before that becomes impossible. If you would be so kind as to make arrangements to travel to Timmonsburg—
“Timmonsburg!” Maliha exclaimed. “The man thinks a great deal of himself.”
“—Timmonsburg. It is not to be found on any common map and you will find it necessary to contact...”
She stopped reading and crumpled the paper in her fist.
“Of course, Mr Terence Timmons, I will be delighted to meet with you.”
vi
She did not know how efficient the Regina postal service was but the following morning after breakfast, she composed a letter to Timmons’ agent, indicating that she wished to travel to Timmonsburg the following day. She found the word so offensive she had some difficulty in writing it.
She sealed the envelope, addressed it and then called for a bellboy to put it in the post.
She sat back in her chair and drank what passed for coffee on Venus. The more she thought about it the more she felt there was something off about the timings.
In his letter Timmons had implied that she should, by now, be aware of the illness that infected her. This was problematic for two reasons: First, she was reasonably confident she had avoided infection from Hammond; and second, even if she had contracted black-eye, she would have done so earlier than expected and would therefore be in a much worse condition than she actually was.
That there was something wrong with her seemed clear enough. Her forgetfulness, the fainting, sickness, bloated abdomen and ankles (as they had been that morning), the way she cried at the drop of a hat and, not least, her inability to think logically unless she concentrated—these all indicated some long-term illness. However, several of these symptoms had manifested before she met Hammond.
There were the two earlier occasions she had been exposed to black-eye: the child in the diamond mine and the man at Mama Kosi’s house. But if she had contracted it then, she would most certainly be showing symptoms as bad as Hammond’s by now. Her eyes would be black.
All evidence pointed to the fact that she did not have black-eye, despite any similarity in the symptoms she was experiencing. Perhaps it was a different fungal infection? Who could say what was in the air when the scientists were packing up in a hurry back in Johannesburg?
She sighed and looked across at Izak, who was once again lying on the floor and drawing. He was halfway through the notepad; she hadn’t asked to see any more but she would before they were parted.
It did not matter whether she had black-eye or some other infection. This time she was going to die. She was heading into the maw of Hell to meet with the very devil himself.
If she did not die of fungus-induced illness, he would kill her. And if he did not kill her but simply imprisoned her for his own amusement, then she would kill herself.
Or she would kill him. That was the preferred alternative, but she had no idea how she was going to achieve that. It was a certainty she would be searched, and a gun was out of the question even if she concealed one successfully. She had been lucky to hit the window on the Voidship and she knew it.
She felt calm. She knew she would find a way. Izak rolled onto his side and smiled at her. Smiled. Since the cathartic release yesterday, he had relaxed.
“How are your feet, Goddess?”
She smiled too—he had remembered about being responsible for her feet, just as she should be responsible for his. Of course, she was responsible for his entire life, just as a mother should be.
She held up her feet and wriggled her toes. “My feet are in excellent condition, although my ankles are a bit swollen. And how are yours?”
He rolled back onto his stomach and bent his knees so his feet went up. Maliha gave them a long appraisal. “They look healthy, very good.”
She took in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out through her mouth. “We have to go out,” she said. “Where’s the Vaseline?”
To avoid the compression of her body she chose something a little looser today and more in-keeping with the styles worn by the city dwellers of Regina. She and Izak applied Vaseline to each other’s feet and helped each other into their footwear. The boots were still too tight, but they did support her ankles.
They exited the hotel in the middle of a downpour and took a cab back to the Mayberry residence.
They entered the main hall after Maliha made it clear to the cabby, this time, that she intended to return and required him to stay. She was not going to be marooned again.
Constance threw her arms about her. “Sweetie, I was so worried about you when you left like that.”
“Sorry, Constance, but there’s was something I really had to do.”
“Well, you’re back and just in time for coffee. Real coffee.”
They sat in the atrium, light pouring in from above. A new metal gantry was under construction at the far end, though no workmen were in sight.
“I had them start work on your arc lights straight away,” said Constance, following her gaze. “I’m already hungry for some real green, maybe even an apple or two.”
“Not for a while.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
“I thought you were planning on leaving as soon as possible?” said Maliha.
Constance looked guilty. “Yes,” she whispered, “but I haven’t told anyone.”
Françoise came through from underneath an arch. Maliha admired the way she held herself; she was always so elegant. She did not, however, look very happy.
Maliha stood and they kissed on both cheeks, but Françoise held her when her mouth was out of sight of Constance.
“Get me out of here,” whispered Françoise. “I’ll do anything, Goddess.”
Maliha frowned. Françoise didn’t believe that nonsense, but clearly things were not going to plan for her.
“Coffee, honey?”
And they sat. With Maliha’s only prospect a horrible death—and Françoise desperately wanting to escape what Maliha guessed to be tedium punctuated by very brief and unsatisfying bouts of sex—they drank coffee and even had a game of cards.
Constance chattered about the house, the weather, the plants, the heat, the humidity and the staff, to the point at which Maliha found she had stopped listening.
“You must be having a horrible time,” said Maliha, interrupting Constance’s flow of describing in detail the events of the storm during the night.
Maliha saw Françoise glance up to see if the comment was to her, but Maliha’s attention was directed at their host.
Constance cut off her stream of verbal minutiae with her mouth open. She took a sip of coffee then upended the cup and drained it in an unladylike way. “I can’t stand another day. I ha
te it here. I hate him. I hate everything. I wish I had never come.”
Maliha smiled. “The next shuttle lifts tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“How could I?”
Maliha shrugged. “You just do it.”
“But ... Leonard.”
“You just said you hated him, were you lying?”
“I ... I don’t know.” She poured herself another coffee and knocked it back. “Yes.”
“Yes you hate him, or yes you were lying?”
“I don’t hate him,” Constance said in a small voice. “But I can’t stay here.”
Maliha looked over at Françoise; her face was still marked from the beatings and burns she had received from Hammond. There was a cigarette burn on her cheek that would never go, though she could disguise it with make-up.
“You saw what happened to Françoise.” It was not a question.
Constance was forced out of her own world for a moment and into someone else’s. She looked at Françoise. “She looks much better.”
Françoise kept silent, though she no doubt objected to being spoken of in the third person.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t you.”
“I know.”
“You were only invited on that vessel with me in order to be murdered, or perhaps framed for murder, which amounts to the same thing, since you die in both cases.”
“But Leonard wouldn’t do that...”
“It’s possible he did not know Timmons’ true intention in having you travel on that particular vessel,” said Maliha. “But he did it because he was told to, not because he wanted you here.”
Maliha fell silent to allow Constance to stew on that thought.
vii
“What do you need, Maliha?” asked Françoise. Constance glanced up and looked as if she had disembarked from an atmospheric at the wrong station.
“Would you enter the jaws of death with me?”
Françoise’s eyebrows creased then relaxed. “Of course.”
“Would you enter the jaws of death instead of me?”
Françoise smiled and hesitated before answering. “I believe I would,” she said. “But I do not think that you would ask me to, Goddess.”
Maliha mirrored her smile. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Constance looked from one to the other. “What is this?” Her voice trembled as if she feared that Maliha would demand a terrible price of her.
“I need you to take Izak with you back to Earth, Constance, and deliver him to my home. There’s someone there who will look after him.”
Izak had been sitting on a large chair with his pad and pencil, which he had been sharpening with a small knife. He looked up at the sound of his name. He said nothing, but he nodded to her.
“Oh,” said Constance, unable to disguise her relief at such a simple request. “Of course, if that’s what you need.”
“I’ll leave him with you,” said Maliha, “and I’ll send his clothes ahead. Do you want me to pay for his ticket?”
“No, I can do that,” said Constance. “It’s the least I can do. If I’m already getting two, another won’t make a difference.”
“I will not return with you,” said Françoise. “I will stay with Maliha.”
Constance gave a little cry. “You can’t! I need you.”
Françoise shrugged. “Cherie, it is not I that you need, it is just someone.” She sighed and placed her hand on her lover’s. “This is not the way I had intended us to part, Constance. If I tell the truth, not one part of this journey has been the way I originally desired. I have enjoyed our time together, but it could never have been forever.”
Constance pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Maliha was not sure she was really crying. So much of Constance was just for show.
“You made me feel wonderful,” she said.
“I know, cherie, but there are many people in the world who can do the same for you.”
“But how will I know the right one?”
Maliha decided her act was getting out of hand. “That’s enough, Constance, you are a grown woman not a schoolgirl.”
The words were a slap. Constance jerked back and straightened in her chair.
Maliha continued. “If you really think that finding someone suitable to satisfy your desires is a genuine problem, I will write a letter to Amita. She will vet appropriate candidates and provide you with one, or more than one. Male or female, whichever you prefer.”
Constance opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it again without uttering a word.
“Shall I do that for you?”
Constance nodded, still too surprised to speak.
“Good. That’s settled.” Maliha looked at her watch; the Venusian day was a little shorter than Earth’s but there was sufficient similarity to maintain the same count of hours.
“I have to go to the watchmaker to pick up my watch, and then do some additional shopping, so I should be going.”
“I can be ready in half an hour,” said Françoise. She stood immediately and went off into the house.
“Does your husband have any modern maps?” asked Maliha.
Constance shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s got a library.”
The library was cooler and drier than any other part of the house. Maliha spent the next ten minutes going through the books while Constance fidgeted by the door. She was probably already working herself up into a state of nervous excitement over the prospect of having no sexual release at the hands of a lover for several weeks.
“What are you looking for?” she asked as Maliha scoured the index of another atlas.
“Timmonsburg.”
Constance laughed out loud.
Maliha glared at her. “What’s funny?”
Constance suddenly stopped laughing and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m not supposed to know. He could kill me.”
“You’re leaving the planet and, besides, he’s invited me there.”
“It can’t even be real,” she said. “Perhaps it was an in-joke and I misunderstood.”
Maliha closed the atlas and slid it back where it had come from. She straightened and walked over to face Constance.
“Just tell me.”
“It’s a flying rock.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard them talking,” said Constance, “about flying up to Timmons’ Mountain.”
“It could just be a house on top of a hill. Why say it’s flying?”
“Because one of them said it was over the tropics at the moment.”
“His exact words?”
Constance nodded.
“Perhaps it’s just a Void-station.”
“No, because they said they were hunting snarks.”
Snarks were huge floating predators in the upper atmosphere preying on other balloon creatures. They had defensive quills that could pierce metal and moved like snakes through the air using stiff vanes that protruded from their upper and lower bodies.
Maliha paused. The nonsense poem ‘The Hunting of the Snark’ came from Through the Looking Glass. It could not be a coincidence, but what did it mean?
She recalled what Khuwelsa Edgbaston had said about the crystal with Faraday qualities. What if you could energise an entire mountain of the material? You would still need power to keep it in the air but, yes, you could have a mountain that flew.
But how would you find it?
“And this is something you overheard in the last couple of days?”
Constance nodded. “Are you saying it’s real?”
“Oh yes,” said Maliha. “I do think it is real. Timmons Mountain. Timmonsburg.”
They made their way back to the atrium and met Françoise; she only had three cases. With two staff moving her luggage, they made their way to the front door. The taxi was still there, puffing quietly to itself.
Maliha knelt down in front of Izak and was transported back to that mome
nt at the dock in Pondicherry when her mother and father had put her on the boat to England. At that time there few many passenger fliers and those were only for the very rich. So eleven year-old Alice Anderson had had to take a berth on a ship for three months with one of the older staff to attend her.
It had been late afternoon and the Sun was casting long shadows. The harbour bustled with people and machines. Smoke rose from the single funnel of the steamer. It had seemed huge to her at the time, though by the end of the voyage it resembled a book one had read a thousand times and knew every word. And not a very good book, at that.
Her father had kept his emotions locked inside, while her mother had hugged her and wept. She had not wanted Maliha to be sent away; that was her father’s decision. But in the end his resolve cracked and he too hugged her and wiped away a tear when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Maliha clung to Izak and wept.
“Do not cry, Goddess,” he said. “I have a drawing for you.”
She let him go and he handed her a sheet of paper torn from his notebook. She wiped her eyes. The picture was similar to the first one she had seen. There was the horizon and the tree, but this time the tree was tiny, barely the size of her nail. And the goddess reached from the bottom of the sheet to the top. She had been rendered better than in the first picture and she was still a silhouette, except she was white against the dark ground and even darker sky. The final flourish was the stars. He must have spent ages filling in the sky while leaving gaps for each of the stars.
“The goddess is very big,” she said.
He simply nodded.
Chapter 8
i
Françoise stared out into the rain-filled atmosphere. The cab was forced to drive at a reduced pace in the deluge as they returned to the city.
“Why would someone follow me and then not follow me?” said Maliha.
Françoise tore her attention away from the misty, grey landscape and into the electrically lit interior. “Perhaps you scared them away.”
Maliha appeared to consider the possibility. “The fellow did not run—he simply ceased to follow.” She shrugged as if at an internal thought. “Perhaps it was just some ordinary criminal and nothing to do with Timmons at all.”
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