Future Tense (17 page)

“This is all one big joke to you, isn't it?” I yelled.

“Do you still love me now?” she smiled.

“No—I do-bloody-well-not! You two-timing, little tart! I hate you! I hate you—I hate women!”

“Well,” said Emma, “so much for your unshakable, unbreakable faith. That was short and sweet. He's declared a fatwa on me and all my kind.” She returned to her paperback and calmly read on.

“You should have told me all this before—I've made a right dickhead of myself chasing round after you. The Duck was right, there's plenty more where you came from, Gummer!”

Emma turned another page.

“And another thing—I never trusted you—oh no, I knew there was something going on between you and that slimy creep Turner. I knew it. I knew you two were at it!”

“Well, you were wrong then, because I made it all up.”

“Hey?”

“The baby is yours and I have never had an affair with Matthew Turner,” said Emma, looking up at me with her head tilted to one side, eyebrows arched.

“What? You expect me to fall for a line like that?” I laughed.

“No, I couldn't care less what you think,” she shrugged. And went back to her book.

“You made it up?”

“If you say so, Stephen.” She read on.

“Why?”

“I wanted to test that unshakable, unbreakable faith you had in me. I have to admit it was much stronger than I imagined—it lasted all of three seconds longer than I thought it would,” she said. “I'm flattered—not.”

“That's not fair. Come on, Em—you—you said the worst thing you could possibly say to a guy,” I said. “All right, you put me to the test and I took the bait and—”

“You failed miserably.”

“I admit I fell for it. If it had been anyone other than Matt Turner—”

“What difference would it have made who I'd shagged?”

“Well, Matt's my best mate.”

“Your best mate? A minute ago you were going to jump in your time machine and de-bollock him at birth!”

“Yeah, but that was just a normal male reaction.”

“Sloane, there is nothing normal about you.”

“Emma, it's in our genes, love—we're programmed to react that way—haven't you heard of the harem-castration syndrome? It's been around since the dawn of time. Guys want to mate with as many females as possible and try to stop the rest of the lads in the tribe getting a look-in. It's all perfectly normal and healthy,” I said. “That's why I was behaving a bit off with you. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it, darling. Love? You didn't think I meant it, did you? All that stuff…”

“Don't simper, Stephen.”

A voice called down from the hatch. “Hey, man, like, is everything okay down there?” It was John. “We thought we heard someone screaming.”

“The coffee was a bit hot!” I shouted up. “Go back to your meditation!”

“Uh, cool. Uh, actually, Steve, Jody, and I thought we'd go and find ourselves now, if that's all right with you.”

“Find yourselves?” I said. “Where?”

“Wherever it's at, man,” said John.

“It could be within us or without us,” said Jody.

“Yeah, like far out or all in the mind,” said John.

“What do you think, Steve?” said Jody. “Can we make it?”

“Well, I don't know, it's a wild and wacky world out there, you guys.”

“Yeah, but, um, you know, er, if we can kinda like tune in, man,” said John. “We just might stand a chance, don't you agree?”

“Go for it, man.”

“Hey, wow—like love and peace, man!” cried John.

“We knew you'd understand, man,” said Jody. “So long, Steve, love and peace, man. You, too, Emma.”

“Yeah, love and peace,” I said.

“Just do it,” said Emma.

We heard them tramping up the gangplank and chattering excitedly as they left on the voyage of self-discovery we call life. Yeah, it was kind of funny hearing them express themselves like that, but kind of touching, too.

“You know, in my own way, I think I really helped those kids,” I said.

“Steve, don't kid yourself,” said Emma. “You turned them into Sloane clones—their lives are going to be hell.”

I thought about that. “You may just have a point there. I'll go and call them back.”

“Oh, leave them alone!”

“Yeah, you're right. Em, can't we stop all this fussing and fighting now? Can't we be friends again?”

“I am your friend, Stephen,” she smiled. “But I love Travis.”

“But you can't mean that, love,” I said. “It's so—so irrational—we're expecting a baby together. We still have issues here.”

“I love Travis De Quipp. End of story.”

“Look, will you please just try something for me a minute?” I looked round for a pen and paper. I found a desk diary and a biro on a shelf. I tore out a note page from the back and handed it to her. “Here, take this pen and paper and try to focus in on your subconscious feelings for Travis.”

“My subconscious feelings for Travis?” she said, pulling a pained expression. “What do you mean?”

“It can mean anything you want it to mean—I just want to prove to you how irrational our emotions can be. This is classic market research, trust me,” I said.

“Anything?”

“Whatever comes into your head when you think of Travis,” I nodded. “Don't think about it—just let your pen flow over the paper.”

She drew a long cigar-shape and passed it to me.

“What's that supposed to be?” I said.

“You tell me,” she said, sucking the pen.

“Well, let me see, it could be a, um, it looks like a, um, what the hell is it?” I said. “It looks a bit phallic.” I ripped it up. “You did that on bloody purpose!” I said.

“Got a bigger piece of paper?” she smirked, and went back to her book.

I stormed off up the stairs. Just as I got to the hatchway, a big black Norton motorbike, with two people astride it, zipped up in leathers, wearing goggles and black helmets—one big, one small—drove onto the quayside, mounted the end of the gangplank, and bounced down onto the deck. The tall driver switched the roaring engine off and the little one jumped off the back and lifted her goggles up.

“Steve!” she cried, running to throw her arms around my neck and kiss me. “Oh, I missed you.”

“Emily, Emily,” I smiled. “How did it go?”

Tree dismounted. “Don't ask,” he said.

“They blew up Daddy's farm!” cried Emily excitedly.

“Oh, no. What happened?” I said. “Come below—I'll put the kettle on.”

“They blew up everything—even the wood shed!” said Emily. “They even blew up the car! They would have blown us up if Daddy hadn't remembered his old Norton—they locked us up in the barn with it, and Daddy got it going and we smashed through the door like James Bond! Then we rode over to Taunton and bought all this biker gear—isn't it just the coolest?”

“Yes, yes—you must tell us all about it,” I said. I turned her round and faced her down the steps. “Later.”

I stood aside to let Tree go next and patted him on the back.

By the time I got down to the cabin, Tree and Emily had removed their helmets, unzipped their leathers and were lounging on the bench seats. Emma was already putting the coffee on, so I sat down at the dining table. Then Emily stood up and gave me a little fashion show on the pretence of following Emma out into the galley. I heard her chattering away, telling Emma all about their narrow escape in Somerset.

“So what happened?” I asked Tree.

“They were waiting for us,” he sighed. “Either they got very lucky or someone tipped them off.”

“Tipped them off? How? I mean—who?”

“Wish I knew.”

“We've had a couple of visitors here, too,” I said.

“Here?” He looked around. “Where?”

“Don't worry—they've gone—I got rid of them,” I said.

“When was this? You didn't tell them where we were, I hope?” said Tree.

I shook my head. “No way, man. I just persuaded them to get a life. And they left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I said. “Mind you, it took me all night to talk them round.”

“I think I need to ask you a question,” said Tree sternly.

“Yeah, I understand. Go ahead,” I said.

“What did you borrow off me at Knebworth?”

“A Tibetan hat,” I said.

Tree smiled and reached out his hand. I stretched over mine and gave him five.

“They must be tracking us somehow,” said Tree. “The net's closing. You might have seen two off, but they'll be back as sure as eggs is eggs. We'd best leave as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, tempus fugit. Did you manage to save the drawings?” I said.

He put his hand inside his leathers and pulled out a bundle of papers, and tossed them on the coffee table.

“Nice one!” I said.

I slid off my seat and picked them up, and began leafing through them. They were mostly interiors—sketchily drawn scenes of men and women sitting around in what looked like an ancient dungeon—there were a few others of inmates exercising, but they were all enclosed by walls. I was disappointed. And then I found two, right down the bottom, that were exactly what I had been hoping to find—they showed the view from a cell window—one looking towards a distant coastline, which seemed to curve around like a horseshoe, and the other from a completely different viewpoint.

I held it up.

“Where were you when you drew this?” I asked him.

He took it from me and looked at it for a moment or two. “That's looking east,” he said. “I was recovering from frostbite—that's the view from the infirmary window.”

I sat down next to him and pointed. “What are these outlines, here and this flat-topped one here?”

“Islands,” he said.

“I was hoping you were going to say that,” I smiled.

“Why—how does that help us?” he said.

I fetched the diary from the shelf and took the biro out of my jacket pocket and showed him. “Because it means we can do this,” I said. I drew a crude aerial idea of the Castle, set on an ice sheet, with a wavy line for the coast and the two islands in their relative positions. “It's rough, I know, but we can get it much better by really studying these two drawings, and any more I may have missed. We can make a map.”

Emma and Emily brought the coffees in.

Tree shook his head. “I still don't see how a bad map is going to help us to find the Castle,” he said.

Emily gave her father his coffee and sat down next to him. Emma put mine on the coffee table and then sat down on the coffee table next to it, picked up my scribble, quickly discarded it, and began turning over Tree's drawings, one by one.

“We are agreed the Castle is somewhere in the British Isles?” I said.

Tree nodded, wearily.

“But we don't know where and we don't know when?” I said.

Tree nodded and rubbed his eye. I could see that the memories were almost too painful for him to even think about. I turned my attention to Emily.

“Emily, do you remember you once told me your father believed the Castle to be in our distant past—in an Ice Age?” I said.

“Yes, Stephen, I do.” She looked to her father. “That's what you said, isn't it, Daddy?”

Tree nodded and sighed. “It is in the past,” he said.

“You mean the Castle is in the past?” I said.

“Yes,” sighed Tree.

“How do you know?” I said.

“Steve, stop pressing,” said Emma. “Can't you see Tree's upset?”

“No, it's all right, Emma,” said Tree. “Stephen's right—we must try to find that evil place and get poor Roger out.”

“And Jools,” said Emily.

“The Duck is quite capable of taking care of himself,” said Tree. “It's Roger Jemmons I'm worried about. He has been a good friend.”

“There's been no sign of the Duck,” I said. “I think we can assume the worst, Tree. I'm afraid I haven't told you everything.”

Everybody's attention immediately focussed on me. I told them the whole story, more or less, though leaving out the bit about my, uh, brief emotional attachment to Miss Parker or the Princess Mormagleea, or whatever her name was.

“Are you sure that wasn't the real Jemmons in that attic?” said Tree. “The way you tell it, it sounds to me as if he could have been attacking Bentley not you. He might have known Bentley was a traitor.”

“Oh, he meant me all right,” I said. “Damn near had my head off.”

“Do you believe all this stuff about a princess? It sounds far-fetched to me,” said Emma, to the others.

“And why would she dress up in a nurse's uniform and nurse you? It sounds a bit kinky to me,” said Emily, pulling a face. “Did she wear thigh boots?”

“Emily!” said Tree.

“Look, what am I—an unreliable witness? I'm only telling you what I saw and heard,” I said.

“Travis is in danger,” said Emma, thinking aloud. “We have to find this place.”

“That's what I've been trying to tell everybody—it's the key to this whole mess. Something is going down and the Duck's at the bottom of it as usual,” I said.

“Well, I think Julian and Travis have been very brave,” said Emma. “You're the one who's been completely useless in all this.”

“
What
? Well, you would say that, wouldn't you—if loverboy's involved it can't be dodgy, can it?”

“Travis has more honour in his little finger than you'll ever have,” said Emma.

“Weren't you listening to a thing I said? They set me up—they're as thick as thieves!”

“They probably just wanted you out of the way, while they rescued this princess, because they knew you'd be absolutely useless!” she said.