Heavenly Pleasures (7 page)

‘Maybe Bavaria,’ said a wizardly person with a beard and long white hair.

‘No, Prussia,’ said a deep-voiced man, raising his cake fork in a commanding gesture. ‘We’ll have to look it up in the atlas later. What’s next?’

‘Nine across,’ said a plump woman with curly red hair and a green cheesecloth shirt. ‘General who ate peaches and became a legend for steadfastness shares name with a famous bare-knuckle fighter.’

‘Well, we know who that is,’ said the deep-voiced man.

‘An eighteenth century pugilist called Gentleman Jackson,’ said the redhead.

‘And Stonewall Jackson,’ said the deep voice. They put in the clue and smiled at each other. And ordered more cake and coffee.

‘A crossword,’ said Daniel. ‘That fiendish general knowledge one. Ah. Dinner,’ he said, as plates of pasta were carried forth and we both realised that we were starving.

‘Yum,’ I agreed.

We ate sumptuously and drank the wine and listened to the cafe. The boys talked about Super Furry Animals and Idlewild. I knew about the Super Furries. They did a very funny parody of Santana dressed as golden retrievers—or possibly yetis, it was hard to tell. The girls talked about boys and
Big Brother
. The crossword collective howled with rage about the inaccuracy, idiocy and natural sadism of the crossword maker and threatened retribution in the form of flung dictionaries. Vertigo went on with its business. People ebbed and flowed past the windows and the street murmured its own private self-satisfaction. We paid and went out into the Brunswick night.

Hot chocolate in the Spanish manner at Bocadillo, or ice cream?’ I asked.

‘Ice cream,’ said Daniel.

We crossed the road to Charmaine’s Temple of Ice Cream and ordered a pink grapefruit gelati (me) and a tiramisu (Daniel) and strolled along the other side of the road, licking and looking around. The sorbet was sharp and not very sweet. The tiramisu was velvety and rich. The shops were as eclectic as ever. We had finished our dessert by the time we got to the tram stop.

‘Home?’ said Daniel, as the tram slid to a halt.

‘Home,’ I agreed.

We sat down in the tram and I leaned my head on Daniel’s shoulder. The city flicked past in red and green and white lights, in sudden intimate glimpses into upstairs windows where people were doing things; pouring tea, lighting a smoke, turning a page. Then around the squiggle into the city and down the long slope of Collins Street, past the Reserve Bank which, with all its money, couldn’t have been happier than Daniel and me. Down to Elizabeth Street, where we got off and ambled along, sleepy with wine and good company, towards our own home and bed.

Which we were not going to get to immediately, it appeared. Insula was buzzing with people in various stages of undress, and cops.

‘Is it a fire?’ I asked Meroe, who was clutching a wire carrier in which Belladonna was howling a protest.

‘It’s a bomb,’ she said.

‘Who’d want to bomb Insula?’ asked Daniel.

Meroe set down the cat carrier so that she could throw up both her hands in a Hungarian Gypsy gesture of despair. She said a thing which very few professional witches like saying.

‘I don’t know!’ she cried.

C
_HA
PTER SIX

I looked around. Everyone appeared to be here. Mrs Dawson in a dark brown cashmere dressing gown and soft, terracottacoloured Russian leather boots. Professor Monk wearing a voluminous dark blue gown rather like a monk’s robe, holding an armload of papers and books. I observed Mrs Dawson walking across to assist him with the pile, which was beginning to topple. I sighted Goss and Kylie, who were, of course, dressed for an evening at the clubs, in skimpy but expensive outfits which seemed to have been stapled together with gold wire. Kylie was hugging Goss.

Jon and Kepler were sitting on the top stair, looking bemused. I stepped over the Lone Gunmen, three young men who ran Nerds Inc. They were sprawled on the stairs. Taz, Gully and Rat appeared no worse for their fright but apprehensive, as they always were when forced out of their burrows and made to converse with humans face to face. They had a carton full of DVDs.

‘Corinna, Trudi let your cats out,’ said Taz as I tried not to stand on any part of him.

72

‘But we don’t know about Calico and Soot and Tori,’ sobbed Kylie. ‘I left them inside because I didn’t know what all the noise was about and now they won’t let us back into the building and now …’

She sobbed again and Cherie Holliday, who knew all about loss and fear, put an arm around her. Cherie had brought her teddy bear, Pumpkin, with her. Her father Andy, I noticed, had brought his briefcase and his bottle of scotch. Everyone, in fact, had brought their most precious things. Mrs Dawson had a suitcase which, I would bet, was full of photos and books. Professor Monk had his Aristophanes translation on which he had worked for years. I didn’t actually have many precious things, and all of my papers and so on were on me. My mother was a hippie who didn’t believe in material values and my grandmother brought me up. I had her bluebird pin. And some pictures I supposed I would miss.

Kylie and Goss had their make-up cases. Trudi had a box of bulbs and Lucifer, who was now riding on her shoulder. His little ears were laid back and he was having the time of his life. I noticed that Trudi had tucked a leather glove under the strap of her overall, for him to shred with his claws and save her shoulder. The Pandamus family were gathered together like chickens threatened by a hawk, with the children and Yai Yai in the middle. Mrs Pemberthy and her rotten little doggie Traddles were having hysterics in a police car. Mistress Dread, the leather queen, was talking to a police officer who seemed unfazed at being towered over by a six foot woman in fishnets and a red leather corset who punctuated her statements by slapping a riding whip on her muscular thigh.

Oh, my Horatio, where was he? The policeman who was standing by the door did not look sympathetic. While Horatio could protect himself from most ordinary threats, what could he do about a bomb? Daniel’s arm tightened around my shoulders.

‘Trudi let him out,’ he said to me. ‘By the usual feline rules, he ought to stroll down the stairs about now.’

And blow me down if he wasn’t right. Horatio, Calico and the kitten Tori came bounding down the stairs and out into the crowd of people, followed by the Mouse Police. They were abashed and turned and slunk down the alley. They knew a lot of places of refuge. They would be all right on their own. Horatio sat down at my feet, folding his tail over his paws and radiating smug satisfaction. Calico rushed to Cherie, complaining loudly, and Kylie and Goss smothered Tori in kisses. She bore it pretty well, considering how hard it is to wash lip gloss out of fur.

‘Well, my boy, you have done well,’ I told Horatio. ‘You wouldn’t like to tell me what’s happening, would you?’

‘You have a possible bomb,’ said a level voice which really couldn’t have been Horatio’s. I turned. Police Senior Constable Letty (aka Lepidoptera) White was standing next to me.

‘Someone left it in the foyer, or whatever it’s called,’ she said soberly. ‘It’s a brown paper parcel. It’s ticking. Then someone phoned what sounds like an identical threat to everyone in the building and also to us. So here we are, waiting for the bomb squad. A nice way to spend Saturday night,’ she added.

Senior Constable White is a neat, stocky woman of about thirty-five. She has carefully tamed brown hair and brown eyes and I like her, in a careful sort of way. She does not approve of Daniel, but we all have our blind spots.

‘Do you think it’s a real bomb?’ I asked. She shrugged.

‘Could be. If so, I wonder why anyone would bother trying to blow up this building when there are such a lot of more important ones.’

‘True. Not the place to make a political statement,’ I agreed. ‘Unless you really have it in for the Roman Empire.’

This was all feeling strangely unreal. Mrs Dawson and the Prof came down the steps and suggested adjourning to a nearby pub, where it had to be warmer. I beckoned to Jon and Kepler and we began to edge away, as a large truck arrived and practically jammed itself into the alley. Out of it came men in flak jackets or whatever that armour is called, and helmets, and it was all getting too military for my liking. We were going to cause a sensation in Young and Jacksons on a Saturday night, but I didn’t see any point in hanging around. I asked Letty White if we could go to the pub.

‘Take all of them, and I wish I was joining you,’ she said in a heartfelt manner. Jon brought Kepler, Cherie brought Andy and Kylie and Goss, the nerds hauled themselves up off the street, Trudi hefted her box of bulbs and the Pandamus family picked up babies and helped Yai Yai to her feet. We were all moving when Meroe remembered something.

‘Oh, Goddess,’ she said quietly. ‘The mystery man!’

‘He’s not here?’

‘No!’

‘You go on,’ I said. ‘Stuff Horatio into that carrier with Bella, would you? That’ll give her something to scream about. I’ll tell Lepidoptera and catch you up.’

Along Flinders Lane they went. Leading the way with quiet authority was Professor Monk and Mrs Dawson, both well and warmly, if unconventionally, clad. There followed Kylie, Goss, Cherie and Andy, Jon and Kepler, the Pandamus family in a huddle, Nerds Inc in a group, Meroe with the cat carrier (now strangely silent), Trudi and Lucifer and Mistress Dread bringing up the rear with her predator’s stalk.

‘There might be someone still left in the building,’ I said to the senior constable.

‘Who and where?’ she asked.

‘In 7B, his name is Ben White. You know him. And a black kitten called Soot,’ I added.

‘What makes you think I know him?’ she asked sharply.

‘I saw you coming behind him when he moved in,’ I returned. I was not in the mood for sharp retorts. ‘Of course, he might not be home,’ I added. ‘It’s Saturday night.’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We’ll check. Now if you want to get along to the pub,’ she added, ‘you should drink one for me.’

‘What’s your favourite?’ I asked, moving away as the armoured men ramped up the steps.

‘Cosmopolitan,’ she said.

I had no objection to cranberry juice, so I nodded and walked on. I was almost to Swanston Street when I saw that the Insula inhabitants had stopped and were gathered around something on the ground. It was groaning.

‘Corinna? Go back and get Lepidoptera,’ said Daniel from a kneeling position. ‘Professor, take everyone on to the pub, I’ll stay with him. Tell her we need an ambulance,’ he said to me. ‘But that the building is clear. We’ve found Mr White.’

I didn’t stop to look. I ran. Fortunately it was not far because running is not my skill. I grabbed Letty White by the arm and gabbled out my message. She tore her eyes away from a strange robot thing which looked like a collection of old vacuum cleaner parts clanking into the foyer, snapped out an order on her radio, and followed me back up the lane. Actually, she preceded me, because I was out of breath.

‘How is he?’ she snapped at Daniel.

‘Beaten,’ said Daniel. ‘Might have a few broken ribs. Not conscious but breathing well, good pulse, no major bleeding unless it’s internal.’

‘One assailant?’ asked Letty crisply.

‘Got to be more than one,’ said Daniel, getting to his feet. ‘And by the way his pockets are torn, I’d say he’s been robbed.’

‘Ambulance is on the way,’ said Letty. ‘Thanks,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Why don’t you go and get that drink? You’ve earned it.’

They looked one another in the eye for a while. Then Daniel smiled at the senior constable and she smiled at him. I would have put considerable money on that not happening. Ever.

‘I will,’ he said. ‘Coming, Corinna?’

I fell in beside him. He held his hands away from his body. They had blood on them and he was trying not to touch me, which was nice of him.

‘We do have strange evenings,’ I said, tucking a hand into the crook of his elbow.

‘We certainly do,’ he sighed.

The management of Young and Jacksons, faced with an influx of refugees, had opened a back room and by the time we got there the party was becoming hilarious. The young women were drinking the cocktails for which the hotel is known, and I joined in, ordering a Cosmopolitan for Letty’s sake. It was delicious. Mistress Dread drank, of course, a Bloody Mary. Daniel went and washed his hands and emerged to buy a bottle of red wine. He shared it with the Prof and Jon and Kepler. Mrs Dawson had a gin and tonic and the Pandamus family were handing out beer and ouzo to all hands except the youngest, for whom the hotel had concocted Coke spiders, the taste sensation of my schooldays.

The nerds were drinking Arctic Death, a mixture of vodka and bitter lemon, to which they are famously addicted. If you want any computer magic done, all you need is a six-pack of Arctic Death. Meroe had forgotten about her chakras and was drinking Bombay gin with Trudi. And smoking a Gauloise. She smokes very rarely, and so do I, but I was going to have one of those smokes before the night was out. These qualified as special circumstances.

I was very impressed by Mrs Dawson and the Prof carrying off that parade down the street in their nightclothes. I said so, partly to take my mind off the bomb—where was I going to live if Insula blew up? Would my insurance cover it? Had I, in fact, actually paid my insurance?—and the assault on Mr White and partly because it was true. Mrs Dawson gave my arm a brisk pat.

‘My dear, I have been in circumstances more dire than these and in garments less comfortable, as I am sure has the Professor. Haven’t you, Dion?’

‘Certainly,’ he said, smiling his Juvenalian smile. ‘I recall being blown out of a window by a flying bomb, stripped all the clothes off me. And I landed on shattered glass, which rather frayed my … er … confidence. I had to conceal my blushes in a watchman’s coat until I could find some clothes. And it was freezing cold. And you?’

‘Oh yes, dear me, I was caught in a bushfire. I was taking a bath in the river at the time and although I was safe enough my tent and all my garments were completely destroyed. And there were mosquitoes. And flying embers. Not comfortable at all. And I was young, then, and I did get embarrassed. But I found that as I got older, I lost fears. There didn’t seem any point in them anymore. So if anyone wishes to be amused at my clothes, they are entirely welcome, but it doesn’t bother me.’

‘Or me,’ said Professor Monk. ‘Another gin and tonic, dear lady?’

‘Thank you,’ said Mrs Dawson.

I bought another bottle of wine. Jon said to Kepler, ‘I didn’t mean your first night in Insula to be this exciting,’ and I heard Kepler reply, ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m with you.’

I went back to Daniel. Subconsciously, we were all listening for a bang. I poured a glass for myself. Sometimes, wine is the answer. And one of Meroe’s Gauloises.

About an hour later, Letty White came into the crowd and said, ‘It’s all right. You can go home,’ and we were having such fun that she had to raise her voice and yell.

‘No bomb?’ asked Del Pandamus.

‘Just a device which ticked,’ said Letty. ‘A practical joke.’

‘Oh, very funny,’ growled Meroe. We gathered ourselves together, finished our drinks and went back into the street, taking our worldly goods with us. I detained Letty as we were going out.

‘And Mr White? Is he all right?’

‘Bit of a bump on the head, they’re keeping him overnight,’ she told me. ‘Do you know what this might have been about?’ she asked Daniel suddenly.

‘Me?’ he echoed.

‘Yes, you. Anything you’re investigating which might attract the wrong sort of attention?’

‘No,’ he said honestly. ‘Unless it’s Darren the God Boy. But he wouldn’t have set up an attack here, would he? I don’t live in Insula.’

‘Tell me all about it,’ said Letty, sitting down and taking out her notebook.

As Daniel began to explain about his commission from Sister Mary, I poured another glass of wine and lit another Gauloise. Meroe had left the packet behind. Possibly prompted by the Goddess.

By the time we got back to the apartment, everyone had gone inside, checked their own apartment for damage and either settled down or gone out for the evening. Horatio was in my apartment, ruffled and cross. He had been lifted and confined—confined!—in a cat carrier with another cat! He was threatening to call his union. And the Mouse Police had come back in through the bakery cat-door. They were waiting in a body in the kitchen.

‘There’s a delegation to see you,’ said Daniel, as three pairs of accusing eyes lifted to his. Tails were being lashed. The feline part of this household were royally pissed off and were not bothering to hide it.

‘Cat food can cure all ills,’ I said. ‘There’s meat in the fridge for a special treat. This looks like a special occasion. A handful each, Daniel. I’ll sit down. I’m more than a tad drunk,’ I said.

‘Me too. So let’s just go to bed like good citizens,’ he said. ‘And sleep it off.’

So we did. I woke in the night, which is what happens if you drink too much, but I fell asleep again beside Daniel. So it wasn’t until we had completed the ritual silences of breakfast that I remembered.

‘Oh, shit,’ I said.

‘What?’ Daniel put down his empty coffee cup.

‘Soot is missing,’ I said. ‘Last night Calico and Tori came with Horatio, Trudi had Lucifer on her shoulder. But not Soot.’