The Levitating Village
Chapter Two - The Gerontonauts
The wind picked up and the thick white clouds framed the early morning blue sky.
To avoid people I took a path across the lawn of the Country House, crouched like the man with the broken back. If I wanted to avoid attention, I was doing it very wrong. If anything I drew attention to myself.
The path led to a deserted side street, which led to an alleyway. I saw a brass plaque, not the oddest sight I had seen so far, which read, ‘Entry #12 – The Perpetually Dark Alleyway’. This seemed nonsense at first, until I noticed a strange effect. The closer I got to the middle of the alleyway, the darker it became. But there were no more hanging branches than any other part of the alleyway and nothing logical to suggest this was possible. But I continued until I was in pitch blackness. This worried me for obvious reasons, one being the impossibility of it occurring. I moved a little quicker out the other side, where it became increasingly lighter. It occurred to me then, more than any time before, that normal rules didn't apply here. What was to come? I didn’t want to speculate. I could imagine quite horrific things. Before I had travelled much further, I became aware of a figure on my peripheral. It was like an inky black stain in the corner of my eye. When I looked round, all I could see was a space where something had been. On top of everything else, I sensed I was being followed. But by what? Thoughts drifted back to my dreams of the night before. I began to convince myself I had seen for a split second something like a plague doctor. It was more likely I was transferring the fears in my dreams to the newness of my surroundings. Being accused of murder does something to the psyche, you know. The Library came into view then. It was a fairly unremarkable council built-to-model building, of concrete and glass. There was graffiti upon the wall by the door to the Library interior, reading, ‘it wuz not me’. Who this ‘Me’ was I had no idea. But their spelling was appalling.
Homeless books were piled in varying heights and ages, leaning against the walls of the corridor entrance to the main Library room, waiting patiently for a place on the already overburdened shelves. Some were damp where the inevitable moisture had crept into their spines. Some were beyond repair. The Library tables contained wizened old men who sat reading. Eight of them plus Meredith Loreley, who stood behind her desk near the entrance. She looked early thirties, but the way she dressed was like that of a sixties spinster, glasses dangling from a chain. She resembled something of the clichéd past, of the virgin maiden from a pre-war era. The eight men were wearing robes with the Convention Badge on their chest. They were grey haired and in various states of disrepair.
The most coherent looking one enthused my presence. He was Charles Fick, “Ah! Who is this that comes forth? It’s fresh blood, in our midst! Come, lad! Sit with us and partake of the bounty! So, what brings you here?”
“I’m researching the history of the Village.” I lied. Quite convincing I thought for me being caught on the hoof.
“Ah, you won’t be the first, lad. Most recent were these two chaps, both quite short, but boy did they fill out their suits? Muttered amongst themselves. Found them a bit offhand, lad.” Charles commented.
“Are you all researchers?”
“In a manner of speaking. We are more like castaways. We came for the competition, but we stayed for the company. We came before the miracle; we stayed after it changed the world. One of us raised the world. Except we can’t remember who.”
“I’m pretty sure it was me.” said another Scientist, who later turned out to be Alexander Beckman.
“No, if you remember, you were presenting a paper entitled ‘Theoretical Accounting Based On Stochastic Methods’.” said Charles.
Alexander’s brow furrowed, “You sure? I seem to remember the Village lifting up.”
“That’s because you were there. So was I. “ said Charles.
Another of the sleeping giants perked up. He turned out to be Pedrick Chernoff, “You lifted the Village? I thought it was me.”
“No, my boy, I didn’t. At least I don’t think I did.” said Charles.
From the back, one called Josef Ressel called out, “It was that other one. You know, the one with the thing?”
“No, that’s him over there, the one with the thing? He’s sitting right there.” Alexander pointed to a random person in the throng.
The one he pointed to was Richard Drew, “Eh? I did what now?”
“He says you lifted the Village.” said Josef.
“No I didn’t!” said Charles.
“Well who did say he had then?” asked Josef.
“No one did.” said Alexander, “He did the alleyway, you know, experiment twelve?”
One of the weaker ones piped up, “Twelve? Time for tea?” His name was Samuel Morey.
“So what did I do then?” asked Pedrick.
“I haven’t a clue.” answered Alexander.
“That’s settled then.” cut in Charles.
“What is?” I asked. I was more confused than a penguin trying to fly.
Charles resolved the issue, “It’s time for tea.”
As if on cue, Meredith approached with a tray of tea and biscuits. While the old men tucked in with the odd comment of “Shall I be Mother?” and the confused replies, Meredith whispered contentedly in my ear, “Any time they start talking, tea is the outcome.”
So I left them to it. I made myself at home at a table that was steeped in shadow, with a thick book open before me, pretending to read. I continued my ruse that I was a historian, giving the occasional look of unexpected surprise as though I was getting the information I wanted. I waited. And waited. I was fighting sleep when Lana eventually arrived. She pushed over to me a mashed up sandwich hastily wrapped in cling film. I took it and demolished the contents. She looked like she was building up to tell me something. She grabbed my hand with both of hers from across the table. I was beginning to think this proposition had nothing to do with wearing considerably less clothes.
“They’ve taken your clothes. I hope there wasn’t anything important in that suitcase?” Lana said as a conversation opener. Well, that was it then. Clothes were involved after all.
“Where were you?” I asked, “I was worried.”
“I had to wait until the end of my shift. Surely I told you that? Anyway, that doesn’t matter. Was there anything important in there?” Lana pulled in closer, which didn’t help. Maybe I felt faint, “I have something important to ask. I now know I can trust you. A bit of prid pro quo. I do this something for you, you do something for me.” Who was I to argue? But my attention was briefly taken elsewhere.
Meredith was in conversation with the Police Officer I had seen Lana speaking with earlier, by the Library reception desk.
“Good morning, Officer.” said Meredith, in her chirpy manner.
“Good morning, Mrs Loreley.” replied the Officer with a curt nod of the head, “How’s Mr Loreley?”
“Still dead, I’m afraid.”
The Officer looked unsteady on his feet, “Oh, um, sorry? So, how’s, no, wait I said that. Wait, let me go out and come back in again.”
Lana took the sudden opportunity to drag me into the shade of an overstuffed bookshelf. I noticed we were holding hands. It felt good. Her skin was so soft and warm and our backdrop was the confused talking to the confusing. Lana took the chance to talk to me about what she had come for.
“First things first, you’re going to have to hole up here for a bit longer, while Constable Pillock over there does his initial round of questioning, or until he gets bored, whichever comes sooner. Then you will be a little freer to move around. I’ll bring you food and drink as and when I can. But I have to ask for your help. You see, I’m not really a receptionist. Well, I am, but not at this Country Club. Well, I am at the moment, but that’s not why I came to the Village. I came for my GrandFather, Leith Bradburn. No, not one of them. If he was one of them I wouldn’t need the help, would I?” said Lana.
“Look,” I said, some courage returning to my weak body, “I only came here yesterday, from my quiet little studio flat in the centre of town, and my little clerk job from a slightly sleazy backstreet Solicitors to get a scribble from a pen on a measly piece of paper. Then I was off. Back homeskie.”
“I know, but you’re here now. And I need you. More than you could imagine.”
She held my gaze a little longer than I expected. I could read it in her eyes. I could see pain and desperation etched in the swirling green corona of her pupil.
“Ok. What do you want me to do?” I sighed in resignation.
Her smile spread and she clung with her lips to my lips like a limpet to an unexploded mine. I was about to go off. Then, annoyingly, she remembered herself. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
“Well, two things I do know.” she began, “He’s still here in this Village. I have no idea where though. I have spent the last four months exploring everywhere I can safely get away with exploring, but with no luck. The second thing I know is he was here when the Inventor’s Convention was on. I don’t know in what capacity, or anymore than that. I want you to help me find him.”
“I will do anything in my power to help, of course.” I was getting good at this lying lark.
“I thought you ought to know.” said Lana after a short pause, “The poor guy who was murdered last night, Dennis Heath, was the Personal Assistant to Marshall. He kept to himself, practically glued to the phone in Sir William’s office. I wouldn’t have put it past Marshall to actually glue the phone to his ear. He was a nice man, though. I pumped him for some information once. He was quite forthcoming.”
“So what do you think? Where should I look?” I asked.
Lana looked around the Library, picking the words from the air, “I know every council meeting and planning notice is logged here in the Library. Maybe other things are too. You’re here and have time. I don’t. You sift through fountains of nonsense in your job too. You’re perfect. I’m going to go now, before Marshall gets suspicious. I’ll be back, don’t worry.”
Even if it was said in a different context, I stored away that ‘perfect’ in my mental locker. She kissed me on my forehead. With that, she disappeared. She was right, of course. It’s what I did best, filing. It was my raison d’être. Unfortunately.
I began on the top floor. A spiral staircase took me to the gantry above. I searched for anything that looked like it was either official or seemed like it didn’t belong there. I found several boxes hidden away in a corner, crushed under some heavy books. I took these down to my table, then I searched the ground floor and found some more. There was a door that led down to some kind of cellar, but it was firmly locked. I would have to make do with what I had for the time being.
Meredith Loreley had locked up some hours ago and disappeared into a dark corner, which turned out to be an annexed bedsit. That door was locked also. The eight inventors were pretty much where they had been, except in varying forms of consciousness. I worked as quietly as I could. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion that I was actually still in the Library. I had easily hidden when Meredith Loreley made her rounds, checking locked doors and closed windows. I now sat at my table, sorting the mishmash of papers into some kind of order before I went through them individually. The stress and excitement of the previous day had ensured I had enough adrenaline still running through my blood stream to shun sleep. Besides, even if it sounded weird, I didn’t care. I loved this bit. It gave me some sense of satisfaction, looking for and finding things thought lost or well hidden. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Shame I didn’t have hair on my forehead to do the same.
I began work by the light of the full moon, which shone through the high windows and skylights. It was enough. I was used to working in low light. I wasn’t prepared for what I found, however.
After some time passed and the Library was open once more, I approached the desk of Meredith.
I coughed to clear my throat, “My dear lady, I noticed you had a cellar?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What’s down there?”
“Why do you need to know?” she asked, her face showing intrigue.
“Just curious.” I shrugged.
“You know what that did to the proverbial cat.” said Meredith over her half moon glasses.
“But can I look?” I insisted.
Meredith squinted her eyes, “You know, you look familiar? Something about a Policeman and something or other?”
I forced out a distractive sentence, “Ah, how about it? The cellar, I mean?”
Meredith shrugged, “It’s just papers, broken tables and chairs, and old broken books.”
“But may I look?” I asked, “I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”
She tutted, but acquiesced. She took out a small key from her cardigan and handed it to me. The key turned in the lock after a little jiggle and I left it there in the lock. My first mistake. I reached the bottom of the steps and tried the switch. Nothing happened. There was just darkness. I turned to make my way back up the stairs, when I saw the outline of Meredith, highlighted menacingly by the bright artificial light beyond.
“Ah, dear lady, do you have a candle, or a bulb for -”
I saw her close the door and lock it and I was trapped. In darkness. In a cellar.
#
I spent what felt like most of the day in that darkness. I tried several times to get someone’s attention but to no avail. Meredith had almost certainly called the Police. It seemed all was lost. I did look for another way out of the cellar, but after several blind scrambling attempts and several painfully knocked shins later I resigned myself to my fate. Maybe I could mount a good defence? Maybe. But I knew practically nothing about that kind of law, criminal law. The type of law Trent, Marcus and Trent dealt with was property law. So I could perhaps mount a good defence just as long as the judge was being gazumped. I think I could manage that. I also began to feel I had been abandoned by Lana. Being locked up I must have outlived my usefulness to her. I felt like I was in a pressure cooker. Adrenaline pumped around my system again, and my heart beat thumped in my chest in anticipation. I was ready to spring like a Bok after a hungry lion had pinpointed it for lunch.
Some time later, I wasn’t exactly sure how long, the door was opened and Lana’s full figure became silhouetted in the doorway.
“Quick!” she gestured hurriedly, “She’s getting a pot of tea! We don’t have much time! I just passed Gary, the Policeman and he’s coming here!”
“I found out some stuff.” I spluttered.
“Good.” she said, brushing some dust from my shoulder distractedly, “But can we leave it until we’re not in danger? I’m going to make a distraction. When I do, keep low, but run for the door. Make for the graveyard and the church. You should be safe there. When I’ve got out of this, I’ll come and find you. You can tell me what you found out then.” Then Lana strode into the room.
She took a deep breath and cupped her hands over her mouth. She shouted, “Thief! Thief!”
A cup cluttered on its saucer, followed by an indignant splutter from Charles Fick, “Dear Lady! Watch the tea! It’s going everywhere!”
I ran as fast as I could in a crouch, my attention tunnel visioned to the door of the Library. I didn’t look back. I just kept going. I stayed running in a crouch until I was outside on the road, where I allowed myself a brief pause to look around for witnesses. I had reached the dry stone wall of the graveyard and if I had been a little more observant I would have noticed the wooden gate for visitors three feet to my left. But I was in a hurry, and an adventurer’s spirit had entered me, making me do daft things like vaulting a four foot dry stone wall to sharp gravel the other side, hidden initially by tall, unmowed grass.
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