10. CRAB DATE
"Did you, or did you not, promise Quakehaven to the Ferine?"
I'd been day-dreaming about life on Venus. About the same size as Earth. Of course you'd have to get used to the heat. And the sulphuric acid clouds, and absence of oxygen. What factor sun-block did Venusians wear? And so on. I started at Mr Seth's words, and shuddered as grim reality destroyed my fantasy.
A bright spot shone through the blanket of clouds in the East like a torch. It must still have been morning. We were just outside the school gates. The street stunk of ozone and rotten eggs. I summoned my arm to bury my nose in my jacket, but the stubborn limb wouldn't obey. Then I saw the blood, not all of it mine, and sat bolt upright.
"Answer me, boy," shouted Mr Seth.
I tried, but the words wouldn't come. Mark was sprawled out on his back on the footpath next to me, snoring lightly and mumbling to himself; something about his father. My body was racked with pain, especially my back. I'd fallen asleep slouched up against an old fashioned iron post box. Speaking of which, what did I want for Christmas? Unlikely to be Ancient Assassins while I lived in Sub Rosa. Probably more books, though anything beat socks or shirts...
"Boy!"
"Huh?" I said groggily. "Yeah, yes, no sir". My heart pounded and I shook all over, just like Tim had before -. I stifled the thought.
"Well, which is it, lad?" demanded the old man. "Did you promise them Quakehaven, or not?"
Mr Seth had his pinstriped back to me. Mr Seth wiggled the fingers of his right hand furiously at the distant gum tree, which had swollen and become massive. With his left hand, he gesticulated at the black and white smudge of a magpie, which was perched sensibly out of the old man's reach on the left pillar of the school gates.
"Magpie," I whispered, trying to suppress the memory of it skulling Tim's eyeballs like olives.
"And an obnoxious one at that," snorted Mr Seth, opening and closing his fist. "You have obviously recovered your power of speech, so answer my question!"
The old man, the bird and the tree looked like a group of mutes arguing over a bill. If the Ferine were talking back to Mr Seth, however, it was a private conversation. I could no longer hear them, though perhaps it was because my ears still rung.
Mr Seth swung around and glared at me, his left hand continuing to harangue the irritating bird.
"Not," I said. "I mean, no, I did not promise the Ferine that they could have Quakehaven. The playground - that's all. Not the town. Did they say I promised them the town?"
"Typical," huffed Mr Seth, turning back to the wild things. "Ferine always exaggerate. Not even you could be so stupid to give away the town," he said now clenching and unclenching his fists slowly, like an arthritic boxer. Whatever he signalled provoked an indignant screech from the bird, who took off from the gate pillar with two sullen, curt flaps of its wings.
"Well, I've restricted the damage," said Mr Seth, lowering his arms, and turning again. He looked tired, his features, cracked and lined like an un-oiled baseball glove. "But what was this rubbish I hear about oaths sworn on the honour of Smiths?"
"I had to do something. I was about to pass out. I -"
"Foolish boy," snapped Mr Seth. "That oath and this school-yard were not yours to give. You're not even a Novice, and you've left me with quite a mess."
Abashed, I looked away from the old man to the back Western corner of the playground where I'd nearly been killed by the Blackgum. He was right.
Firs and conifers lining the school fence had emulated the gum tree and become giants. They towered over the school building. Giant weeds, interspersed with angry red mushrooms carpeted the football field, choking the grass with burrs, thorns, thistles and spores. Flocks of birds of prey - kites, crows, ravens - wheeled overhead, swooping with intent at anyone or thing that approached the back fence. A coalition of ant armies patrolled the front gate, marching in jagged lines.
From behind us, a brown cloud buzzed towards the school, a super-swarm of bees seeking safe harbour in Ferine territory. Tree roots danced and undulated like slow skipping ropes ripping up the bitumen quadrangle. Already, a labyrinthine nest of knotted vines snaked east from the back fence and launched themselves at the main school building, worrying the mortar between the old grey bricks. The stink of overripe fruit mingled uneasily with the rot of decaying vegetables and manure, casting a cold, humid pall over the schoolyard like a deserted greenhouse stacked with vats of fermented yeast.
"I had no choice," I sputtered, appalled. "I was fighting for my life. Tim was trying to -". Air fled my lungs. I couldn't breathe. Tim. The teeth and claws. Sharp beaks. Red blood. Killer roots. Bones in a suitcase. I opened my mouth and began to wail like a banshee.
Mr Seth frowned and said: "It was painless for your friend, Patrick."
I nodded. "Poor, Tim," I said. "He was a bit of a bully, but no-one deserves to die like that."
"Nonsense," said Mr Seth, though not unkindly. "We all die eventually. Some deserve it more than others, but it's always a surprise in the end. You know as well as I do that this abomination - this Blackgum - was not your friend. That thing killed the boy, probably days ago. We need to locate the source."
"Mark's party," I said. "It came out of a game. It stung, or bit him. We didn't think much about it. A small mark. And he was cleared by doctor."
"Fiddling while Rome burned, that's what you were doing."
"What?"
"Don't you kids do history these days? Nero?"
I stared at him blankly.
"Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus 15 December AD 37 – 9 June AD 68. Emperor of Rome. Ring a bell?"
It didn't.
"Honestly? Huh. Rome burned in 64, while the Emperor stood around fiddling. Most serious historians think the fiddle bit is just a myth, though he did play a mean lute, if Suetonius is to be believed, which is inadvisable. But sometimes even false stories have something to teach us. Gorging at a party and missing the first infection was just plain negligent."
I was about to make the obvious point - I only heard about the Blackgum after Mark's party - when a prolonged squeal of a microphone sounded in the distance, followed by the distorted, but unmistakable voice of Mr Lyons calling a roll.
"The Passengers are over in the Commons," said Mr Seth, waving his arms vaguely in the direction of the sound. He probably meant Wane Park, our meeting place for school fire drills, about two blocks away to the south of school. "Quakehaven would have sustained far heavier losses today had it not been for some sensible soul triggering that infernal alarm and rousing the Passengers from their stupor." That explained the ringing in my ears. It wasn't in my head. "Did you see what happened to the Passengers in the presence of Blackgum."
"They were like zombies."
"Not exactly like zombies," said Mr Seth. "They're alive to start with, but if you mean brainless sheep, then yes. This town's forgetting itself. Those Passengers," he said gesturing towards the Park, "will not remember the Blackgum attack, and in an hour or two will not recall that Tim even existed. I've never seen such a high percentage of Passengers amongst young folk. It's lucky there was a Forger to save them. A small boy arrived with a pink globular woman and herded them away while the Blackgum had its way with you. Quite impressive, though that woman should do more exercise."
"Mrs Dixon," I said. "She's not globular. She just wears a lot of clothes to stay warm. She's not from here."
"Strange person," said Mr Seth. "They haven't noticed you two yet," he said gesturing at Mark, who was still out cold. "Wait till they see what you've done to the place. Talk about V for vandalism!"
"You were late," I said hotly. "Where were you? I could have died."
"Stop talking about death," said Mr Seth. "Do it often enough, you'll just invite it in. If you must know, I was trying to track down the enemy, the fiend who slayed your late friend."
"The Zealtor?" I asked.
"I was hunting in caves just north of the Lake,” said Mr Seth, nodding. “Turns out
I shouldn't have skipped the spelunking and just followed you. You're like a lightning rod for Blackgum."
"You could have warned me," I said.
"I was under the distinct impression," scolded Mr Seth, "that I had. In the library. Did you think I was doing story time?"
A high-pitched voice chimed in from the side. "Danger from what?"
I flinched and swung round. Joke had crept up on us without warning.
"Where's Tim?" asked Joke. "What's in the bag? Paddy, you'd better get over to Wane Park."
"OK," I said, side-stepping the questions.
"Do you know what this thing is called?" commanded Mr Seth.
"Just a schoolmate," I said pushing myself up onto my haunches and standing up.
"This guy lost?" said Joke suspiciously. "Geez, what's happening to the schoolyard?!"
"Curious, isn't it?" said Mr Seth advancing like a small bear on the small boy. "Too curious, perhaps?"
"Joke, this is Mr Seth. Mr Seth, meet Joke."
"A silly name for a serious boy," said Mr Seth. "Some parents should be banned from naming their brats."
"It's Norwegian," said Joke bristling. "Short for Jokkum. And I am."
"What does he mean?" asked Mr Seth, looking again at me.
"A serious boy," answered Joke. "And if you wouldn't mind, please address me directly."
"You were the one that triggered the fire alarm," said Mr Seth. "It's lucky there's someone around here with a brain and some initiative. If we'd left it to Paddy over here, we'd all be lost."
"Hey!" I said. "That's not fair. I'm the one who -"
"Got us into this quagmire, yes, I know," said Mr Seth, shooting me a warning glance, then a sly wink. "Now, Jokkum. Do you know the local pest control expert?"
"Yes. It's my dad."
"Mmmm. Lucky coincidence?" said Mr Seth doubtfully, narrowing his eyes a little. "Now what say you run and get him. Tell him it's an emergency and he needs to bring an array of avicides, herbicides, insecticides and fungicides, pronto. And a chainsaw. Do you need me to write that down?"
"Got it. Herbicides for the weeds, insecticides for insects, I'd recommend an organophosphate for this job; Avitrol for the birds, though those kites are a protected species, and tea tree oil for the mushrooms - it gets the job done but doesn't poison the grass like some of those other fungicides. Anything else?"
"Just the chainsaw," said Mr Seth, visibly impressed by Joke's knowledge of lethal chemicals.
"I'll go get dad. But not until you tell me what happened to Tim."
"He ran off," said Mr Seth, sadly. "Paddy smacked him on the nose and, like most bullies, he couldn't take it. Isn't that right, Paddy?"
"Um..." I said, not wanting to lie, but not sure how to explain what had really happened.
"Who'd of thought this weakling would have it in him," said Mr Seth pointing at me, but now staring deeply into Joke's eyes. "Still, I'm sure Tim will turn up soon, probably by dinner time. Wounded pride is less important that an empty belly to most young men."
"I don't believe you," said Joke. "There was something wrong with him. He was sweating. And those teeth, the smell..."
"Gum disease," said Mr Seth. "And bad personal hygiene. Not that rare in a boy his age."
"I don't believe you," repeated Joke stepping forward and reaching for Mr Seth's bag. "Something bad happened. Show me what's in the case, sir."
"Be my guest," said Mr Seth, reaching down and unclasping the bag.
"No Joke, don't -" I shouted, wanting to protect my friend from the grisly truth.
Joke ignored my warning, leaned over and inspected the bag's contents. Green smoke puffed out of the case. Joke yelped, then and blinked several times.
"See," said Mr Seth, raising an eyebrow. "Nothing in there but some books, a set of compasses and a set square. To help you with your homework."
"Set square," repeated Joke, his eyes glazed like those of the other kids earlier. "Set square, newly cut, and some text books."
"And a pair of compasses," said Mr Seth, picking up, then depositing the metal instrument into Joke's pocket, being careful not to stab the boy with the pointy end. "Now you've sated your curiosity, it's time to run home and get your father," said Mr Seth.
"Home. Father," parroted Joke. "Pesticides, and a chainsaw. Yes. Nice to meet you, sir."
"And you, lad," said Mr Seth. "Now go."
Before I had a chance to say anything, Joke turned on his heels and ran across the street towards a pay-phone.
I strode over to the case and looked down. No smoke for me. Just a bundle of bones, now neatly tied with a silver wire, like kindling. "What did you do to him?" I said. "Why did you turn him into a zombie?"
"Stop talking so ignorantly. You can't turn someone into a zombie with a parlour trick like that. It takes a lot more power and pain."
"Then what did you do?"
"Temporarily turned him into a Passenger, though it was harder than I expected," he said, shaking his head. "Just showed him what he wanted to see. A carnival trick, though I must say this is the first boy I have ever met who wanted text books and a set square. Any idea what he'd want them for?"
"The assignment, I guess. There's a competition to design a bridge for Mr Barker's new theme park, DinoQuake."
"Homework?" said Mr Seth, picking up his satchel. "That's an even stranger thing for a boy to want."
"The winner gets a scholarship to Pinkerton Grammar. Joke's desperate to win it."
"Aha!" said the old man, slinging the bag over his shoulder, then rubbing his chin sagely. "A way out of a one horse town. That's more like it. You watch that boy. My trick," he said, tapping the briefcase, "will confuse him a mite. Muddle his memory. He'll need your help - keep him focused on what's important in his life and this town, the here and now. Don't let him day-dream."
"What makes you think I'll be in a state to help anyone? I was nearly -"
"Yes," said Mr Seth. He placed both hands on me, massaging one of his hands over the cut in my wrist and my bruised elbow, and the other, palm up, under my chin. His hands pulsed and thrummed: it was like being plugged into the electricity mains.
"You were nearly killed. Murdered, to be more precise. I must take some of the blame for leaving you exposed. I wasn't expecting so a brazen attack this early. They won't try it again for a while. What you managed to achieve, almost entirely untrained. Not unimpressive."
Not unimpressive was the closest thing to a compliment I'd received from Mr Seth. "What should we do?" I asked. Mr Seth grunted and lifted his hands from my neck and arm.
"We? We will do nothing. I will redouble my efforts to find the mastermind. Something's very wrong. Ferine know the rules - the town's normal defences must be stretched near breaking point for them to take such liberties. I have to hold the Ferine stable, show them the strong hand of a gardener-shepherd."
"The pesticides," I said.
"My priority is to unearth the Zealtor. But I won't be distracted by a few weeds and some stroppy, lower order vertebrates. The last thing these pests want is to become Ts&Cs under the Zealtor's yoke."
"The Tamed and Crops," I said, pain now draining from my legs and lower back. "And me? What should I do?"
"Join the rest of your school at the Commons, get your name ticked off their list. You will then go home and pretend nothing has happened."
"They'll notice Tim's missing and call a search party. The police will be all over the school looking for clues."
"We'll see," said Mr Seth, sadly.
A chill ran down my now unbruised back. "What if the Blackgum come at me again? At school or at home with Mum and Aunt Bea?"
"The last thing the Zealtor wants right now is a pitched battle with the Ferine and us. The Zealtor is still gathering Blackgum troops."
I hoped the old man was right.
"Let's go, Paddy," said Mr Seth, pointing at Mark. "I'll lug this log over to the Commons with you, but you'll have to drag him the last few metres," he said, picking
up the still unconscious Mark.
"I'm scared," I admitted.
"Good. Hopefully fear will help you focus. I'll be checking in from time to time, whenever I have time to draw breath from the hunt. And Paddy?"
"Yes."
"Keep Platykuk with you from now on. Within reach, even when you're sleeping. I don't know what you were thinking leaving home without him."
"He? Who's Platypop?"
Mr Seth shook his head, disgusted. "Platykuk - your adding machine. Did I forget to make the introduction?"