present and, out of place as they seemed, even the occasional gaggle of pigeons.
Children, stood on rooftops and by the water’s edge, called out to them in crude English: “Hello. Good afternoon.” Inanely they repeated the same phrases, as though proud of their limited vocabulary. Further on, as they passed what Peter took for a playground, he grew bored of this game and started to ignore them. This they greeted with the throwing of crude balls into the water around the boat, until Farouk shouted angrily at them in his own tongue.
Kate flinched to avoid the splash of one ball and a second caught Peter lightly on the arm; he barely felt the impact, its value was more in shock of contact.
Mercifully, they passed beyond this housing, beyond the manure smells, to a region of more upmarket housing, by local standards. Here, since the arrival of the Europeans and Americans, a number of native shops had sprung up, selling such items as chocolates and sweet biscuits, together with rugs or garments made in the Kashmiri style.
Their guide slowed the boat to drift at the sight of this, and leaned over the partition that separated the two sections of the boat. “You look round here. If you see something you like, you buy.”
The boat began the first of a series of never-ending, wearying stops. The truth was that Dr. Russell had expended most of the funding he had accumulated for this expedition, and was desperately trying to cling onto what he had left for emergencies. He had a small amount remaining which he might spend on gifts or extras, but he would have to be very selective. Kate’s situation was almost exactly the opposite: though she had contributed a substantial amount to the expedition, she still had plenty left to spare. The Winchester-Stephens were an aristocratic family of no little resources.
They were shown first to a shop selling hand-sewn tapestries and jewellery, some possessing authentic gemstones, with silver carving available at a cheaper cost than in Britain - or so the seller claimed. Peter tried to make excuses as to why he could not buy, but the seller would not take a hint, until he said most forcefully that he had no wish to buy.
Although he tried to be polite in looking at the goods offered to him - “It costs nothing to look.” - he could tell by the seller’s expression that he was not happy with the way the transaction had turned out.
In a similar pattern, with each new shop, the sellers would pester Peter, then turn their attention to Lady Winchester-Stephens, who would look through the items presented before her, with the same pleasure she might have expressed shopping at home. The sole exception to the scheme was a collection of sweet biscuits which Peter bought to break up the Spartan diet they had been forced into.
As they stopped at more and more sellers, Peter grew increasingly tired, bored of the Asian shop keepers’ pushy sales tactics, even as the packages of Kate’s purchases grew heavier. Finally they stopped at a larger store.
“Now you see how Paper Mash is made.”
The young shopkeeper drew them inside, explaining the process by which newspaper was rendered moist, ground up into granules, placed into moulds to dry, smoothed with stones, painted intricately, then varnished. He showed them some examples of his work, before leading them next door to a collection of completed items. Once more, Peter watched with a disinterested eye what passed, and once more Kate adopted the attitude of an enthusiastic shopper. There were smoking pipes, candle sticks, boxes and chests, ornaments, all shaped out of hardened papier mache, or incorporating metal pieces and wood within the same. Everything was attractively made, but nothing caught his eye - that is, until he came upon an open box in the back of the windowless display room, containing what appeared to be a spiked ball shape, apparently also made out of papier mache.
“How much is this?” a voice said as he studied it. A second later, he realised it was his own. He lifted up the shape.
The shopkeeper had just finished bartering with Kate over a jewellery box and was giving her a small amount of change. She was certainly getting skilled at the techniques required for shopping in this country. The seller hurried over.
“That’s not for sale,” he said, a slight flicker of alarm creeping across his face as he saw it. For some reason, Peter felt he had to have it; there was something about the article that had cast a magic spell upon him.
“£10,” he said before he could think. That would exhaust all of his meagre gift budget.
“No No Sir,” the seller shook his head, uncharacteristically reticent about making a sale.
“£30,” Peter continued, barely realising he had already bitten out a sizeable amount from the emergency budget. The shopkeeper again shook his head, but this time it seemed with less enthusiasm. Kate came over, leaning over their shoulders to see what might interest her companion so.
“£50,” he made his final offer. This was virtually the extent of the expedition’s unspent money. This time the seller abandoned whatever principles had motivated him to keep back the item, and gave in to greed. Taking Peter Russell’s money and counting it, he stepped aside, allowing the doctor of biology to pick up the item.
“What the devil do you want with that ugly thing?” Kate asked him. He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, unable to find an adequate reason.
“Whatever takes your fancy,” she relented, as they walked back to the water taxi. He was barely hearing her as he studied the artefact he had just purchased, wondering what was it about this thing that inspired him so.
Naturally, when it began to happen, Dr. Russell suspected first injury, then illness. It was not automatic for him to assume that the symptoms were all part of a greater change.
The night following, he dreamt of angels, watching him from afar. He tried to catch up with their light, but as soon as he acknowledged their presence, they were gone.
He awoke in the night, shortly after three o’clock, unable to sleep. The night was cold, and he lay awake in bed, under the improvised hanging for his mosquito net. He put his hand into his pack and drew forth the item he had bought earlier, turning it over in his hands, as though he thought it had the answer to his sleeplessness. Aesthetically, it was a rather ugly item, but there was something entrancing about it, a quality it held, which he could not quite define. The surface was smooth, and he wondered how the craftsman had got in with his sandpaper between the points of the spiky star shape.
He felt an abrupt pinprick; at first he thought it was the beginning of pins and needles, a twinge of cramp, but when he looked at his finger, expecting to see nothing, there was a tiny spot of red. Try as he might, he could not find out what point on the smooth surface had cut him. Afterward, he soon fell back to sleep, but instead of dreams of the heavens, he fell prey to nightmares of wilting diseases that blackened his flesh and caused his limbs to wither.
Come morning, although he knew not why, he found it simpler to lie to these people in whose house he was a guest, and say that he had slept well; but afterwards, in a moment when he was alone, he shivered in the dim memory of his disturbing dreams.
He should have been glad of the little sleep he was able to catch that night. The next stage of their explorations took them South, a harrowing bus journey, lasting an entire day and night. The bus was packed to bursting with locals, some standing for hours. Its brightly painted exterior was no compensation for the gloom of the interior. The windows on the vehicle opened a small way, enough to admit the dust from the track outside in billowing puffs. The roads were uneven and bumpy, but the driver showed little care, not even deeming it necessary to slow down at some of the sharp mountainside corners. Peter had visions of the bus careening off the edge, into empty air, visions which thankfully did not come to pass.
Kate, enthusiastic as ever, and to a lesser extent, Peter, enjoyed the view of the picturesque mountains and villages that went past. The bumping and shaking of the bus was somewhat disruptive to this pleasure, however.
The vehicle stopped around lunchtime for a meal consisting of rice, spinach, carrots, and other indiscernibles, eaten off a metal plate, and washed down with wat
er. In the local custom, Kate and Peter ate with their right hands, mixing the foods and juices, before scooping up a handful, squeezing into a coherent mass, then pushing into the mouth with the thumb; both made a complete mess of themselves and ended up laughing about it, along with some of the locals.
The stop was not long enough to allow this food to settle, and it soon began to weigh heavily on his stomach as the turbulent journey continued.
By nightfall, Peter had miraculously restrained from being sick, but still felt ill. They each propped a cushion behind their heads, and did what they could to sleep, which was not easy.
Come morning, Peter felt stiff and unrested, although he had managed a little dreamless sleep (for which he might later have been retrospectively grateful).
After a brief breakfast stop, featuring a meal that was fairly similar to the one the previous evening, the journey continued. By this time Peter had persuaded Kate that they should make more of their journeys by private arrangement, now they had experienced this once.
Following lunch at a village that was more upmarket such as the villages went, which is to say there were no beggars and the sanitation problems were better disguised, a turbaned Indian tried to sell them some carpets he and his family had made. He