The next morning Garvan, Lasel and Junk stood on the brow of the hill looking down on Corraway. It was the exact spot where Junk had stood the previous day. They saw the huge land-ship station. There was a ship there waiting, though it was facing south. A second, identical ship was coming in from the sea. The ship at the station had all its sails furled.
The arriving vessel was alive with activity as the captain piloted it towards the land and the crew readied it for the transfer from water to rails. Two small tugboats had come out to greet the land-ship and attached themselves via guidelines to the bow. They were now helping to line the land-ship up correctly. There was little room for error. However, this was clearly something that happened on a regular basis and it went off without a hitch.
A row of wheels ran the length of the underside of the land-ship. Between the captain and the tugs, the ship and the rails were lined up and embedded magnets did the rest. The wheels locked into place with a resounding clank. A pulley system clamped the wheels on to the rail and the land-ship heaved out of the water without so much as a stutter. The crew tied up the sails as it made its way through the middle of Corraway, towering over the low buildings, and came to a stop at the station.
As it did the second land-ship was cleared for departure and it rumbled towards the sea. Gravity took hold as it slipped down the rails running through the town. As it went its sails unfurled and an enormous curtain of water curled into the air as the land-ship hit the sea and it detached from the rails. It headed steadily out to sea.
‘Chiva,’ said Lasel and she started down the hill towards the town.
‘Let’s go,’ translated Garvan, and set off after her. Junk followed.
*
They made their way into town and headed to the station. The huge concourse was teeming with life. Fifty stalls dotted the immense forecourt, selling food and souvenirs and everything else a departing or arriving traveller might need.
On the eastern side of the building there were eight gangplanks leading into the body of the land-ship, half for those alighting, half for those embarking; all were choked with passengers. Station officials wore a distinctive orange-and-grey livery that made Junk think of the Swiss Guards of Vatican City, whom he had seen in Rome a year or so earlier. They might not have been as colourfully attired as the red, blue and gold Swiss Guards, but they certainly stood out.
Lasel put a hand on Junk’s arm and drew his attention to an octagonal structure in the centre of the concourse. ‘Tarra dei omm,’ she said.
‘Ticket office,’ said Garvan.
Junk and Garvan followed Lasel a little closer to the octagonal structure. They circled around to the far side where they saw a door ajar. They could see the backs of six cashiers who were facing the windows on the opposite side. Lasel explained the plan and Garvan translated.
‘Inside, to the …’ He faltered, not knowing the correct word, and held up his left hand. ‘This side.’
‘Left,’ said Junk.
‘Yes,’ continued Garvan. ‘Inside, to the left is a drawer. The top one of three. It is unlocked and inside they keep blank tickets. Spares, if you like. All you have to do is get in and out quickly and don’t be seen.’
‘Me?’ said Junk, it not having occurred to him that he would have to steal.
‘I’m too big,’ said Garvan. ‘I think they might spot me.’ He was of course right. Junk looked to Lasel. After all, she was the one who knew what to do. She understood from the look on his face what he was thinking. She frowned and shook her head.
‘Chuva tapar ante,’ she said.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Garvan, translating.
‘I guess not,’ said Junk, resigning himself to what he was about to do. ‘How about you two go around the front and cause a distraction or something? Try to get everyone in the ticket office looking out the front and not behind them. Yeah?’
‘Seems sensible,’ said Garvan, and he translated for Lasel. She nodded in agreement. The two of them walked away from Junk, who looked down and saw that his hands were shaking. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling his nerve.
‘OK,’ he said quietly to himself, his eyes still closed. ‘One. Two. Three. Go.’ With that, he opened his eyes ready to make a dash towards the ticket office but found himself looking straight at the hulking policeman who had chased him through the market the day before. Junk could see the look of recognition on the man’s face.
‘Tunk!’ he shouted, pointing at Junk, who turned and ran. The policeman blew his silent horn as he sped off in pursuit.
At the front of the ticket office, Garvan and Lasel looked to see what the commotion was all about and saw Junk sprinting away with the red-coated policeman charging after him. Lasel looked to the land-ship. The number of passengers on the gangplanks had lessened considerably. Boarding was almost done.
‘The ship’s going to leave very soon,’ said Lasel to Garvan in Jansian. ‘Find a way to hold it up. I’ll get Junk.’ She was gone, racing out of the station, before Garvan had a chance to argue. He turned to the ship. How on earth was he going to delay it?
*
Junk came hurtling out of the station and took off across the road into the labyrinth of narrow streets where he had lost the policemen the day before. Maybe he could do the same thing again, he thought. He weaved left and right, conscious of the fact that he really didn’t know where he was going. That fact became horrifyingly evident when he turned into a dead end. He stuttered to a halt and did a quick one-eighty, but suddenly his exit was blocked by the policeman. The man was panting hard, sweat coursing down his brow. His lip curled up into an irritated snarl.
‘Criptiktar tunk, ba tunty dattakar,’ he panted. Of course Junk had no idea what he was saying.
The sun was high in the sky and both the policeman and Junk were distracted by a shadow that flitted over the ground between them, but when they looked up neither of them could see what had caused it.
It was Lasel. She was on the rooftops above. She looked around for anything useful and found a length of strong rope attached to what looked like a long-abandoned birdhouse. She pulled it free and stopped for a moment to consider what to do with it. An idea blossomed and she smiled as she started to tie a loop at each end.
In the alleyway below, the policeman had Junk up against the wall. He was holding him in place with one large hand clamped on to the back of Junk’s head, pushing his face into the rough stonework as he patted him down.
‘Dint cascaba?’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Junk, scared. The policeman unsheathed his long leather sap and tapped it against Junk’s cheek with menacing glee.
‘Dusca ba galm?’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ pleaded Junk. He was almost in tears. The policeman liked that. He put his mouth close to Junk’s ear and was just about to say something else no doubt scary and menacing and not at all pleasant when he heard the sound of someone landing on the ground behind him. He spun round to see that Lasel had jumped down from the roof. She was crouching. As the policeman turned she sprang up and grabbed Junk by the hand.
‘CHIVA!’ she shouted. Junk searched his memory. She had said that earlier. What did it mean? But she didn’t give him time to remember. She dragged him away from the policeman, who was momentarily startled by her sudden appearance.
‘TUNK!’ shouted the policeman and set off after them, taking out his shell horn. He didn’t manage to take more than a step before he was pulled up short by the length of rope that he discovered Lasel had looped around his ponytail. The other end was tied to the rooftop and he was held securely in place. He jerked to a stop and the horn flew from his grasp. He struggled to pull the rope free but it was too tough to break, and pulling it only made the loops on either end tighten all the more. He was powerless. Lasel and Junk stopped at the entrance to the cul-de-sac and saw he was impotent. They laughed as they watched his comically manic attempts to free himself.
‘See ya later. Sorry about that,’ shouted Junk as he and Lasel ran away.
*
Lasel led the way as they raced back through the narrow streets towards the station. She was about to explain to Junk that the land-ship was on the verge of leaving and if Garvan hadn’t found a way to delay it they would be too late, but she knew he wouldn’t understand a word of it so she put all her efforts into running as fast as she could, Junk on her heels.
As they came out of a side street and saw the station opposite, Lasel breathed a sigh of relief to see that the land-ship was still in situ. Garvan had done it.
They ran into the station and found Garvan sitting on an upturned bin. There was much activity going on among the orange-and-grey-suited station personnel. They were racing back and forth all over the concourse.
‘You did it,’ said Lasel. ‘You stopped the ship leaving.’
‘And you got Junk back.’ Garvan smiled at Junk, who of course didn’t know what either was saying.
‘How did you do it?’ asked Lasel.
‘They couldn’t very well leave without the captain.’
Lasel frowned. ‘The captain?’
Garvan merely looked down at the bin he was sitting on. ‘Please let me out,’ said a small, muffled voice from within. Garvan thumped on the bin. Lasel said something else that Junk didn’t understand and then hurried away. ‘She’s gone to get the tickets this time,’ said Garvan in English to Junk.
Junk nodded towards the bin. ‘Is there someone in there?’
‘Yes,’ said Garvan matter-of-factly.
‘How come he’s not shouting?’
‘I told him not to.’
The two of them waited in silence. They didn’t have to wait long. Lasel returned quickly and gestured for them to follow her to one of the gangplanks.
Garvan slid off the bin and crouched down next to it. He tapped on the side and said something Junk didn’t catch.
‘Maro,’ came the muted reply from within.
Garvan caught up with Lasel and Junk as the three of them reached the gangplank. One of the station staff looked up as they approached. Lasel held out three tickets. Junk spotted this.
‘You’re coming too?’ he asked, and prodded Garvan to translate, which he did.
‘Maro,’ said Lasel. ‘Nenga rooth tuug.’
Garvan translated back again: ‘Yes. No choice now.’
Junk thought about that. ‘I suppose not. Sorry.’
The ticket attendant smiled broadly at them and handed back the tickets.
‘Zebla jard,’ he said, and ushered them up the gangplank.
*
A short time later and Junk, Garvan and Lasel were settled into a luxurious state cabin with fruit, food and drink laid out in abundance. There were expansive, well-stuffed daybeds and panoramic windows. Junk grabbed a piece of fruit that resembled an apple and bit into it. It was delicious.
‘I can’t believe this is what you got. Is the whole ship like this?’ asked Junk.
‘No, this is first class,’ said Garvan. Lasel said something and Garvan translated with a shrug. ‘She said if we were going to steal tickets anyway, she figured we might as well steal the best.’
‘Well, it makes sense,’ said Junk. Just then there was a mounting rumble and the land-ship started moving with a judder. Junk looked out of the window and saw them leaving Corraway behind as their speed increased.
Lasel opened a door off the main room, revealing a palatial bathroom. She grinned broadly and went inside, locking the door behind her.
‘Bagsy next,’ said Junk to Garvan.
‘Bagsy?’ said Garvan. Not a word he had learned yet.
*
The journey to Arrapia would take several hours with half a dozen stops along the way, but Junk was grateful for the time to relax. He spent the best part of an hour soaking in the bathtub, which was big enough for Garvan to be able to stretch out in, so for Junk it was like lying in a swimming pool.
There was an onboard laundry service so they all sent their clothes to be cleaned and sat around the suite in robes, filling their bellies.
When it was Garvan’s turn to bathe, Lasel and Junk spent the time teaching one another words from their respective languages. Junk had a good ear and quickly started to grasp the syntax and structure of Jansian. He had once learned Portuguese in a weekend, at least well enough to avoid getting into a fight with an eighty-year-old man who wore a penguin costume and swore blind he was Elvis Presley.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Arrapia, they were all clean, fed and rested. Junk felt ready for whatever was going to happen next. However, as he turned to look out of the window of their cabin, he saw the last thing in the world he expected: the Eiffel Tower.
He stood and stared, blinking, trying to force his brain to process what he was seeing. The tower wasn’t standing erect. It was lying on its side as if its legs had buckled beneath it and it had toppled over. Vegetation had grown up and through it, but it was unmistakably the Eiffel Tower. Arrapia, he realized at that moment, was Paris. He wasn’t on an alien world. He was on his world. He was on Earth. Except Earth was an alien world to him.