When Junk, Lasel and Garvan got to Dr Otravinicus’s apartment the following morning, they were surprised to find Cascér was there already and cooking breakfast. Otravinicus was about half Cascér’s size and they made a very odd couple. Though she cooked a mean breakfast. Over food they discussed what to do next.
‘I need to get to South Africa,’ said Junk. ‘I mean Cul Sita.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said Otravinicus. Cascér stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. She was far too rough, but he merely winced and sucked up the pain. It was too early in their relationship for him to point out her shortcomings. ‘Here’s what I suggest but it is only a suggestion. If you disagree, I am more than open to an alternative. I think our most direct way to find the League is to return to Garvan’s island. If we can find the entrance to the Room of Doors, then all you would have to do is step through the adjacent door that you believe would take to you to Cul Sita.’ Otravinicus was making a reference to Junk’s suspicion that he should have taken the door on the right when he had been faced with a choice back in the Room of Doors; he felt bad that he had based his decision on nothing more than a childhood rhyme and therefore chance. ‘Our alternative is to take a land-ship,’ Otravinicus went on. ‘Even on the fastest vessel we could find, it is a journey of several weeks.’
Junk considered this and nodded. ‘The quicker we get there the better, I say.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Otravinicus smiled broadly. ‘I have already enquired about hiring the fastest ship to take us south. It is moored to the north of here on the coast. We can leave today if that is acceptable.’
‘That’s perfect, far as I’m concerned,’ said Junk with a hearty grin. He beamed at Garvan, who wasn’t paying attention, and Lasel, who was frowning. Something was bothering her, but Junk was a teenage boy and was therefore oblivious.
*
They set off almost immediately, taking a smaller landship to the north coast. The journey took less than an hour. They passed the outskirts of a bland, nondescript village by the name of Dissel, which was Lasel’s hometown. She sat on one of the open decks seeking out landmarks of her childhood as they rumbled past: a small tor to the west, topped with a crooked tree, where she would sit as a child, finding reasons not to go home. The tree was still there, but she remembered it as being dead and black and twisted. But not now. Now it was caked in blossom. It was alive and vibrant. The grass around it was green and lush and she saw, from a distance, a girl doing handstands against it, just like she used to do. Despite herself, she smiled.
*
They arrived at the costal town of Turanay, which was a hub for land-ships. Nothing existed in the town that didn’t revolve in some way around either the organization, deployment, piloting or maintenance of the ships or the feeding and watering of the thousands of passengers and crew who passed through there each year.
Junk and the others disembarked at a station that housed tracks leading off in every direction. Dozens of ships were docked here, waiting to set off on the next leg of their journey. The place boiled with activity. The air was filled with the clanking of the turning circles moving the next ship to depart into position on its chosen track.
Dr Otravinicus led the way through the bustling station with Cascér by his side. Garvan followed, displaying little interest in his surroundings. Junk came after, marvelling at the ships and the activity around him. Lasel brought up the rear. Her mind was elsewhere, on the crooked tree on top of the tor.
They arrived at a staging platform where they found the ship Otravinicus had hired. It wasn’t as huge as the land-ship they had been on before, nor as grand, but it was beautiful. It was called the Casabia. Eight masts and made from a dark, almost black, wood.
They stopped at the solitary gangplank and Otravinicus called out, requesting permission to board. Junk, who was loving all things nautical at that precise moment, thought about old films he had seen where people would have to call out in this way. Old films that were now more than three million years old. He liked how some things hadn’t changed.
A figure appeared at the top of the gangplank. He was tall and broad and looked like he could be hit in his vast belly and not even notice. This was the captain of the Casabia. His name was Hundrig Shunt. Since Otravinicus had explained the evolution of Jorda’s current population, Junk had found himself looking at everyone he met, trying to work out their ancestry. Some were easier than others and Hundrig was very much in that category. His ancestors had clearly been rhinoceroses. Apart from being bipedal and the lack of a facial horn, Hundrig still looked like a rhino.
Junk’s grasp of Jansian had improved and he discovered that he understood almost everything the captain said.
‘Greetings, Dr Otravinicus. S’good to see you again, sir. Come aboard, one and all. All are welcome.’
Hundrig had what could only be described as a booming whisper. Anything louder and it would have cracked the very ground they walked on. Once on board, introductions were made. Explanations for the journey were given and everyone was shown to their cabin. Once again Junk was expected to share with Garvan, and the first thing he did was look for a convenient balcony to sleep on. Unfortunately there wasn’t one, but Junk figured it was a big ship and he would find somewhere to sleep even if it was in the crow’s nest. Then it occurred to him that he hadn’t noticed whether or not there was a crow’s nest on this sort of ship. He resolved to find out later.
*
The Casabia had a crew of ten, who all looked very different from one another. They were big and they were small; they were fat and thin. Their skin was black or grey or white or pink or brown or even, in one case, blue. Junk had been part of many a ship’s crew back in his time and the Casabia didn’t feel that different. Crews tended to be made up of stragglers and people running away from one thing or another or sometimes running to somewhere.
If anything, Otravinicus was even more eager to get going than Junk, and less than twenty minutes after they had boarded the Casabia was given its departure berth.
Junk stood on the prow and watched as the ground beneath the ship cranked around and then jolted sideways. Tracks joined up and the magnetic propulsion system got the Casabia moving. Slowly at first, but then with each new change of direction the speed increased until the ship reached a massive central turntable. It rotated through two hundred and seventy degrees until it was lined up with the tracks that would take it west-by-south-west.
Hundrig bellowed the order to unfurl the sails, and in the blink of an eye the canvases, each one blood red, dropped into position. The Casabia lurched forward, rapidly picking up speed as it thundered out of Turanay station. The suddenness of its forward momentum took Junk by surprise and he yelled joyously as they sped away.
*
The journey to Garvan’s island would take the best part of two days. Junk spent time getting to know the crew. His Jansian was getting better all the time, but, much like crews back in Junk’s time, when language let them down, they always found some way to communicate.
The Casabia’s crew liked and accepted Junk almost immediately, sensing in him one of their own. A seafarer. In particular he bonded with the captain and with the ship’s navigator, an impossibly tall, impossibly thin man called Gaskis. The two of them talked endlessly about the stars. Gaskis was fascinated by Junk’s description of the constellations three million years ago. Junk would show him where Orion’s Belt or the Plough once were, and in return Gaskis taught Junk the names of the celestial clusters that they were looking at now.
Hundrig took a shine to Junk because of the boy’s enthusiasm for all things nautical. The big captain was moved by Junk’s story about Ambeline and his search for her killer, and Gaskis explained that Hundrig had lost his wife and young son many years before to disease. Despite the brash exterior, Gaskis said, the captain was a big softie at heart.
Junk, Garvan and Lasel spent time together, sitting up on the foredeck, watching the land or sea go by. Garvan was looking forward to seeing his island again. He described his home in vivid detail to Lasel, but Junk noticed that he left out the ravenous, flesh-eating Neanderthal birdmen. By this time the three of them were able to switch almost unconsciously between Jansian and English.
‘What are you going to do when you find him?’ Lasel asked Junk. He knew without her having to clarify who she meant: Ambeline’s killer.
Junk shrugged. ‘Kill him,’ he said, a little too casually. He said it the same way he would talk about making a cup of tea or reading a book.
‘How?’ asked Garvan.
Junk shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He paused. ‘Yet.’
‘But he’s big,’ said Garvan. ‘Very big,’ he added pointlessly, for emphasis.
Junk knew exactly what Garvan meant: How do you expect to kill someone who could easily flatten you? ‘I was just a kid when I saw him.’
‘And what are you now?’ asked Lasel. One corner of her mouth twitched, trying to hide the smile that said she was teasing him. Their friendship had reached a stage where she could tease him, but it had got there a little too quickly, so even though they were both comfortable with the actual teasing, they both felt subconsciously uncomfortable with the idea of the teasing. It made for a lot of internal confusion.
*
At dusk on the first day Garvan went below, leaving Junk and Lasel alone. They sat side by side, their legs dangling over the side of the ship, watching the sun setting. The sky was magical. Streaks of orange, red, pink and gold. It took them a moment to realize that their fingers were touching. They both became aware simultaneously and neither moved. They didn’t look at one another or try to move their fingers apart. The proximity made them feel a little light-headed. It was intoxicating. Their hearts galloped. Junk felt his mouth dry up. Lasel was the same.
Slowly Lasel shifted her weight so her body leaned into Junk’s. He opened his shoulder, creating a hollow that allowed her to sink subtly into him. The movements were tiny. Anyone watching probably might not even have noticed a change, but to Lasel and Junk they were massive, grand gesticulations. Both blushed.
Lasel started to turn her head towards Junk, but not her eyes. Not yet. As if he could sense her, Junk started to move his eyes to her but not his head. Then, slowly, Junk started to turn his head too and Lasel her eyes. Both were hugely conscious of their own breathing, which sounded deafeningly loud to them but of course was practically inaudible to anyone else.
They both moved to look at one another … but instead found themselves facing a plate of dead fish. Both jumped in fright and pulled back. They were so wrapped up in the moment that neither had heard Garvan returning. He had a small plate of mackies that Hortez, the Casabia’s cook, had just prepared.
‘Mackie?’ he said, already chomping on one. ‘Fresh.’
Junk and Lasel pulled rapidly apart. Garvan didn’t notice anything unusual, assuming they were just making plenty of space for him to sit between them.
‘Nice view,’ he said with his mouth full.
‘I’ve just got to …’ Lasel didn’t put a huge amount of effort into finishing her sentence. She quickly got to her feet and dashed away.
‘Maybe she’s gone to get some more,’ said Garvan, indicating the plate in his hand, which was now empty. ‘We’ve finished these ones.’
Junk was silent. His head was spinning from the surge of adrenalin. He stared out at the sunset and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Had it been mutual? Had he imagined it?
‘What do you think of Lasel?’ asked Garvan, as if he could read Junk’s mind.
Junk shrugged, a little too forcefully. He shook his head and shrugged again. Put it all together and it looked as if he was having some sort of fit. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. Not … nothing. Why? What do you think?’
‘I think she’s lovely,’ said Garvan.
‘What?’ This brought Junk to his senses. He turned to look at his friend. What was he saying?
‘It can be quite a lonely place, my island,’ said Garvan.
‘What?’ said Junk. Nothing more meaningful came to mind just at that moment.
‘It was nice when you were there,’ said Garvan. ‘I’ve been alone a long time. I don’t want to be alone again.’
‘You like Lasel,’ said Junk. It was a statement, not a question, and most people would have picked up on the disappointment in Junk’s cadence. Garvan did not. Junk knew there and then that Lasel was now off-limits for him. Even though something had happened between them – he was sure of it, and sure she was aware of it too – he had not been the first to vocalize his interest in her. That had been Garvan. Junk would have to put all confusing thoughts about Lasel out of his head. There was a pain in his throat that ran all the way down to the centre of his chest. He didn’t know why.
*
For the rest of the trip Junk avoided Lasel as much as he could. She noticed the change in his attitude and, knowing nothing about Garvan’s interest in her, put it down to Junk feeling uncomfortable about what had happened between them. She decided it was best to forget it had ever happened.
*
Late in the afternoon on day two Junk was up on the top deck with Gaskis when he heard Garvan let out an excited bellow. He looked down to see Garvan on the main deck below jump to his feet and run to the port side. He was big enough to rock the ship but only momentarily.
‘Junk!’ Garvan shouted. ‘JunkJunkJunkJunkJunk!’
Junk had never heard his friend so animated. He went down to see what was wrong.
As Junk reached Garvan, so too did Dr Otravinicus, Cascér and Lasel, all attracted by Garvan’s rambunctious hollering.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Junk. ‘What is it?’
‘Look,’ said Garvan, and he thrust out one of his mammoth arms, pointing into the distance. On the horizon Junk saw an island. It wasn’t familiar from this vantage point, but he knew it was Garvan’s island. Of course it was. It was the only explanation for Garvan’s excitement.
And then, suddenly, Garvan’s excitement spilled over and he swept Lasel and Junk up into a powerful embrace. After trying so hard to avoid one another for most of the day, now Junk and Lasel were closer than ever.
‘I’m home!’ said Garvan.