Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

said Andy. “And what did I? Not an orange. Make a proper wish,” demandedAndy. Conceivably he wanted Heavy to wish him good luck.

Heavydid not speak.

Andysaid, “I wish it’s OK.”

Heavyspoke then to the lake. His voice sounded old and strong and strangely fined.An actor’s voice, but not a modern one.

“Mayall the good be happy,” said Heavy to the lake. “And all the bad be good.”

Theyseparated about two minutes later, without another direct look, withouttouching. Aside from unexpected dreams, or in sudden glints of memory, Andy hadnever seen Heavy again.

Eleven

Fromthe darkness someone replied.

“Hello, Car.”

Carver:Where am I?

Someone:Where do you think you are?

Carver:(Pause) I don’t know.

Someone:Perhaps I don’t, either.

PAUSE

Carver:Is there anyone there?

Someone:I’m here.

Carver:Who are you?

Someone:Who are you?

Carver:You – know who I am.

Someone:Do I know?

Carver:What’s my name?

Someone:Can’t you remember?

Carver:Can’t you remember?

Someone:Ask another question.

Carver:You – ask another question

SILENCE

Are you stillthere?

SILENCE

*****

TheVoice: You’re awake again, Car?

Carver:(Pause) I think I am.

TheVoice: Shall we resume? Do you think that’s something we should do?

Carver:Why am I here?

PAUSE

TheVoice: Why shouldn’t you be here?

PAUSE

Carver:The last thing I remember was the shed. And then...

TheVoice: Yes?

Carver:Was it gas, the drug?

TheVoice: Something like that.

Carver:What happened to Johnston?

TheVoice: Who is Johnston?

Carver:The man in the rubber diving suit.

TheVoice: How quaint. Something quaint in that.

Carver:It was dark. He wore a mask.

TheVoice: If you say so.

Carver:And then you drugged me.

TheVoice: I drugged you?

Carver:Somebody. I want some water.

TheVoice: Maybe later. Something can be arranged. Later.

PAUSE

Carver:Why am I secured?

TheVoice: Are you? Are you sureyou are?

Carver:Yes – I – yes. Christ – myankles and wrists. Some kind of electronic lock – I need a lavatory.

TheVoice: I’m afraid you’ll have to see to all that where you are.

Carver:Why?

TheVoice: It will save us all time. Go on. Help out.

Carver:Where is Stuart?

TheVoice: Who is Stuart?

Carver:Jack Stuart. Mantik Corp.

TheVoice: Something tells me you are feeling a little stronger, Car.

Carver:You keep repeating that word. Something.

TheVoice: Something. Some things do get repeated.

Carver:I need some water.

SILENCE

Silence. Next asound of dripping, trickling, then a gush – a tap turned on, perhaps. But notclose enough. (And anyway it is, from the reek, alcohol again, some sort of too-sweetgin.) Presently it stops, the sound if not the stink.

Scar.Scarred. Scared. S car, Car, Carver.

AndreasCava.

Darkness.Sleep returning, coming in even through the fear and the sullen ache in thebladder, and the dry burning of the throat and mouth. Somewhere on the edges ofthe new induced nothingness, stands Robby Johnston and his fixed black jelliesof eyes. Is it Robby that has taken him prisoner here? The voice was not Robby’svoice. And it repeated one particular word. It is Mantik that have him, surely. And nowhe is to be tried. And found wanting.

Twelve

Bright sunlightseared a second window through the blind. Outside he could hear faintly the whirrof big wings as birds crossed over the house from the back garden to the woodsand fields the far side of the lane. And downstairs, an occasionally chitteringmonotone, without doubt the TV in the kitchen above the breakfast bar,dispensing its obligatory sensation and inanity and horror. There was the scentof coffee.

Something(something) seemedslightly odd to him as he got out of the spare bed. A dream maybe, nowforgotten. A dream of Heavy, had it been? Or Johnston – or was it about Saraand the sandwich-size flat over the off-licence when he was a kid, and Mantikhad first reached out for him, and sent him off to the unusual college in thecountry...?

Hehad slept in pyjamas, as only rarely he did. He went to the window and let upthe blind.

Theback garden of the house in the village was not there after all.

Thehouse had transported itself, presumably during the night, to the summit of ahigh rocky hill, or cliff, which now gazed directly outwards at a spangled blueplain of daylit sea, the sun standing, rather to the left, on its own searingtail of reflection.

Anotherbird flew in and over. It was a gull.

Carverremembered the black night-morning garden, the man in black rubber, the glareand then the nothingness, the spaces of other darkness swelling and fading,bound hands and feet, pissing himself, throat full of dry fire. And here hewas at this window, in a room that was – or entirely resembled – the spare roomof the house, its proportions and its furniture, everything but for the viewfrom its window. He was showered and fresh, his bladder even not urgent. Thetaste of familiar toothpaste and mouthwash was in his fully-moisturised mouth.

Buthe could hear the kitchen TV, which Donna had switched on as she always didwhen she was the first down. He could smell coffee. A hint of bacon too. Thepyjamas though, now he looked at them, were not exactly anything he had wornbefore.

Thesky was blue, bluer than the sea, as if to encourage it to extra effort. Wasthis summer? It had been early autumn. Had it? Yes.

“Something...”

Thevoice spoke again in Carver’s memory.

Carverglanced about the room. His clothes lay on a chair, as he might have left themin either of the house bedrooms. They were clean. The boxers were clean. Butthey were, all of them, these things, the ones he had worn that night. Thenight before. Or days ago perhaps. Or weeks.

Ora month or a year.

Hedid not know what the drug was they had used. Or what other, if any, medleys ofdrugs had been employed to subdue, question, restrain, terrify, reassure him.

Washe still under the influence of anything...?

“Something.”

Hecould not tell.

Hisstomach growled, abruptly hungry, a starved beast scenting and responding tothe aroma of coffee and food. Which now seemed to be evaporating. Had he imaginedthem? How long besides had he been without such things? But he sensed no weakness.His weight and stamina felt and seemed to him as usual.

Hechecked his pulse. It was steady. Putting off the pyjamas he looked himselfover, turning to the wall mirror for confirmation. He had no bruises, raw orfading, no signs of injury. His colour was normal. His eyes were neitherinflamed nor over-bright, the pupils reacting correctly to light or shadow.There was no vertigo.

Downstairs– if it was – it sounded as if it were – he heard a clear burst of laughter. Amale voice, or two, and a female one. No words, but the