We Float Upon a Painted Sea (23 page)

The Professor nodded in agreement.

“I like old fashioned,” replied the Professor. Itaridlë looked the Professor up and down then said,

“So I can see. This computer may be slow and old fashioned but paradoxically, with all the billions of dollars they have spent on cybernetics technology, the MoDs find it hard to detect activity on antiquated communication systems such as this.”

“The scientific community invented the internet and we have retained methods of contact without being open to hacking. It’s a tried and tested method of contacting each other without the security services knowing? If I can contact my mole, he may be able to provide some updates. Obviously, I won’t say anything about my whereabouts, or involve your organisation in any way.”  Itaridlë shrugged her shoulders and said,

“I’d advise you to encrypt your message, just to buy yourself a little time, but don’t worry about us. Our plans are already in motion and this place will be torched as soon as we leave. That time is soon approaching Professor, so I advise you to work fast.”

Itaridlë left the Professor working until the Elf contingent were ready. When she returned, he was applying a silicon seal to a micro chip. “It’s time Professor,” said Itaridlë, “what are you doing?” Professor Burke looked up and smiled, “every system has its weak spot and this is Silent Wave’s Achilles heel.”

Itaridlë grimaced, “We need to leave now.”

When the Professor followed her, he noticed that the building was deserted of personnel and equipment. Every pillar they passed had an incendiary device strapped to it. 

Chapter 17: Leaving

2036. Five months earlier

Bull walked into the galley of the narrowboat. He opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of beer. The first thing he noticed was the temperature of the bottle in his hand. He cursed out loud; he hated warm beer. The second thing he noticed was the odour coming from the fridge. When he looked inside, he recoiled from the sight of a piece of meat, so rotted and covered in maggots, its type of cut or original species was unidentifiable. From memory, he was almost certain it was pork. It was at this point he realised that the electricity to the boat was out. He went up to the deck to check the wind turbine. The blades on were spinning, but on closer inspection he found the power cable flapping around on the deck like a freshly landed eel on a fishing boat. Another job for tomorrow, he thought.

Bull returned to the galley. It was the middle of the day, not his normal time for drinking, nonetheless, he poured himself a glass of 10 year old Talisker and sipped it. He heard a scuttling sound in the corner. There, on the galley worktop, was his new best friend, a mouse on his daily visit to the bread bin, helping itself to the green moulded ciabatta. Once he had finished munching on the bread he would normally move on to the rotting vegetables, and today was no exception. It was important, thought Bull, that his new friend had a balanced diet. His only gripe was that his presence on the vegetable rack disturbed the fruit flies. He didn't know why he presumed he was a male mouse, the only way to be sure was to pick him up, turn him over and have a look at his genitalia, but this, he decided, was an act much too early in their relationship to consider appropriate behaviour.

Bull's train of thought was derailed when his shackle vibrated. Aisha’s face appeared on the display panel and she invited herself round for dinner. Bull opened the fridge to see what he had in the way of ingredients for dinner. The internet outage made his normal method of ordering groceries impossible so Bull prepared for a rare trip to a local  shop. He struggled against the wind and pummelling rain, but more than this, he was unnerved by how unusually dark it was for that time of day. He passed an elderly homeless man and his dog, sheltering in a bus stop. He stopped to chat and transfer a few credits to the man’s Shackle. When he arrived at Maryhill Road, most of the shops that weren't already vacant, were shut. The street was deserted. The only vehicles he saw belonged to the emergency services, speeding past with their sirens barely audible above the sound of the storm.

Finally, he managed to find a mini-market with a light on. The shopkeeper mouthed through the grilled window that he was closed, but eventually taking pity on him, he let Bull come inside to buy two
lab-free
chicken breasts, a bunch of basil, a lemon and a bottle of Chinese wine. The shopkeeper pointed to the sky. He said,

“There’s no such thing as bad weather son, only unsuitable clothing right? Bollocks to that!” He laughed and then pulled down the shutters to his shop window. As Bull walked the street he became aware of a strong vibration and then the lights from a hovering drone shone down upon him. There was a public address system attached to the underside of the craft stated that he was in breach of the curfew order and was to return home immediately.

Bull started back up the hill, trampling over fallen masonry and broken glass. He held his hands out in front of him to prevent the stinging needles of rain blinding his line of sight. He barely recognised the streets in the dark and for a brief moment he wondered if he was lost. Cars lining the street convulsed in the storm, the sound of their car alarms adding to the discordant caterwaul of the wind. At the entrance to Maryhill Locks, an uprooted tree had crashed through the bus stop where the homeless man and his dog had earlier taken shelter. There was no sign of them. Bull circumvented the tree, fighting to maintain his balance.

Finally, Bull reached the narrowboat and closing the hatch behind him, he felt a surge of relief. He dried himself down with a towel and changed his sodden clothes. After dumping the rotting food from the galley fridge, the moulded ciabatta from the bread bin, the empty beer bottles from the living room and all the scrunched disposable handkerchiefs around both sides of his bed, into a plastic bag, he looked out some of Saffron’s scented candles and placed them on the coffee table. He put on some ambient music and then prepared the dinner. Bull’s body swayed in time with the rocking boat. He was making the marinade for the chicken with crushed garlic, lemon juice and chopped basil, when he heard a knock at the door. When he opened the hatch, Aisha stood wearing an ankle length oilskin, raindrops clinging to her face.

“Do you fancy a bit of Alfresco?” she said, smiling. Bull grimaced,

“Alfresco? It’s a bit windy.”

“Ach, come on ya big Jessie, lets sit out on the deck and watch Mother Nature reap her havoc.”

“Well, maybe for a little bit.”

“I brought you a bottle of Vodka. Real vodka, not moonshine. Have you got a towel and a bowl of bilein water?”

“Bilein?” Aisha affected Received Pronunciation and said tartly, “Sorry, Faerrleah, do you have a bowl of boiling water.”

“Why are we going to deliver a baby?”

“Is this the famous sense of humour Saffron warned me about?”

Walking into the Galley, they found a steaming frying pan lying upturned on the floor. Bull crouched down and tried to scoop the chicken back into the pan, burning his fingers in the process. Aisha said,

“Never mind, I’m a vegetarian anyway. Sorry, I should have said. Vodka, out on the roof, watching the forces of nature it is then?”

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? I could make something else,” pleaded Bull pitifully, still on his knees.

“You could get on fixing that hot water so we can make a cocktail?”

“I’ll need to do it the slow way on the gas hob. The storm damaged the turbine, so the electrics are off, hence all the candles.” Aisha sniffed the sandalwood scented air and said,

“And there’s me thinking you were trying to impress me.” Bull almost blushed and averted his eyes from Aisha’s gaze. He filled a steel kettle with water and walked towards the cooker.

“The stove was one of Saffron’s ideas. It uses bio-methane linked to the chemical toilet. Who would have thought that you could help save the planet by just taking a…” Aisha’s top lip curled. She held up her hand and drew him a look of disgust. She walked out and up onto the deck.

In the galley, Bull waited for the water to boil. Through the porthole, he watched Aisha sitting cross legged on the deck, her hair blowing in the wind. In some ways she reminded him of Saffron. She was of comparable build, he thought and the dreadlocks no doubt added to the similarity, but she lacked Saffron's beguiling eyes and playful smirk. Bull was overcome with a pang of awkwardness. Something felt wrong about inviting a woman into the home he shared with Saffron. He poured the boiled water from the kettle into a glass bowl, fetched a towel, a bottle of warm beer and went out on to the upper deck. He found a place to sit by Aisha.

Aisha decanted most of the vodka into the bowl of hot water. She took out a small bottle which she said was Ylang-Ylang and added it to the water. Putting the towel over her head, she breathed deeply and inhaled the hot vapours.

“Oh I needed that. It clears the sinuses and slows down the heart-rate.” Bull gave her a perplexing look.

“If it’s all the same, I’ll give it a miss. I’m fine with my warm beer.”

Aisha pleaded with Bull to try the nasal cocktail.

“Come on, everybody has to try this some time in their life, and a dinae want to dae it on my own. You like to sniff things don't you? Saffron told me about yer wee habit. You even sniffed me when we met before. I noticed but I dinae let on. What's that all about.” Bull grimaced and said,

“You can tell a lot by someone's odour.”

“That's kind of weird.”

“Its not like that, its more about science and pheromones released by the body; they have their own signature. You can pick up on peoples feelings and changes in behaviour.”

“So I could read your mind by sniffing your odour?”

“You have to train yourself, so you can recognise different strains, like aggression, sexual arousal, bonds like empathy or trust, but you can't read minds, no.”

“So what do you get from me Faerrleah?”

“You're a strange one, I can't really detect much from you. It must be your perfume or deodorant.” Aisha laughed,

“I'm a strange one! That's rich coming from you. Anyway, come on, what do you say, will you try my cocktail?”

“I’m old fashioned. I like to drink my beverages, not sniff them.”

“You only inhale it until the cocktail goes cold, ya big fud,” pleaded Aisha, “and then you drink it.”

“Is that after everyone has secreted their mucous into it?” Aisha ignored the taunts and slipped her head under the towel once more. Bull looked on with a look of bewilderment. She inhaled and exhaled under her flapping vapour tent as Bull drunk the rest of the bottle of vodka.

When the subject got round to Saffron, Aisha listened attentively until she was taken by the sedative influence of her vapour cocktail.  To Bull’s annoyance, she talked of her own grief when her own relationship ended and how she had spent a small fortune removing the tattoos devoted to
Frankie
. Bull attempted to steer the conversation back to his own plight. Aisha laughed when he mentioned Maurice’s name as a figure of Saffron’s desire. Bull was upset at her candidness and wondered if her cruel cackling was on account of the nasal cocktail.

The storm continued to rage, and Bull suggested that they go inside to finish the last of their drinks. They descended the steps and staggered into the living area. Bull was glad to be back indoors and retrieved another towel from his bedroom to dry them off. Aisha sat on the sofa. He put the towel around her neck and pulled Aisha towards him, simultaneously stooping to receive the anticipated kiss. Bull closed his eyes but instead of a kiss he felt a fist in his chest.

“Whit ur ye doin ya big creepy bastard. You’ve hud way tae much tae drink, Faerrleah,” exclaimed Aisha in a sobering voice.

“Sorry Aisha, I must have misread…” Bull’s protests were cut off.

“Misread? Ye must be fuckin dyslexic. Thought yae loved Saffron?”

“I do but she’s with someone else now.”

“Who is she wae? Please, enlighten me or are you just lookin for someone else tae blame rather than yursel?”

“Maurice.” Aisha laughed again.

“Maurice? A hardly think so. Maurice isny interested in Saffron ya daft fud. No like that anyway.”

“Why do folk up here persist in calling me a big daft fud?”

“Because that’s what ye are, Faerrleah.” Aisha picked up her coat up and headed to the hatch door. Turning to Bull she said,

“A canae understand for the life of me why Saffron left you. I’m at a total loss, a really am.”

“What about the storm? Let me walk you home or call you a taxi?”

“I’ll be fine, you needn’t bother. And not that it would’ve made a difference, but Frankie’s wiznae a man, you just presumed she was.” The door opened, a gust of wind and then Aisha was gone.

Bull stood transfixed to the floor. When the last candle flickered out, he picked up the glasses and poured Aisha’s leftovers into his. He gulped back the contents and walked into the kitchen. He placed the glasses in the sink and then slumped to the floor. In the darkness he would most likely have slipped into an alcohol induced sleep but the sound of the glass bowl rolling from one side of the boat to the other, disturbed him. He could take no more of the irritating sound and ventured onto the upper deck to remove the offending item. He searched by sound like a nocturnal hunter. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, and then he saw it, the bowl spinning around the wooden planks beneath the solar panels. On the moorings he saw two figures approach the narrowboat, but his mind was fixed on his purpose.