Future Tense (22 page)

“And neither would I,” said the Duck. “Under normal circumstances—but needs must when the devil drives, as they say.”

“He'll betray us,” insisted Roger, folding his arms tightly across his barrel chest.

“I hope so,” said the Duck. “I'm counting on it. 'Cos I've told him the wrong plan—and he thinks he's coming with us.”

“Are we talking about the same little bald-headed bloke who helped you to winch me up?” I said.

“The very same,” confirmed the Duck.

“Your right-hand man?”

“I only told him that to gain his trust,” said the Duck. “Everybody in here knows he's a grass, but I'm going to set him up to distract the guards from our real escape route.”

“Which is?” I said. “We're not going down in that bloody chair, are we?”

“That's the diversionary plan,” said the Duck. “By tomorrow night every guard on the Knoll will be watching that winch room on their security cameras. Reggie will turn up and someone who looks like me will turn up. But we will be elsewhere, my friends.”

“Where?” I said.

The Duck tapped his big nose mysteriously. “That is for my mind only at this stage,” he said.

“How do we know it's not a daft plan?” I asked.

“Daft?” quacked the Duck. “Do you really think a place like this could hold a man like me? I've worked it all out, mate. Don't you worry about that.”

“I just think we should all know what we're getting into,” I said. “I mean, everyone knows you're insane.”

“Steve's right,” said Jemmons. “We have a right to know.”

“Don't you start as well!” cried the Duck.

“The plan will work,” said De Quipp suddenly.

Jemmons and I turned our attention from the animated Duck to the calm-faced aristocrat—if he was one.

“I see, Duck,” I said, staring at De Quipp. “You and the Count of Monte Cristo here cooked this up together—right?”

“You have my personal guarantee the plan will work,” said De Quipp.

“All right,” I said. “Let's say I believe you, just answer me one thing—where do we go when we get down onto the ice? Anybody thought about that?”

“Of course, we've bloody thought about that,” said the Duck. “It's all in hand.”

“I'm asking him,” I said, nodding at De Quipp.

“I have a ship,” said De Quipp.

“A ship?” I said. “What sort of ship? And where is it? There's nothing out there but miles and miles of ice.”

“A time ship,” replied De Quipp.

“Where?”

“He's not going to tell you where it is, is he?” said the Duck.

“Why not?” I said. “I thought we were all comrades now.”

De Quipp pursed his lips and studied me for a second or two. “If I told you where it is hidden, you would not need me. Is this not true?” he said.

“If you mean—would I leave you out there on the ice and take off in your ship if I got the chance? The answer is yes,” I said.

“I appreciate your honesty,” said De Quipp. “And what about the Princess—would you abandon her, too?”

I shook my head. “No, just you, mate.”

“That is all I needed to know,” smiled De Quipp. “My ship is in string stasis—I have a device to activate its dimensional drive. Once we are aboard we can transflux to any time or place. In other words—we would be uncatchable.”

“What's string stasis?” I said.

“He means it's in a sort of time envelope,” said Jemmons. “It's out there but not in the same dimension at any one time.”

De Quipp gave Jemmons a nod of approval. “A simplistic way of putting it, but essentially the fact.”

“This machine can cross temporal space, mate,” quacked the Duck. “It's bloody interplanetary!”

“Now I know why we're all in this mess,” I said.

“Are you saying this is all my fault? I was helping the Princess—” cried the Duck, looking mortified.

“Oh, forget it,” I said. “All right, suppose I buy all this—where's the device?”

De Quipp unbuttoned the collar of his biggles and pulled out a cranberry-coloured glass rod, which he was wearing around his neck on a length of cord. It was about the size of a throwaway cigarette lighter but tapered at one end. It could have been a temporal space machine key—on the other hand, it might just as well have been a Christmas tree decoration for all I knew.

“Satisfied?” said my father.

I looked at him. “If he's lying, I'm going to hold you personally irresponsible,” I said. “How do we get Emma and the Princess out?”

“Leave that to me,” said De Quipp.

My mouth fell open. I turned to the Duck. He smiled and nodded. I looked back at De Quipp.

“If that thing's not out of her back by the next time I see her,” I warned him, “I am going to take that key around your neck and shove it up your—”

“—Stephen!” said the Duck.

“And snap it off,” I added.

“I will remove the device,” said De Quipp.

“Would you mind telling me why you put it there in the first place?” I said.

De Quipp shrugged. “I found her attractive.”

I smiled. “It might be fun to beat the real reason out of you some day, De Quipp,” I said.

“You won't be beating anyone up, if you keep this up,” said my father. “Because we'll leave you behind.”

“Oh, shut up, Dad,” I said. “You oldies always stick together.”

“So, how in tarnation
are
we getting off this rock, Doc?” asked Jemmons, changing the subject.

“We are going over the wall,” said the Duck.

“Over the wall?” I said. “How original—now, why didn't everybody else think of that? Oh, I get it—you mean, we're committing suicide—well, that's one way out.”

“On snowboards,” said the Duck, raising one eyebrow.

Jemmons and I looked at each other in horror.

“Snowboards?” we exclaimed.

Chapter 13

It was the dumbest escape plan I had ever heard in my life. The Duck only expected us to strap our feet to some homemade snowboards and ski off the top of the battlements. The Road Runner could have come up with a more sensible plan. I estimated the walls to be at least fifty feet high. But that didn't matter, I pointed out, because even if we did survive the jump and landed in the snowdrifts that gathered around the foot of the walls on the windward side, as the Duck assured us they did, we would probably be killed attempting to ski down the rest of the Knoll's four hundred odd feet slope. The Duck was adamant that it could be done and once he had an idea in his head there was no shifting it. The meeting ended with me stating that I intended to remain in the Castle and serve out my sentence, Jemmons saying he was going to jump off the wall and walk down the slope, and the Duck promising De Quipp, who seemed to be silently running the show, that we would all do as we were told on the night. And then De Quipp and the Duck left together—the Duck in a huff—and Jemmons hung round for a chat. I wanted to tell him about the replicant of him I'd found in the Duck's attic. He wasn't as surprised to hear about it as I expected him to be. I didn't even get a chance to tell him about the squid, or the tank, or how the thing had tried to kill me before he said:

“Aye. They were using it to try and communicate with my head.”

“Your head? Who?” I said.

“De Quipp and the Duck. Sometimes there can be a link between replicants and their originals,” he told me. “They wanted me to tell it where the Castle was.”

“And you actually knew about all this?” I said.

“I was getting some very strange dreams,” said Jemmons, scratching his ear. “I thought I was going stir crazy.”

“I see, you mean a psychic link. Did you get through?”

“Not in a manner of speaking, but the Duck must have wheedled what he wanted out of us,” said Jemmons. “And then the voice in my head just stopped. Funny that.”

“Yes,” I said. “That is strange. Anyway—”

“—It stopped dead.”

“Very odd,” I said. Call me sentimental, but I had serious reservations about telling him that I had assisted in braining his other self to death.

“It was almost like it died,” said Jemmons.

“Really?” I said. “In its sleep most like.”

“Oh no,” said Jemmons. “I was picking up a strong signal that it died a very cruel and violent death. I was getting attached to that voice. What sort of a human being could murder a poor defenceless replicant like that? Replicants have feelings, too, don't you think, Stevie?”

“It's an interesting moral issue,” I said. I stretched and did a little yawn.

“I'd better let you get some kip—we've got a busy day tomorrow,” he said, climbing over me and out onto the ladder.

“Yeah, it's all downhill from here. Goodnight, Rog,” I said.

He suddenly stopped and his lip curled in hate. “If I ever find out who done him in—I'll make him pay,” he said. He looked around to make sure no one was listening and whispered, “You don't think it was the Duck who did for him, do you, Steve?”

I was tempted, but said: “I wouldn't have thought so, Rog. No.”

“Only it kept repeating the same message over and over again near the end,” said Jemmons.

“What message?”

“Kill the Duck, Kill the Duck.”

* * *

After I got rid of Jemmons, I tried to sleep, but it wasn't long before the Duck returned and swished my curtains open.

“What the hell did you think you were playing at?” he quacked. “You showed me up, you little toss—”

“—Not now,” I groaned, trying to turn over and face the other way.

He poked me in the back.

“You will do as you're told, young man—if you want to see that bird of yours again!”

I rolled back and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He gripped my wrists and we wrestled.

“If you harm one hair on her head—I swear I'll harm all yours!” I said, through gritted teeth.

“Let go, you mad pratt—you'll have me off the ladder!”

I jerked him violently to the left and let go. He disappeared. There was a thump, followed by two or three sympathy-seeking groans and then I heard him climb into his bunk, muttering to himself. I drew my curtains and closed my eyes again. A few seconds later, I felt a kick in my back through the mattress.

I ignored it. There was a pause and then another kick.

“Don't be childish, Father,” I said loudly.

Two more kicks followed. I swished open my curtains and dangled my head down. I was looking at him upside down—he was lying on his back with his foot raised in mid-kick about to boot my mattress again.

“Caught you!” I said.

He rolled over on his side and rested his chin on his hand. “You're bloody coming,” he said. He sat up and pleaded with me in an urgent whisper, “How can I leave here without you? We go together or not at all—that's what I meant when I said you wouldn't see Emma again—she'll be stuck in the women's dorm. And you'll be in here.”

“How exactly do you intend to get her out?” I said.

“That's all in hand,” he said. “But it's not going to happen if you don't come, because, like I said, if you don't go, I don't go, and the whole thing's off, so—”

“—All right, all right! I'll do it,” I said. “Now let me get some sleep.”

He tried to kiss me but I pulled my head back up, had a quick look round to make sure no one saw, and quickly closed my curtains. I lay there for what seemed like hours, listening to the sounds all around me slowly dying down, until the whole dorm fell into a hush, disturbed only by the occasional raised voice somewhere far off on the other side. There was still a bit of light coming through the threadbare curtains, but then all the lights went off at once, apart from a few low emergency lights. I felt cocooned and snug in my bunk. I must have dozed off.

* * *

The next thing I knew there was a red translucence in one of my eyes. I opened the lid and saw a dazzling light surrounded by darkness. It made me start, but then someone's hand covered my mouth. It felt cool, soft—female!

“Memma?” I mumbled.

“It's me—Brie,” whispered a husky voice. She directed the beam of a small torch up onto her face.

I jumped upright. “Princess!” I blurted, too loudly. I lowered my voice to a half-whisper. “Princess Mormagleea. What—what are you—how did you get in here? Where's Emma? Is she here?”

There was a click and everything went black.

“One question at a time—move over, I'm coming in,” she said.

“No—you can't—I mean, what if—?”

She had obviously climbed up into the neighbouring bunk and was now squeezing through the bars and pulling herself into mine. I had no option but to budge over and let her in.

“How did you get in here?” I said, as I felt her hair brush my face and the pillow move. I knew then her head must be right next to mine, because I could feel her breathing all over me. It was a rather pleasant soapy smell, as though she had just showered.

“I bribed a guard,” she said.

“You bribed a guard—why?”

“I wanted to see you.” She giggled. “I can't see much though. Wait.” She fumbled about. I heard the click again and the torchlight came back on. “That's better—now, where did we leave off? Oh yes, I remember—”

I caught a brief glimpse of her eyes, staring deeply into mine, before they closed and she kissed me full on the lips. I knew it would be useless to resist, but I didn't respond to her. Lucky, I thought, I still had my biggles on and had decided to sleep on top of the itchy woollen blanket rather then under it. She broke from the kiss.

“What is it with this bunk?” I said. “It's been like Piccadilly Circus in here all night.”

“Well,” she said, playfully touching my nose, “you must be a very popular boy. From where I'm looking you are anyway—” She closed in for another snog.

This time I held her off.

“Which one are you tonight—the Princess or Nurse Parker?” I said.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yes it does, you see, because I'm in love with Emma—and you know that,” I said.

“That's not the impression you gave me at the clinic and when I drove you back to Duckworth Hall,” she smiled. “You couldn't keep your hands off me then, could you? You naughty boy. Remember, darling?”

“Yes, I, er, remember,” I said. “And want to know what I think?”

She ran her fingernail down my cheek, while her eyes wandered all over my face. “Tell me.”

“I think you drugged me—slipped me a Mickey, as they say—to make me believe I was in love with you.”

“You mean like a pheromone added to your drip? Now would a princess do a thing like that?” she purred.

“What do you want?” I said.

“I thought that was obvious—I want you,” she said wide-eyed. “And I always get what I want.”

“Stop that. Get off. You know I'm not in love with you—wait! No! I'm in love with someone else.” I pushed her off.

“You can't be in love with Emma,” she said.

“Oh, but I am.”

“She can't love you like I love you—she can't give you all the things I can give you—”

“—I don't want things. I just want Emma,” I said. “So, be a good girl and go. You're wasting your time.”

“Time. Now there's something I can give you that your precious Emma hasn't got. You and I are not like Emma, Stephen, are we? Emma will die in the mere blink of an eye, but aeons will come and go before we are dust,” she said.

I turned over on my back and stared up at the darkness. The Princess stroked my hair.

“When Emma is sludge and bones in the dirt—you will not even have lived your first day in the sun,” she said. “Think, my love, could you bear to watch her age, her beauty fade, while you thrive and remain forever young?” She took my hand and held it to her smooth cheek. “Feel my smoothness—I am in perpetual bloom for you, my love. You are mine.” She plunged her lips down on my mouth and kissed me hungrily.

I pushed her off roughly.

“I might want a different one every generation,” I said. “And I can always wear a bit of make-up to make myself look older. Me and Em could have years together.”

“You're mine!” she hissed. “Your father has betrothed you to me.”

“Well, he can just unbetroth me then because I'm marrying Emma,” I said.

“The dowry has been arranged and accepted! You cannot withdraw now!” she cried.

“What dowry?”

Suddenly, the curtains swished apart and the Duck's face loomed in.

“What's all the bloody—oh, hello, Your Highness. Well, isn't this nice and cosy—”

I seized him by the throat and pulled his nose up close to mine. “What's all this about a bloody dowry?”

“Um? Princess, I wonder if you wouldn't mind giving me a few minutes alone with my son—I haven't had a chance to go over the final details with him yet. There's still one or two wrinkles to iron out,” he said.

“A deal is a deal, Zirconion,” said the Princess. “Do not disappoint me!”

She climbed back into the next-door bunk and we heard her rattling down the ladder into the other aisle. The Duck pulled my hand off his throat and climbed into my bunk.

“What's the matter with you? You could have ruined everything,” he said. “Haven't you got any bleeding sense up there?”

“What's the dowry?” I said.

“There're delicate negotiations going on—I'm trying to secure our future and you're charging about like a bull in a bleeding china shop.”

“What's the dowry?”

“Why can't you marry the Princess and keep the other one for back-up? I mean—you don't only have to have one,” said the Duck.

“Why don't you marry her—that's a point—why don't you marry her?” I said. I thought aloud, “Why doesn't he marry her himself? There must be a reason.”

“I can't marry her—she wants you,” he said. “She's all over you. She doesn't want me. You're better looking.”

“Don't give me that, you creep—if you wanted her—I wouldn't get a look in. So, there has to be another reason. What could it be?” I said, still half-talking to myself. “There must be something in it for him—it must be the dowry—something to do with the dowry—”

“I am here, you know,” he said.

“What's the deal?” I said.

“Nothing. It's just tradition, innit? A token gesture of esteem for the family of the groom,” he said.

“Yeah. I bet,” I said. “What can it be? What can it—?”

As with all questions, the answer always seems obvious when you see it. I laughed.

“What?” he said.

“The ship,” I said.

“What ship?” he said.

I put on a sing-songy voice. “The time and space machine—the interplanetary craft.”

“Oh that,” he said.

“Yeah—oh, that—that's the dowry—that's what you've been after from the start—that's the reason for all this—why Emma and I split up—the duel—that thing with Jemmons and the squid—it all happened because you wanted to get your grubby little hands on that machine!”

“That's right—blame me for everything as usual!” he blustered. “Atlantis sank—blame the Duck! Oh dear, London burnt down—blame the Duck! God died—it must have been Duckworth! I'm sick of carrying the can for everything that happens on this bloody planet!”

“And that's why you want to get off it.”

“Yes—I mean, no—who said I wanted to get off it?”

“The Princess' time-space machine—or one like it—is the dowry, isn't it?” I said. “Isn't it!”

“Right—I'm going to give you the full S.P. on this one—she twisted my arm.”