The Cartographer (13 page)

It was my mind that won the toss.

A few minutes later, it all seemed to catch up with me: the cracked head, the purple-faced dynamite dame, the torture chamber, the lollopy lady's sightless face. I could have held it back — Jesus, I
had
held it back. But there comes a time when even a superhero has to take a break from being tough. I would make that a rule at the next meeting of the Superheroes League. You don't have to believe me: just watch me.

What had tipped me over the edge was thinking about my prayer. When I was under the water, going down for the count,
as Larry would have said, I reached out my hand to God and prayed to him — called to him — and offered him anything he wanted if he'd get me out of this fix. I knew he could hear me and I was dimly aware that what
I
really wanted was for the bloke to drown — it's like I said: I'm good at making bad things happen. Well, God heard me, all right, and saved me. But I knew he'd be back to get his price. And I knew he'd tack a little bit on for secretly asking him to kill the bloke. God could be a bit of a swine.

 

Even though the bloke in the pool had lived, I knew that that had been God's idea, because mine had been for him to cark it. But then I would have had another death on my hands, and that had suddenly dawned on God at the last minute. But I think I knew that with the bloke dead, there would be an end to the matter, and probably to the curse, too. I wanted to feel the weight of the curse being lifted from me, and I could not. I wanted Tom to be free to go on his way; but he wasn't. And I wanted the Cartographer to hang up his map and compass; but he couldn't.

This was what I was thinking about when I got home and opened the back gate to my house, and I wasn't thinking about anything else — like the state I was in, which was like a kid who's lost a mud fight; or what time it was, which was late. Mum, a woman who is irritated just by waking up in the morning, rushed out of the back door and gave me an earful of questions that I thought she'd probably been saving up for a long time, as they had nothing to do with mud.

‘Where the bloody hell have you been?'

‘I went over to Charles's place, and on the way back I took a short cut and slipped and fell into the river.'

‘What were you doing over at Charles's at this time of the night? Why didn't his mother send you home? Why don't you take more care?'

‘I —'

‘How do you think I've been feeling since you left —?'

‘Mum, I —'

‘You didn't tell me you weren't coming home — you didn't even say goodbye —'

‘I've only been gone a —'

‘First you, and then your father —'

Uh-oh
, I thought,
Mum's had a few too many sherbets
. Now she fell to bits completely, and started crying.

‘Mum, it's me —'

‘Tommy —'

She gave me a beery hug.

‘Mum, it's …' I didn't know what to say.

She gave me a long look and smiled as she cried, but I could tell by her eyes that she was somewhere else — some
time
else. In the end she went inside without, I thought, really seeing me, though Mum often got us mixed up when she was on the turps.

I was left standing in the yellow kitchen light, wondering what the awful sewery smell was. Then I realised it was my clothes. I took them all off and let them fall on the ground, then got the garden hose and turned it on myself. The hose had been lying in the sun all day, and the water was still warm. Finally, I sighed.

Next morning, I woke up as sick as a waiting room, probably from swallowing half the water in the power station pool, which was disgusting. Mum found my wet clothes in the laundry, but when she asked me what I'd done to them, I could only vomit. As I couldn't stop vomiting she was forced to get Doc Dunnett to come over and fix me up, even though she and him didn't see eye to eye on the question of giving kids electric shocks. That visit was hard on all of us. For a start, she only got Dunnett because no one else would come, and when he arrived, the evil doctor was not happy to see me again. Things got even worse when he suggested that it was probably something I ate, though anyone in our family would have given him a very short price for that bet.

Biscuit, who had never seen Dunnett, took an instant dislike to him, and when Dunnett grabbed hold of my wrist to take my pulse, bit him on the leg. What Dunnett didn't realise was that if Biscuit had really wanted to, he could have torn him limb from limb, and the fact that he didn't tells you a lot about his character. To cut a long story short, Dunnett kicked Biscuit, and Biscuit was thrown out; and I
still
had to be examined. But from that moment on I decided that I would get even with Dunnett, not for examining me, though that was pretty scary, but for kicking my partner. And for that suggestion of his about giving me electric shocks — you don't forget that kind of thing in a hurry.

Later in the day, when I was able to get up, I swore a sacred oath on my secret skull to get Who Dunnett, or at least to map his house. I also swore the oath on some blood, and as a substitute for real blood, which I couldn't find, I used one of Dad's old Melbourne Bitter glasses with sherry in it. It's the thought that counts. Anyway the main thing with oaths is that they start off with the words ‘I swear' and end with the words ‘So help me God'. But when I made the oath that day I left off the word ‘God'. When it came to kids, I still wasn't sure where he stood.

Lying in bed for most of the day, I'd had plenty of time to think and it had struck me that the most interesting things that I had seen in my travels had been inside other people's houses, so I figured that my next trip should be an
indoors
expedition. I would just have to avoid getting involved in anything too dramatic myself. Also, people love to talk, and by spending time getting to know the secrets of houses there was a chance that sooner or later I would start to hear news of Dad, and what the hell had happened to him.

As I said, my first victim was to be Doc Dunnett. I had originally planned on mapping his place by looking through the windows, but all that had changed, and it was now going to be an inside job. Though Dunnett's place looked big enough to be a house, it was really just a doctor's surgery; at least he and his receptionist were the only ones I had ever seen there, and I had been inside the place lots of times — well, inside the passage, the waiting room and the surgery, where he cut people up.

I planned on going down there bright and early the next morning, letting myself in and finding a place to hide. Then I'd listen in to Dunnett chinwagging with his patients — listen
and learn, which was what Sister Malachi was always telling me to do anyway. I knew he'd be there because I'd once had to see him on a Saturday morning — I had got a biro lid stuck up my nose (don't ask) so I had an idea how busy the place could get.

Mum was used to me shooting through before she got up on Saturday mornings so I had no trouble slipping away the next day, and anyway, the last thing she wanted was me hanging around the place. I had noticed that Lackery in
The Lavender Hill Mob
always took his lunch with him when he was on a job, so I packed a peanut butter sandwich, a cold thin banger left over from Thursday night and a Choo-Choo Bar.

I was travelling light — no partner. I knew that if Biscuit got a sniff of Dunnett, it would be all over bar the shouting — dogs have long memories. Also, apart from the fact that his breathing was pretty noisy, when he wagged his tail it tended to bang against things, and he wagged his tail all the time. For this operation I needed complete quiet. When I walked past his kennel his head was sticking out and he was snoring. He had stayed up to watch
77 Sunset Strip
with us — it was the ‘Canine Caper' episode, so Mum let me bring him in. He opened one eye and looked at me, then closed it. That look said everything.

I figured that Dunnett would only stay open for a few hours, and then go to the races, like everyone else in Melbourne. The Caulfield Carnival had started, and Granddad and me were thinking we might even go down there ourselves and have a flutter — I was planning to put a few dollars on Prince Lea in the Guineas, as he'd cleaned up the field in the Stradbroke. Anyway, with Dunnett gone, the Cartographer would have the run of the place, and complete freedom to map it.

Well, it was seven on Saturday morning when I turned up in the lane behind Old Who Dunnett's, and even though I reckoned he didn't actually live there, I gave the place the once-over. I had a squiz through the gate hole: good, no dog. And anyway, no dog would be seen dead with Dunnett. Then I opened the gate, took a look around and hopped in, closing it quietly behind me. The house was old and grey and had two storeys, just like all the houses on that side of the street. There was only one door, and, as expected, it was locked. For me that was not a problem, as it was not the doors I was interested in but the windows. I went around to all of them and soon found one — a bathroom window — that had been left ajar. I pushed it all the way up and slithered in, then headed straight to more interesting territory.

As doctors' surgeries went, Dunnett's room, which I made for first, was pretty standard: examination table, desk, chairs, metal trolley with instruments of torture on it, glass-fronted cabinet with even more evil things in it. At the back of the room there was a long, tall cupboard built into the wall, with sliding doors. I had a good look in this and decided that it would make a terrific hiding place.

I had watched how doctors work, and I had noticed that they are always doing one of four things: examining the patient, washing their hands, talking to the receptionist or looking for things on the trolley of doom without actually finding them. So I reckoned that I would have lots of opportunities to stand up in the wardrobe and have a stretch or a bite to eat from my emergency rations. I had it all worked out, and as I had a few hours to kill, I went into the waiting room and had a look around. The magazines there were mostly for women, though there was a stack of
Australasian Post
s that kept me busy — that
‘Ned and his Neddy' kills me. I made myself comfortable, and after a while decided to go for a wander, which turned out to be a good idea because I found a kitchen, and a big one too. There were clean dishes by the sink, and there was a large kitchen table at one end with a vase of flowers on it, a breadboard and knife and some cups and saucers. Why a doctor would need all that stuff I don't know, but there was also a fridge that was chockers with goodies, so I knew I was not going to starve.

The surgery also had an upper floor to explore, which I hadn't really thought much about until now, so I decided to seize the moment, go up and take a look around. It was like the top floor of a few houses I had been in, with a bathroom, toilet and a few other rooms. These old houses were all the same shape, so I knew what the layout would be. I opened the door that I knew would lead to the big room at the front of the house and looked in. It was a living room, with carpets, a comfy-looking lounge, and a huge Admiral TV set. I went back to the hall, opened a door and looked around. As I expected, it was a bedroom, and there was nobody in it. But the bed was unmade, and the room was a bit messy, and there were built-in wardrobes with clothes poking out along one wall. Suddenly, just when I was beginning to think something was wrong, there were footsteps on the stairs, followed by a woman's loud voice, right outside the door.

‘Nope, can't find it. You'll have to wear something else.'

Jesus!

I didn't even freeze in terror. A lifetime of ducking and diving for cover, movements performed instinctively by superheroes who lack super powers, and also by kids, had prepared me for this moment. In a flash I was under the bed, wondering how I
could have miscalculated so badly, but knowing that you were always as safe as eggs under a bed.

‘Check under the bed,' said a muffled Doc Dunnett, being helpful.

‘Already did,' said the woman.

The male half of the team now entered the room and I watched his polished heels go to the wardrobe.

‘Can't go to the races without my lucky bow tie. It's got a horseshoe and everything. I was wearing it when Tulloch won the Caulfield Cup, the Rawson Stakes, and the All Aged.'

‘— And the All Aged,' she chimed in with him. ‘Yes, dear, we all know. What about that gold one with horseshoes that you've never even worn?'

‘It makes me look like a spiv.'

‘I'm sure no one would dare describe one of the best doctors in town as a spiv, dear. Anyway, we can have another look before we leave. First, have some brekkie, and steel yourself for this morning's patients. I've got some shopping to do.'

She went out and the doctor finished dressing while singing ‘Catch a Falling Star', one of Perry Como's catchier numbers. I thought it was lucky I'd left Biscuit behind, as he tended to howl at bad singing. A few minutes later Dunnett went downstairs. While I waited to see what would happen next, I had a good look around me.

Tucked between one of the bed's legs and the pillow-end wall was the lucky bow tie.
If it was lucky for that geezer, it'll be lucky for me and Granddad
, I thought, pocketing it. I could hear the two of them downstairs, and then suddenly Mrs D was back and getting dressed. I could tell by the smells that she was putting on make-up and perfume, not like Mum's at all, less sweet, more subtle, reminding me of different things: of a
lolly I'd never tasted, a flower I'd never smelt, a fruit I'd never peeled. It was the first time I'd been stumped by a smell, but it was so lovely I didn't mind, and I gave it an eight. Soon she was gone and I heard ladies' voices downstairs, one of which belonged to the doctor's wife. Then there was silence.

I wriggled out from under the bed on the other side. There were new talking noises downstairs and I crept along the hallway to have a look. It was Dunnett talking about patients with his receptionist. I knew that kind of talk. I went halfway down the stairs to listen better and heard the doctor say he was going to look for something in his car. He went out the front door, and the receptionist went into the waiting room and started to sing
‘
Dream Lover', which everyone was singing, even me. I thought that if the caper went well I might have a bit of a sing myself later.

I slipped into the good doctor's consulting room, hopped into the cupboard I had spotted earlier, and slid the door almost shut, leaving a tiny crack to peek through. There was nothing in the end of the cupboard in which I was hiding, so I figured Dunnett wouldn't open the door and spot me. Soon he came back and kept on talking to the receptionist, then went into the kitchen and made tea for them both —
Ah, Robur!
Everything was going to plan — he didn't suspect a thing.

After a while the first patient came in, and it turned out to be the kid I'd seen trying to burn down his own house only weeks before. He was accompanied not by his mother but by a copper, who took off his hat, as if he was in church. The conversation was fascinating, and has been recorded in my Spirax, and bits of it put on the map. I saw the whole thing through the crack in the door.

‘Hello, Keith. What have you been up to?'

‘Nothin'.'

The copper leans over and gives him a smack in the ear.

‘Now,' says Dunnett, with his voice turned down to very soft, ‘let's start again, shall we? What have you been up to, Keith?'

‘Started a fire.'

‘I see.'

Dunnett looks over at the copper.

‘Set fire to a tram, didn't we, son?' says the copper.

I was full of admiration: trams were big. I wondered if he had gone into the tramyard and set fire to the tram I had explored. Plainly, this kid was a superhero, like me.

‘I said
didn't we
?' says the cop, smacking the kid in the head again.

‘Yes,' says the kid, looking up at Dunnett with a bit of spirit in his voice, all of a sudden.

‘This has got to stop, Keith. And as the medication doesn't seem to be helping, I'm going to try something different. Take him next door to Dr Stern, Constable. He knows what to do. I'll just write you a referral note. Can you wait for half an hour, and take him home? Good. Do you have his address? Good. Well then, that's that, then. Dr Stern will take care of all the arrangements for future therapy. No need for you to get involved unless Keith decides to set fire to something else, and that's not going to happen,
is it, young man
?'

While all this was going on, and while Dunnett was writing a note to Stern, the kid took no further part in proceedings but twisted around to check out the room, no doubt looking for something flammable. When he saw my eye in the crack of the door he got up and walked over to a set of scales and pretended to weigh himself. While he was doing this he looked
in a mirror beside the scales, in which we were able to see a bit of each other's faces.

His expression did not change. It was as though he was seeing nothing in particular, yet there was a gleam in his eye. We had one of those silent conversations, like Tom and me used to have when something really good was happening, like when we both saw Josephine Thompson at the same time; or when something bad was happening, like when we both got caught being late for Mass. That kid and me said to each other: ‘Yes, that's right: it's me, a fellow superhero, having a risky day, just like you. I hope we meet again.' In that moment I realised who I was
truly
talking to:
Flame Boy
!