The Worm King (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Clovis

‘ . . .
 
F
ive, four,
three, two, one,’ muttered Lord Brown. That was two weeks exactly.

He paused. Two long weeks and not one drop
of grog. It’d felt more like two years. Two
thousand
years.

His mind began to refocus, gradually
clanking into gear. The room felt cold. Holy mother it was cold! How could it
go from the appalling heat of the observatory to cold such as this in only a
fortnight?

An army of porcelain figurines surrounded
him. They covered shelves, a pair of side tables, the top of the bookshelf and the
television set, which was unplugged from the wall socket. A lantern (kerosene
by the smell of it) burnt on the coffee table in the centre of the room. Shadows
of the figurines quivered ever so slightly around the walls.

Astrid stared at him, her lips pursed and
arm around a late middle-aged man on the sofa beside her. ‘You shouldn’t watch
them,’ she said to her father. They were obviously related, with that red hair
and giveaway pointy nose, except he was substantially taller. His face was
dirty and streaked from weeping with puffy sacks under his eyes but he had
strong shoulders and looked a man used to hard work, although at the moment the
shoulders were slumped forward like wet fish.

Winston the Dwarf, John the Hat and Āmiria
the Māori were playing Monopoly. The board was spread on the carpet next
to the coffee table. Much cash was stacked in front of the Hat who greedily
stroked it and squinted mistrustfully at the others.

‘Six!’ called Āmiria.

‘Horayyyyy!’ shouted Lord Brown, throwing up
his arms.

The three players froze in astonishment, as
though it were the first sensible thing he’d said in weeks, which it probably was.

‘Liverpool station,’ he said to Āmiria.
‘You own it. Skillfully rolled.’

She looked at the board, ticking off squares
with small nods of her head. ‘That’s . . . right. I do.’

Astrid clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘For
god’s sake, can’t you give that a break for a while? Honestly! Why don’t you
get Lord Ding-dong something to eat, now he’s awake.’ Her arm remained locked around
her father who continued to stare morosely at the board. She rocked him gently
back and forth as you would a child, which looked somewhat comical because he
was so much taller.

Lord Brown smiled. ‘Thank you Astrid. That’s
very kind, food would be marvelous. I’m really quite famished.’ She stopped
rocking. ‘Can I also take this opportunity to thank you for your hospitality. Tremendous.
You’ve been an absolute angel.’

Her jaw slipped open and swirls of foggy
breath collected in front of her face. ‘What’d you say?’

All he could do was stare at her, in wonder,
not answering. The clarity! A sticky, malty veil had been lifted from his eyes.
He’d done his penance; served the full term. Two weeks of unmitigated, hellish toil.
O yea, verily! The two-dimensional landscape had disappeared and there was no
need to count from one number to the next and the next and the next. That was finished,
now he could see in all directions. Not just 3-D, it was multi-D.

The monopoly wasn’t to blame. Something else
had upset Astrid’s father. Some . . . 
thing
that’s
crept into the unfortunate man’s psyche: an insidious black worm burrowing and
chewing at him from the inside. Lord Brown looked at the window but the curtains
were pulled shut so you might not even see anyone arrive, even if they did
carry a light. What made him think of that? Was that a light? A twinkle through
the cracks! Yes, a light, certainly.

‘Nathan? The councilors are here.’ Astrid’s
mother stood wiping her hands nervously on the bunched up front of her apron. It
appeared to be linen, tied at the back and burnt orange in color, patterned
with a multitude of small black barbeque tongs like some designer
culinary-themed leopard skin. He hadn’t seen her enter the room, presumably
from the kitchen given her attire. She was of similar height to Astrid but with
a darker, European complexion. ‘They’re coming up the path now Nathan, I’m sure
it’s them.’ He detected the faintest trace of a softly-lilting Italian dialect
and he thought he’d be able to pinpoint the exact province if she uttered
another phrase or two.

Nathan looked blankly at his wife.

Lord Brown rose to greet the visitors.

Āmiria watched him stride over and
shake hands with Montabelli. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Lord Brown confidently.
The old man’s constant jabbering over the last fortnight had mostly been random
numbers and at other times, just plain garbled nonsense, however this latest rant
marked a definite improvement. Which was great, because she’d been getting totally
jack of looking after him, especially when it should be Winston’s job anyway. He
was Winston and the Hat’s mate after all, if you’d even call a crazy old derro
like that a mate.

Montabelli’s offsider Francesco had returned
too. Both were here yesterday. She knew exactly what her father would’ve said
about them: “Bloody city council.” They’d told Nathan they may need to divvy up
part of his remaining food and might have to get him to cart it into some hall
in Griffith by hand. Astrid’s dad wasn’t up to that.

Her dad wouldn’t take it from them, that’s
for sure.

‘You were asleep yesterday,’ replied the grossly
overweight Montabelli. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your . . . ’

‘Brown. Lord Brown. I was a little off color
and having a nap. I’m a box of birds now though.’

The councilmen were given the sofa and
Astrid’s mum returned to the kitchen. Āmiria thought she might get called on
to fetch firewood again but obviously there was still enough in the basket next
to the stove.

As soon as they were seated, Astrid asked, ‘Did
you find out whether anyone’s seen the two girls I told you about?’

Montabelli frowned. ‘No sign of them I’m
afraid.’ He’d left his trenchcoat on and sat there rubbing his hands together, every
few seconds lifting them to breathe onto his pudgy fingertips to warm them up.

Francesco elaborated. ‘We check the displace
person list at Beaumont Street, but as we tell you yesterday, there is not a lot
more we can do. Many people, you know, they are coming into the council office
seeking family and many of them, they are frantic.’

He paused, smiling sadly at Astrid. His face
reminded Āmiria of those wrestlers her dad liked watching on the sports
channel, when they tried to smile, which was usually only after winning. ‘We going
past here today on way to Caruther’s farm and stop in only to say not to worry too
much about plan to reorganize food we speak of yesterday. This, we have to tell
everybody in district. We know food here is in good hand, of course.’

‘Of course,’ repeated Lord Brown. Montabelli
squinted at him as though wondering how he could possibly know this. Āmiria
wondered too.

‘Many household have run out of most of the
basics. There is no more butter left in town, at all,’ said Francesco. ‘Apart
from what’s in your storeroom, of course. This fine. We believe—’

‘But the time will come,’ interrupted
Montabelli, shaking his head ominously.

Francesco shrugged and Āmiria had a
feeling he and Montabelli didn’t quite see eye to eye on the food requisition
business. ‘The problem is, they talk of redistributing remaining food and
everything to even out all we have left, or we won’t have enough. It is because
this has never happened to any people before, so we gotta go back to scratch. Pool
resources, that sorta thing. Is new problem, so we need new solution—’

‘Yes it has,’ cut in Lord Brown.

Montabelli blew on his fingertips again. ‘Has
what?’

‘Happened before. Granted it was a fair while
back. Nearly thirteen thousand years ago, but yes, this has happened to other people
before. Most certainly.’

‘What do you know about this old man?’ demanded
Montabelli suspiciously.

‘It killed the Clovis.’

‘It killed the . . . what
does who matter?’

‘It’s illustrative of the processes at work.
And the range of probable outcomes.’

Montabelli had to think about this for a few
seconds. ‘Sounds like crapolla,’ he declared eventually.

Before Lord Brown could reply, Astrid’s
mother returned with tea. ‘Powdered milk,’ she confessed. ‘Ghastly, but what
can you do.’ Montabelli knew exactly: he had five sugars, which was rather a
lot thought Āmiria, for a man who’s already as big as a bloody house.

Lord Brown stood, lifting his arms like he were
holding some huge invisible bowl. It seemed an odd gesture, in the middle of afternoon
tea in the dark. ‘There is undeniable evidence a comet struck Canada in 10,900
BC. It marked the end for the Clovis people. And many other animals gathered at
the time. So most certainly, all this has happened before.’ He waved a bony left
hand in the direction of the front window.

Montabelli chuckled. ‘I know this religion! The
spacecraft, she come down then everyone who is . . . yes, who
has the cloves and the ginger hair, they are taken up to paradise.’ He laughed heartily
while Francesco looked uncomfortably at Astrid and her father, the only
redheads in the room.

‘I believe you may mean cloven
hooves
,
and the link between those and ginger hair is tenuous at best.’ Lord Brown gazed
down compassionately at Montabelli.

‘Tell us the way Lord. Testify!’ sang the
Hat, punching a fist into the air. Winston sniggered.

‘The proof is in the soil,’ continued Lord
Brown undeterred, although he lowered his hands. ‘It is a layer of dirt dated
to exactly 10,900BC. This layer is as thick as one’s thumb and verily similar
to the dried sludge that collectith at the bottom of a stove. It has been found
in fifty sites and more, yes more, right across North America and as far away
as Belgium.’

‘This may be,’ objected Montabelli. ‘But
dirt is only dirt.’ He shrugged, unconvinced. ‘That’s why they call it that. Dirt.
Is good for nothing.’

The old man finally sat and Āmiria
thought he was finished but he learnt forward, flashing a glance either side and
lowering his voice. ‘Ahhhh, but this is very
particular
dirt. It’s
packed with elements that are fantastically rare on earth, but common in debris
and rocks from space. Within this layer they’ve found four different types of
minute diamonds, born inside carbon blobules which could’ve only been formed in
an explosive burst of heat. The concentration of the diamonds is a million
times that of the surrounding earth layers, so it couldn’t have been part of
the normal rain of space dust. This dirt layer also has an abundance of lonsdaleite,
which is a type of hexagonal diamond you only ever find at meteorite impact spots.
It contains iridium too, which only turns up in abundance with space rock. At
the base of the layer is a much thinner film of charcoal, and burnt material,
which almost certainly stem from the impact fires.’

Āmiria’s interest was piqued by the
talk of diamonds but she couldn’t quite see the connection with the Clovis
people. ‘Did the Clovis used to wear the diamonds?’

‘Well . . . yes. In a
way, they did.’ He nodded to himself, as though he’d just seen some new angle. ‘Although
despite the free jewellery, it still would’ve been a pretty bad day for them.’ He
turned back to Montabelli. ‘The point is, wouldn’t you think it’s just
too
much coincidence that the American Clovis tribes all disappeared, at more or
less exactly the same time that this dense layer of extraterrestrial material turned
up, which almost certainly came from an asteroid or a comet?’

This seemed to give the councilmen a lot to
think about, so ten minutes later they left. With extra butter.

Francesco returned the next day, alone. Astrid’s
father greeted him without enthusiasm. Nathan had been outside with Lord Brown
for the last two hours collecting firewood. Both men were chilled to the bone
and had just stopped shaking when he arrived. Winston and John the Hat were in
at Griffith hospital, visiting Azziz who was helping out with the sick.

Francesco looked glum. ‘More news from
Canberra. The fires are all out, but they’re turning it into some sorta small,
armed state.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Which I suppose it was anyway. But there’s
martial law, all kinda stuff goin on. Four hundred prisoners got out of Goulburn
gaol. We heard they just let’em go because they couldn’t look after them
anymore. Even the bunch they usually keep in that special super-max wing. They’ve
all ended up in Canberra, apparently. Everyone is still leaving what’s left of Sydney,
which isn’t much. The Council here say we gotta protect ourselves too.’

‘You came to tell us this?’ said Nathan, clearly
not encouraged by the news.

Apparently not. It transpired he actually came
to say Azziz would be sleeping over at the hospital again and he was just
passing the message on. Winston and the Hat were due back in an hour, and they
could’ve told them this, so Āmiria thought Francesco had wasted his time.

‘I also wanted to also make sure you all okay
and everything.’ He smiled at Astrid but it looked peculiar because one of his
front teeth was missing and his nose might’ve been broken sometime, so his
smile had a huge kink in it. ‘I asked about them girls again, but no one’s
heard. Sorry.’