An Other Place Read online

  The landlord is a thin man with dark hair that’s severely parted down the middle, and a worried frown that never leaves his face, even when he smiles. He welcomes me as if I’m a long lost friend. “Hello! Good evening! Come in, come in. I’m Franz. Have you bags? Shall I take your coat? Do you want something to eat or drink? A sleeping partner, perhaps? All tastes catered for.”

  “No thanks,” I say, thrown to be offered a hooker at such short acquaintance. “I’m just looking for a room.”

  “Oh,” he sighs, disappointed. “Luxury or economy?”

  “Economy.”

  He sighs again and his frown deepens. “With a window or without?”

  I think about the glassless holes in the walls. It’s a warm night but it could turn if a breeze kicks up. “Without,” I tell him.

  “That will be three teeth,” he says and pockets the strange form of coin without interest. (I consider arguing the cost, since I was told it would be two teeth, but I’m too weary and ignorant of local protocol.)

  “Do I have to sign anywhere?” I ask as he comes round the reception desk and leads the way to the stairs.

  “Sign what?” he chuckles. “One of the walls?”

  “What about the register?”

  “What’s that?” he says.

  I shake my head. “Never mind. Lead on, McDuff.”

  “My name’s Franz,” he reminds me, then heads up.

  The stairs are steep and I’m soon huffing behind the nimble-footed Franz. He notices my discomfort and slows. “I didn’t get your name,” he says as we continue at a more sedate pace.

  “Newman Riplan,” I tell him.

  “Two names? So what would you like me to call you? Newman or Riplan?”

  “Mr Riplan will be fine,” I sniff, deciding I don’t want to be on informal terms with a man who offers prostitutes to his guests as soon as they cross the threshold.

  The halls are narrow and dark, lit by thin, sparse candles. It feels damp in here. I wouldn’t like to be about when the weather turns cold. My room’s on the third floor, second from the end. It’s small and stingy, a single bed, rough covers, a sink set in one wall, a couple of candle holders.

  “Where’s the toilet?” I ask.

  “What’s that?” he replies.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have toilets in this place,” I yell. “Where the hell do you go if you want to take a piss?

  “A piss?” Franz says.

  “Yes, a…” I deflate and wave it away. Let the crazy people play their crazy games. I’ll piss in the bed, see how he reacts to that. Do a dump in the middle of the floor. Heh.

  “Do you want a wake-up call?” Franz asks, and at least that much is the same in this city of the obtuse.

  “No thanks,” I say, not having anything to rise early for.

  “Have you no job?” he asks.

  “Not at the moment,” I tell him.

  “Then how did you get the bag of teeth?” he asks. I tap my nose slyly. It feels good to be the one holding something back for a change. “Well, I hope you have a plentiful supply of them if you want to continue renting out the room, as I don’t do discounts,” Franz says with a dark look. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mr Riplan.”

  He leaves and I walk around, examining the walls, listening to the sounds of people in the neighbouring quarters. I’m starting to regret not asking for a room with a window. At least I’d have been able to stare out at the street. This dark, confined room feels like a prison cell. If I stay another night, maybe I’ll switch. I wonder if it costs more or less for a room with a glassless window. Are holes in the wall considered a commodity or a liability in this place?

  There’s a small locker on the far side of the bed, for clothes and personal belongings. I check all the drawers, looking for signs of previous inhabitants, but find only dust. There isn’t even a Gideon’s Bible.

  I slip off my shoes and sit on the bed. I don’t feel sleepy. I’ve a feeling it’s going to be a long, joyless night. I’m not brave enough to venture forth, not until I’m more familiar with the territory, so I’ll just have to lie back and bear the solitude and uncertainty.

  As I’m taking off my jacket to get comfortable I discover a small package I’d forgotten about. When I unwrap it I find the three bagels that I bought and set aside in good old Amsterdam. Cheered by this reaffirmation of a tangible, sensible world, I sit back against the headrest, squeeze out the first of the bagels, sniff to make sure it’s still edible, and dourly devour my first meal in the city.

  SIX

  I don’t recall falling asleep, but since I’m waking up, I must have. I lever myself off the bed and stare about the dark room, wondering where I am. It isn’t long before the memories come flooding back. I groan and sit down. I’d been hoping it would turn out to be a dream, but apparently not. Whatever this place is – an afterworld, the result of bad coke or some alternate kind of universe – it looks like I’ll be here a while longer.

  Though I’m almost certain I fell asleep without undressing, I’m naked. My clothes are in the locker by the bed, neatly tucked away. I slip them on, then wash my hands in the sink. As I’m drying them on a dirty towel hanging by the sink, I wonder again about the absence of toilets. I normally go for a piss first thing in the morning. I consider urinating in the sink – I know I said I’d do it in the bed, to annoy the landlord, but when it comes to the crunch I can’t – but my bladder feels oddly empty, so I leave it be and head downstairs after quenching the tiny candle stub that’s left from the night before.

  Franz is behind the desk, eager to convince me to part with more of my teeth. “Good morning, Mr Riplan. Did you enjoy your rest? Would you like a spot of breakfast? Shoes need shining? Clothes need cleaning?”

  “No thanks,” I say and the disapproving click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth is clearly audible.

  “Do you wish to reserve your room for another night?” he asks coolly.

  “Not at the moment,” I say. “I didn’t like being so closed-in. I might try a room with a window next time.”

  “Ah,” he beams. (I guess from his reaction that rooms with windows cost more.) “An excellent idea. Nothing like a room with a view. Shall I reserve one for you?”

  I jingle the bag of teeth thoughtfully, Franz’s eyes fixed longingly on it. “I’ll leave it for now,” I decide. “I’m not sure if I’ll be coming back tonight.”

  “Oh.” Franz looks as if he’s about to burst into tears. “Well, I’ll hold a room for you anyway, just in case.”

  I thank him for being so considerate and start across the lobby. A thought slows me. “Excuse me,” I say, turning, “but how do I find my way back?”

  “Just mention my name to a public car driver,” Franz replies.

  “A public car,” I repeat. “Is that a taxi?”

  “Taxi?” Franz says.

  “Never mind. All I have to do is mention you? I don’t need to know the name of the street?”

  “Name of the street?” Franz laughs. “Whoever heard of a street with a name?”

  “Whoever indeed,” I mutter to myself, smiling humour-lessly.

  It doesn’t take long to spot a public car. They’re plain, grey cars, with slightly rounded roofs. The words Public Car are scrawled across the doors on either side but there’s no other form of identification, plate numbers or company names. I hail one and climb in. “Good morning,” the driver says. “Vin’s the name. Where you headed?”

  “Just drive about for a while, if that’s OK,” I tell him.

  “Fine by me,” Vin says and off we set.

  Vin turns out to be as talkative as any normal cabbie but I learn no more from him than from anybody else in the city. When I ask where I am, he replies with the inevitable, “Where do you think you are?” He doesn’t understand when I ask how long he’s been a cabbie. He’s never heard of glass.

  “Don’t you get cold when the weather’s bad?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he laughs, “but I wrap u
p warm. The roof keeps out most of the rain and a bit of wind never hurt no one.”

  I ask about clocks and watches. “What are those?” he says.

  “Devices for telling the time.”

  “Telling the time?” he frowns. “You mean they tell you if it’s day or night? Big deal. Still, they might be handy for blind people. Where do you get them?”

  I shake my head, bemused. “Clocks tell the exact time,” I explain. “You have hours and minutes in this city, don’t you?”

  Vin shrugs. “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “No hours? No minutes? So how do you divide up time?”

  “When it’s light, it’s day,” he says, “and when it’s dark, it’s night.”

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  “That’s it,” Vin nods. “What more could there be?”

  I press him for ages on the subject. I can’t believe people here only measure time by day and night. I ask how long we’ve been driving. “A while,” he says and can be no more precise than that. If he wants to meet somebody at a certain place at a certain time, how does he arrange it? He shrugs. “I just say, ‘See you later’ or ‘Catch you around,’ something like that.” And if he has an appointment with a doctor or dentist? “I don’t make appointments, just turn up and wait, no matter who it is I’m meeting.” And on it goes.

  I’m learning to ride with the tide. Arguing with these people is senseless. They see the world a certain way and can’t understand anyone who sees it differently. The best way to deal with them is to accept their limitations and chip away at the madness in private. I’m going to have to figure the answers out myself. The citizens of this nameless city aren’t advanced enough to provide any for me.

  I have Vin drop me by a large fountain in a built-up square. I don’t know which part of the city I’m in – I asked Vin where it started and ended and where the centre was, but he didn’t know what I meant – but it looks like a nice area. The buildings are well maintained, the streets are spotless and the people lounging by the fountain are stylishly dressed.

  “Any way of contacting you later?” I ask Vin, handing over the four teeth he requested. (That seems expensive compared with the price of renting a room for a night, but maybe boarding houses are cheap because there’s a glut of rooms, or perhaps they’re subsidised by that Alchemist fellow.) “Do you have a mobile phone?”

  “A what?” Vin smiles, accustomed to my strange ques-tions by now.

  “A mobile contact box,” I try.

  “How could I have a contact box in the car?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got some weird ideas, my friend, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  I grin. “I was just about to say the same about you.” I tip him a tooth and he whistles appreciatively.

  “Listen,” he says, “I’m gonna circle for a while, see if I can pick up some customers. If I don’t, do you want me to take you back later?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say.

  “Well, I’ll hang around on the off-chance,” he says. “I don’t get many customers as free with their teeth as you. Most folk would have bargained me down to two teeth for the ride, and that would have included the tip.”

  “So you conned me,” I laugh.

  “Snuff, no,” he protests. “Four teeth’s what I’m entitled to. It’s just rare for someone to fork up the correct amount. In my line of work, you get used to living on less. It’s refreshing to meet someone who plays things straight.”

  I bid farewell to Vin and stroll around the fountain. It’s nothing special – a couple of poorly carved mermaids spout water from their open mouths – but looks glamorous compared to anything else that I’ve seen here. I find a dry spot and sit by the rim of the fountain, dangling my fingers in the cool water, keeping an eye on the people in the square, observing them as they go about their daily business.

  They’re a subdued bunch. They sit quietly, speaking in whispers if at all. There’s a small boy perched on a nearby bench, as meditative as everybody else. On a day like this, if I was his age, I’d be racing around like a puppy, but he just sits there, lapping up the sun.

  A woman passes, followed by one of the mannequins. It carries a couple of boxes and trails after her like a slave. I’ve seen a few of the so-called drones engaged in similar tasks while driving around with Vin. Is this what they’re used for? I’ll have to make enquiries. In a way I feel closer to the drones than the people. The drones might be mindless automatons but at least they hail from the same world as me. They came in on the plane with me, so are proof that there must be an outside realm. Perhaps, if I find one that can talk, I’ll be able to learn more about this place, why I’m here and where I am, and why I was the only one on the plane not to be transformed.

  A scream diverts my attention. It’s the first raised voice I’ve heard since arriving in this place. I leap to my feet and search for the source. It doesn’t take long to spot the screamer. It’s a woman, young, pretty, alone, pressed against the wall of a building on the opposite side of the fountain, trapped by two creatures that look like foxes. They’re growling and advancing on her, snapping at her hands as she waves at the animals fearfully, uselessly.

  “What’s happening?” I ask a man to my right.

  “An attack,” he says. His gaze is glued to the scene – everybody’s staring – but he makes no move to intercede.

  “Are those foxes?” I ask and he nods. “What will they do to her?”

  “Kill her,” he says as if passing the time of day.

  “Why?” I gasp.

  He shrugs. “It’s what animals do.”

  “We’ve got to stop this,” I say with determination.

  He turns and studies me. “Do you know her?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a prostitutioner in search of fresh additions?”

  “Of course not,” I snap.

  “Then why get involved?”

  “Because… because…”

  Fuck it. The foxes are closing in. If I stand here trying to explain humanity to this goon, it’ll be too late to help. Grabbing one of the many nooses set around the fountain, I lurch towards the cornered woman. If I was back home I wouldn’t interfere – I’ve seen people get mugged before and never stepped in to help – but in this alien city it feels good to at last be doing something proactive.

  One of the foxes notices me. It turns, teeth bared, and leaps. I lash at it with the end of the pole and knock it sideways. It yelps, hits the ground, rolls and comes back at me. This time it dodges the pole but I manage to kick it in the head before its teeth can close around my leg. It squeals and bolts for good, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

  The second fox has remained focused on the woman. She’s tired and her arms wave slowly and painfully now. I see it preparing to leap. I don’t have long. I quickly widen the wire noose, then dart forward and slip it over the creature’s head as it jumps. The noose digs into the fox’s throat and hauls it back to the ground with a thud. Before the animal regains its senses, I twirl the spindle at the end of the pole. The noose tightens and slices into the flesh of the fox’s neck. The predator thrashes wildly but I hold firm and within seconds it goes limp, then falls entirely still.

  “Are you OK?” I ask the woman, stepping over the body of the dead animal. She stares at me silently. She’s trembling. Her arms and legs are covered with scratches. I move closer and she flattens against the wall. I raise my hands and take a couple of steps back. “It’s alright, I won’t harm you, I’m a friend, you don’t need to be…”

  Before I can finish, she ducks beneath my arms and flees. I make no attempt to catch her. I’m too astonished. “So that’s how people here thank you for saving their lives,” I mutter, glaring after the departing woman. “Go on, love,” I jeer. “You don’t want to hang about. No telling what you might catch. I…”

  Oh, what’s the use? She’s terrified, not thinking clearly. I drop the noose, prod the dead fox with my foot, then turn my back on it and start towa
rds the fountain, where people are returning to their previous pursuits, nobody in the least perturbed by the battle they’ve witnessed. Halfway there, I spot Vin in his car, turning a corner into the square. “Hey, Vin!” I yell and race after him. I’ve had enough of fountain-watching. Time to do what I should have done the minute I arrived in this godforsaken nightmare of a city — look for a pub and hit the hard stuff.

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Vin doesn’t know what beer is.

  “Please tell me you’re joking,” I groan.

  “I know a guy called Beera, if that’s any use to you,” Vin says helpfully.

  “How about vodka? Whiskey? Tequila? Hell, I’d even take a Malibu.”

  Vin shakes his head. “Sorry.”

  “Then what do you drink to get drunk?” I ask desperately.

  “What’s drunk?” Vin replies.

  “You know…” I roll my eyes and speak a few slurred sentences.

  Vin stares at me oddly. “Why would you want to wind up in a state like that?”

  “How about drugs?” I press. “Coke? Heroin? Acid?”

  “Sorry,” Vin says again.

  “You mean to tell me you remain sober all the time?” I ask, aghast. “What do you drink when you go to a bar?”

  “Bar?” Vin echoes.

  “Christ,” I moan, tugging my hair, “you don’t know how depressed I’m getting back here. As if things weren’t bad enough, now I find out I’ve wandered into Prohibition Central. I can’t handle this place with all my senses intact. I need to get out of my head. There’s got to be something I can ingest that’ll set my brain spinning and make everything look rosy.”

  “I can take you to a nourishment house if you want something to drink,” Vin says, “but I’ve never heard of one that serves mind-altering beverages.”

  I mull over his suggestion. It’s been a long time since those bagels. I don’t feel especially hungry, despite the fact I skipped breakfast, but a bit of grub certainly wouldn’t go amiss.