Haven: Chapter 9 Extracts

Haven
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‘May I suggest that you fondle my breasts, Mr Ottaway,’ the kimono girl recommended in flawless English. ‘On the one hand it will look less suspicious, and on the other the Scavenger hierarchy will be most displeased to witness a gaijin, that is a foreigner, laying his filthy hands on one of their own.’

The kimono girl took my head in her hands and looked deep into my eyes. ‘I am honoured by your respect and consideration, but in combination I assure you they will prove fatal.’

The reason for our presence suddenly spurred me into action. Trying as best I could to feign natural spontaneity, I kissed and licked the girl’s nipples then drew her close.

‘Indeed so,’ came the almost ventriloquial reply. ‘But unless you try harder our relationship may be cut tragically short.’

As I prepared to redouble my efforts, I noticed that the hooker had left the stage, sauntered over to our table and was now draping herself around Melissa.

The audience remained enthusiastic for a few more moments before their applause began to fade. Both girls responded by disentangling themselves from us then bowing. I thought they were about to return to the stage, but instead each took one of our hands and led us from the table. As we reached the front seats the room fell silent, and I convinced myself that, within a heartbeat, we’d either be struck down in a hail of bullets or hacked to pieces by samurai swords. Neither fate materialised. The two girls kept on moving at a slow but determined pace until, to my relief, we passed through heavy, velvet curtains that extended from the side of the stage to the wall of the room. Once concealed from the audience, the sisters broke into a trot and literally dragged us into what appeared to be their dressing room – a space no larger than a cubbyhole. They dressed hastily in plain street clothes without further comment, and when ready, the hooker demanded our attention.

‘We must leave now,’ she instructed. ‘It is only a short distance to the rear exit, but at this point we must alarm no one. Follow our lead. Once we are outside my sister will appear to initiate a dispute over payment. A taxi will then pass by, which you must signal and enter together. Do not be afraid. All will be well if you follow my instructions. Later we will join you and explain further.’

Melissa and I simultaneously began to raise objections, but the other sister put a finger to her lips.

‘Please, this is our society,’ she implored. ‘We know best its idiosyncrasies, its people and their set patterns of behaviour.’

Faced with such forthright logic, there was no point in further debate, so we fell silent and did as requested. All proceeded according to plan. The journey to the street exit, the fake argument and the appearance of the taxi seemed to occur in the blink of an eye. People looked, people stared, but no one attempted to block our path. I signalled the taxi and, as it pulled alongside, remembered to draw Melissa away from the offside rear door.

‘That!’ I replied, pointing to the door automatically swinging open. ‘Operated by the driver. Courteous, but rough on the legs if you forget.’

I dived through the door and scrambled across the seat, half-guiding, half-dragging Melissa in behind me.

‘Don’t slam it!’ I exclaimed, suddenly remembering the second half of the taxi-door saga. ‘I think the mechanism’s worked by a pedal. You’ll probably break the driver’s foot.’

Melissa shrank away from the door handle as if it were hot to the touch. ‘Any more traps?’ she asked, somewhat dismayed.

The taxi sped away, and as it rounded the first corner, we caught a last glimpse of the two sisters, who, having concluded their performance, were darting down one of the many side alleys.

‘I surprised Ottaway-san knows about Japanese taxi,’ came a familiar voice from the driver’s seat. ‘Not first time to visit Japan, I think.’

Ga chuckled like a chicken with a rope around its neck. ‘I very honoured you remember Ga. Not easy for foreigner. Japanese businessmen all look same. It’s okay. Not easy for Japanese either. That’s why we need name card. It’s good joke, ne?’

Mr Ga’s aspirations as a stand-up comedian apart, I was delighted to see the old fellow again. I made to reply, but Melissa, having jerked forward in her seat, beat me to it.

We looked at each other for a moment then, out of habit, checked to see if we were being followed. Of course it was impossible to tell, but since our chauffeur showed no sign of his earlier Grand Prix racing style I, at least, decided we weren’t.

With his usual flair, our wannabe comic herded us rapidly from train to waiting car in a matter of moments. Politely but firmly he directed me to the front passenger seat of the large, black Nissan saloon, and with the ladies neatly packed in the back, we took off in the direction of Nikko. The route we followed turned out to be another unexpected marvel with literally thousands of tall cedar trees on both sides of the road forming a guard of honour as if gathered on parade to mark our passage.

‘Trees have good story,’ Mr Ga chuckled. ‘Planted by big boss lord when shrine being built. Other lords pay much for building, but he no money – like me. Buy trees instead. Smart man: save money, keep head, and still become tourist attraction.’

After his brief spell as tour guide, Mr Ga concentrated on driving and seemed reluctant to engage in further discussion, particularly about the route we were taking and our exact destination. In the rear, Melissa continued to question the sisters on all manner of issues, but as I watched the trees rushing by, my attention wandered. Rick, the Scavenger woman on the plane, Coral and the Aklendian history: all bumped and crashed around in my head like a demented roulette ball with each spin of the wheel guaranteed to yield further mystery, dread or horror. Top of the list, though, was Rick. Every minute that passed placed him in greater danger, or so logic kept nagging me to accept. All I could do was hope and, well, keep on hoping.

We began to climb into the mountains, caught a brief glimpse of Lake Chuzenji, and then wended our way along a jumble of narrow, winding roads bordered by densely wooded terrain. Finally Mr Ga drew us to a halt at the base of a steep set of leaf-strewn steps.

‘Now we climb,’ he announced less cheerfully than usual, and up we went, flight after flight, until a fork occurred in the route.

Koyanagi-san pointed to the left. ‘We are close to a ruined temple,’ she explained. ‘When Coral has been prepared, my sister and I will attempt to perform the oldest of our ceremonies there. If successful, the little girl will then be free.’

Whether it was the manner in which she spoke or simply the effects of the long climb, I’m not sure, but neither Melissa nor I asked for further explanation.

At the summit of our ascent, I wasn’t surprised to find we were standing at the entrance to an ancient shrine. During my previous visit to Japan I’d signed up for a day’s excursion, which included visits to a couple of rural examples, and in common with them, this religious outpost seemed to exude peacefulness and tranquillity. Protected by a canopy of stately trees, the simple wooden structures and red Torii, or shrine entrance, epitomised the ideal setting in which man and his God could commune in perfect harmony. On this occasion, however, my reflection was forced to take a back seat for in what was obviously a pre-planned manoeuvre, the sisters led Melissa away towards one of the larger buildings while Mr Ga ushered me in the direction of an out-of-character log cabin at one edge of the complex. As I entered, a kimono-enrobed Mr Catch greeted me enthusiastically.

‘Ottaway, my dear chap. Once again it’s an indescribable pleasure to see you after yet another triumph.’

I accepted his hand and an invitation to join him seated at floor level in front of a low table, which to my relief had a sunken area in the ground beneath its surface, cleverly solving the problem of where to put my legs. As a fascinating aide-de-comfort the table was covered by a heavy blanket-like cloth, which could be drawn over the lap to create an effective heat seal. Once installed within my papoose-like seat, which Catch referred to as a kotatsu, I fixed him with my best withering look.

‘What is it with you?’ I began, trying to sound exasperated. ‘Every time our paths cross you set me up like a turkey and I fall for it hook, line and sinker.’

Catch smiled. ‘Well, I’m not too sure about the compatibility of turkeys and fishing tackle,’ he responded with an air of whimsy, ‘but I do, of course, take your point. I can only apologise and crave your understanding.’

‘A little embarrassing, really,’ he began, ‘but, suffice it to say, you do so well when uninformed. If I may say so, you’re a true natural.’

I wanted to snap back at him with something derogatory like, ‘True natural pillock,’ but unfortunately, like Melissa, he’d read my character perfectly. Giving me a full explanation of all that I now knew before any of my encounters had taken place would have been disastrous. Seizing on the convenient opportunity of proffered hot liquid refreshment to change tack, I, therefore, decided to let the matter slide.

After a few sips of his drink, Catch placed a large, antique-looking book on the table. ‘A great pity,’ he lamented. ‘Vanessa and Coral were so close to discovering the location and identity of the Josalynde. If they’d succeeded, Vanessa might still be with us, and the madness ended. As we stand, however, both my poor daughters are lost, and our enemies know the mask is at hand and that Coral is Galdren.’

‘My apologies,’ he sighed. ‘The term is given to the child heir-apparent to the Josalynde.’ Appearing somewhat distracted, he opened the old book; thumbed through several pages then patted open the section he sought. ‘And, as if that were not enough, today more ill news has reached us from Takasaki.’

Once again I was forced to seek clarification. ‘Sorry to keep interrupting,’ I apologised, ‘but isn’t Takasaki a city not too far from here?’

The grey-haired Custodian bowed his head. ‘A thousand pardons!’ he exclaimed. ‘A brief letter, a few truncated explanations, and I imagine you are an instant expert on our thirty-million-year history. My dotage hovers but a step away… In the Takasaki region lie a number of volcanoes of which Mount Haruna is one of the more famous. At the base of this still-smouldering giant, thousands of metres below the surface, lies the city of Madonast. Shrouded in an unfathomable energy field, the technological marvels of our forefathers sleep, unaware that there are those who plot to shatter their eternal peace.’

The author has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work