The Worm King Read online

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Lord Brown.

  ‘So what do you reckon was the first city then?’ asked Zelda.

  ‘Eridu. Beween 5400BC and 2000BC nearly a dozen little cities sprung up in southern Iraq, which at the time was called Mesopotamia. They were all constantly at war with each other, and Eridu was the first one to officially make it to city-size. Cities like Uruk, Ur, and Eridu rose and fell and were just piles of rubble by the time the Romans came on the scene. At various stages these places had up to 50,000 people each. The biggest, by far, ended up being Babylon, which was eighty kilometers south of where Baghdad stands today. Sargon of Akkad created the world’s first empire from Babylonia in 2350BC, covering most of Iraq and Israel and Syria, and parts of Turkey and Iran. Babylon was the first city to pass 200,000 people, which would’ve made it about the same size as Hobart these days.’

  Āmiria felt this was getting off track. She’d been to Hobart once, and somehow didn’t think it was likely to become the new Jericho. ‘So did Sargon the Akkad—’

  ‘Sargon of Akkad.’

  ‘Did this Sargon come up with anything more useful than bricks?’

  Lord Brown paused, considering. ‘Writing?’ Nobody replied so he continued. ‘Once everyone started living in cities, they found divvying-up the workers and distributing the food became a lot more complicated, so they invented writing. Right back as far as 3500BC, the Arcadians were using writing in Mesopotamia to keep track of inventories and whatnot. It was a gradual process of course, starting with scratchy lines going in all directions, but they probably snuck in just before the Egyptians and Indians with the writing.’

  Āmiria folded her arms, unconvinced. She could write already and it’d been shit-all use in the last few weeks.

  Lord Brown tried again. ‘The wheel? The Mesopotamians probably invented the wheel. Pictures of wheels first date to 3400BC in Uruk in the south of Iraq. The oldest actual wheel anyone’s found was in a marsh in Slovenia dated to 3200BC. It’s made of ash and oak. A hundred years after that, wheels began to appear all over southern Germany and Switzerland. The theory is, the Mesopotamians invented the wheel and exported the idea north where people around the Black sea and Turkey and up as far up as the Russian steppes did the actual wheel-making and developmental work per se.’

  ‘We do need wheels,’ said Āmiria thoughtfully.

  Zelda tapped her finger on the table. ‘I know someone who has a bus?’

  ‘Who?’ Lord Brown asked.

  ‘Jerry someone-or-other. A school bus driver. He lives down the end of this street. The bus is awfully old and he keeps it behind his house and fixes it himself, I heard. I’m not sure if they even let him work anymore, but I saw the bus was there, not long after it went dark when I was out trying to find food. Wandered down his drive by mistake. After that we heard it drive down the street a couple of times, didn’t we Davey? Not in the last few days though.’

  ‘Do you think he would consider driving us to Tamworth?’

  ‘I would’ve said no, but the funny thing is Jerry’s Turkish, which is what reminded me. And that’s why I can’t remember his last name: it’s got about fifty letters in it. I didn’t know his ancestors might’ve actually invented wheelmaking, so I suppose you never know.’

  ‘It’s worth speaking to him at least.’

  ‘It must’ve been a monster day,’ said the Hat, ‘when the first bloke came home with one. The wheel, I mean. “Bugger me, this round thing’s handy!” he would’ve said to the wife. “What’ll we call it?” She would’ve just looked at it, wondering where the hell she was going to put it in their crappy little cave, and said, “welllll . . . ”

  ‘“Okay then,” the bloke would’ve said. “I’ll call it a w’hell.” Apparently that’s how the wheel was born. It stemmed from the beginning of man’s first argument about having come home with a new toy, when he was supposed to be out working. “Hi honey. Didn’t get no antelope or nuffin today, but had some grog, and bought this off a mate. It’s like the squares your cousin Thûg uses on his cart two valleys over, but this has rounder edges and should be totally faster. Looks bitchin doesn’t it? Smoother ride too. Speaking of smooth rides, how ’bout it sweet-chops? Up for one?” You can imagine how that went down with Ĥer-Indoors!’

  Zelda shook her head. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Lord Brown. ‘I believe that’s exactly how it may’ve unfolded. We should still speak to Jerry though.’

  Jerry and his mate Ken were finishing the last of Zelda’s tuna. ‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ said Jerry. ‘But I’d rather wait till it gets light, then head south and see me sister.’ Āmiria knelt at the table holding an empty tin because there weren’t enough chairs. The label swore no dolphins had been harmed and she was tempted to lick the can but knew she’d probably cut her tongue, so made do with running a finger around the inside then sucking it.

  Zelda had taken less than an hour to fetch them and at first they were all stoked, then it became apparent the men only came for the food. Ken greedily scoffed down the last of their precious curried eggs. He played the pokies with Jerry every Friday; rain, hail or shine. Since his wife passed away four years ago he didn’t have much left apart from the pokies and occasional flutter on the nags.

  ‘I understand completely,’ said Lord Brown.

  ‘I don’t,’ Āmiria cried. The time had come to pull out all stops. The Hat told her earlier that Lord Brown was a professor, which she wasn’t sure if she even believed, but decided to run down that path anyway. ‘It’s not fair. Just before, Professor Brown was telling us how you Turks were really famous and all, and helped invent wheels. And squares, and lots of other stuff and I need to get to Tamworth to find my Daddy and you have this bus just sitting there, so it’s not fair!’ She mustered up her saddest face and rubbed the edge of her eye with the heel of her palm.

  Zelda turned in surprise to Lord Brown. ‘So you do work at a University? I work part-time at the Uni here, and thought I recognized your face from somewhere.’

  ‘Squares? Did we? That’s right, think I heard that sometime from someone else too.’ Jerry scratched his bushy, gray moustache and tried to recall where he’d heard.

  ‘A Turkish bloke invented the kebab, I know that,’ asserted the Hat. ‘It was at Gallipoli.’ Jerry looked dubious but Ken nodded in agreement.

  ‘Gallipoli certainly was a marvelous Turkish victory,’ affirmed Lord Brown. ‘But in our strategy meeting earlier, we were discussing far more ancient days. Zelda happened to mention you were Turkish, and I was telling them of the six hundred years when Turkey led the world in innovation. Turkey was the Silicon Valley of the Bronze Age, and I’m sure this is old news to you, being from that wonderful country yourself, but it cropped up when we were brainstorming for ideas on getting to Tamworth.’

  Jerry looked confused. ‘Silicon Valley, you say?’

  ‘No, Tamworth,’ corrected Āmiria, irritated.

  Ken belched and for a few unpleasant seconds the pungent waft of curried eggs overpowered the smoke from the candle and the pong of canned tuna. At least the kitchen was warmer with more people in the room.

  Lord Brown reached out and pulled the saucer holding the candle nearer his end of the table and straightened his back, which made him seem taller. ‘The Hittites ruled Turkey from 1700BC to 1100BC. They made enormous advances in justice and whatnot and introduced the Hittite Laws. They began using iron tools a good 1500 years before the Egyptians. But most of all, the Hittites were masters of the chariot.’

  ‘The chariot?’ blurted Jerry incredulously.

  ‘I can believe that, the way you drive,’ laughed Ken.

  ‘Oh yes. The Hittites of Turkey were famous for building and driving chariots. The golden age of chariot warfare is generally accepted as 1700BC to 1200BC, which overlaps neatly with the era of the great Hittite Kingdoms. They were outstanding charioteers, and in fact, I have read of them being described as “God’s Charioteers.”

 
‘Well I never!’

  Ken chuckled. ‘That’s right! You never bin outside Australia, and the closest you ever got to a chariot was the trots on a Saturday night.’

  ‘That may be, but now you mention it, I do remember me father saying something about Hittites one time.’

  ‘It was probably the name of a horse he had.’

  ‘It may have been in connection with Kadesh?’ prompted Lord Brown.

  ‘Could’ve been . . . who was he again?’

  ‘The Battle of Kadesh was in 1274BC. It was six thousand chariots and forty thousand men, going hammer and tongs: the Hittites against the Egyptians. Kadesh is a town in Syria and the Egyptians were getting antsy about the Hittites moving south and pinching their territory, so the Egyptian Pharaoh Ramses II rode north with four divisions of infantry and two thousand chariots, to kick some Hittite arse, so to speak. It was the biggest chariot battle to ever take place. And all this happened only about fifteen years after Moses took his people out of the slave industry around Cairo and those other pyramidy spots, which is generally recognized as 1291BC.’

  ‘Who won? asked Āmiria.

  ‘At Kadesh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The Hittites initially caught the Egyptians off guard and cut right through their lines then overrun their main camp. They’d developed a much heavier chariot than the Egyptians and it proved far more successful. It carried three men, rather the two on the Egyptian ones, and could be used to smash into opposing troops and fight hand-to-hand, as well as from a distance. The Egyptian chariots were lighter and really only mobile firing platforms for their archers. Anyway, while the Hittites were stopping to loot the Egyptian camp, Ramses made a comeback and forced the Hittites up against the nearby Orontes River, where many unfortunately drowned.’

  ‘Looting! That’d be right,’ guffawed Ken.

  ‘Overall they called it a draw. But Ramses went straight back to Egypt and the Hittites hung onto Kadesh, so to my way of thinking the Hittites were clear winners on the day.’

  The candle had almost spluttered out, so Zelda fetched another from the cupboard above the sink. ‘Only two left after this, so we better put it out soon and have a break.’

  Jerry shuffled in his seat and drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I suppose Tamworth isn’t that far. Especially if you’re happy to go while it’s still dark, then I could head down and see Jean after that.’

  ‘Jean?’ said Lord Brown.

  ‘Yep, that’s me sister. She lives in Katoomba.’

  ‘How’re we going to get past that mob of Aborigines, what’re blocking the highway north?’ asked Ken.

  Āmiria stood, then leant on the table, looking at them each one by one. ‘We’ll go straight through the cunts.’

  WEATHER BADGE DIARY

  Mrs Sheng and Mr Snow had a big argument. We have to stay with the cook while our room is being done up. He made a sausage casserole for our last meal and wears a dress which is strange. Krystal thinks it is a wedding dress that has been cut really short.

  Natasha

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Melanie

  ‘Shush!! Quiet!’ Winston froze. The desperate whisper came from behind and to his left. ‘Don’t move. There’s snakes everywhere!’

  So that really had been one earlier.

  ‘Where are you?’ he replied, unsuccessfully trying to keep his voice down.

  ‘Quiet! The lights from the hotel are attracting insects and rats which are attracting the snakes. I think one might’ve just nipped me on the calf. Can you give me a hand?’ She sounded less scared than someone ort to be, laying in the dark, getting mauled by snakes.

  ‘I can’t see,’ he whispered.

  ‘Wait a sec.’ Winston heard her scraping across rough ground, then a tiny flame erupted barely centimeters from his face. ‘I’ve got two lighters left.’ She was younger than she’d sounded, maybe in her twenties but it was hard to tell with so much dirt caking her face. They lay on concrete, or a road, covered with a thick layer of ashy muck which he’d initially assumed must be an abandoned garden. The flame flickered off.

  After scarpering from Harelip he had covered very little distance before deciding to go to ground. Even in his terror, he knew running fast in dark was bound to end badly. He’d also wanted to wait to ascertain whether the nutcase had actually gone. By then, the screaming had ceased, so he wasn’t sure exactly where Harelip was, so just waited. And waited. There’d been no sign of the headlight, nothing. After twenty minutes his night-vision was back up at full strength, and with concentration, he could make out the outline of the fence. But what was that shape against the fence? A tree trunk? He’d shaken his head and tried to calm down. Then the shape seemed to disappear. Was it even there in the first place? Another hour passed before Winston felt comfortable in moving back towards the fence, and on the way he’d run into the girl.

  She coughed quietly and he felt flecks of spray lightly splatter his face. ‘A few weeks back you could buy about fifty of these for a dollar. They make them in China by the zillion. Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. Now you wouldn’t swap one for a ton of gold would you? When we first got here a man at the front gate told us to shove off, or he’d shoot us. Can you believe that! But we really needed water so we came around here and my husband snuck through a hole in the fence. I don’t know how long ago it was—a long time—and he hasn’t come back. I’m so thirsty. Do you have anything I can use as a pressure bandage?’

  ‘No, sorry. Wait on, yes I do.’ He took off his jersey and shirt, then tried to rip a strip across the shirt bottom where the tail hung down, but it was against the grain of the fabric and the tear went skew-whiff immediately. He held up the tiny, torn-off triangle of material against the hotel lights, then cast it aside in frustration. After another moments contemplation he tore off the whole left arm where it joined the chest section, then put the jersey and mutilated shirt back on. Even with two singlets on underneath, it still felt considerably colder minus the shirts arm.

  ‘Whereabouts did it get you?’ The lighter clicked on and she’d swung around up-seated with her right leg pointed directly at him and the flame held down near her ankle. She had sandshoes on, with no socks, and her dress was in worse shape than Winston’s shirt, so he removed his jersey and gave it to her. The air was freezing on his bare left arm but he ignored it and focused on her leg. Despite the dirt he thought he could make out a pair of red puncture marks halfway between the ankle and knee. The skin around the punctures looked puffy, and when he touched it, she jumped, and the lighter clicked off. He wrapped the torn-off material around her calf by feel and definitely got the right spot because she gasped each time he crossed the wound. The bandage barely went around twice and he’d nothing to pin the end down so resorted to tucking it under the first wrap, which wasn’t going to hold very well and he hoped she didn’t intend moving too far.

  ‘He went in twice.’ Winston thought she was still talking about the snake and he winced. ‘First time he came back with some crushed biscuits in the bottom of a packet, and a two cabbage leaves. The cabbage leaves were the best.’ She laughed, then stopped abruptly. ‘Ben didn’t take the water bottle though! I had it! I feel so stupid. He said there’s a tap, next to rubbish skip where he got the food, so he went back in to get water. Wouldn’t let me go, because there’s some guard just inside the fence. Ben thought the guard might hear us from here, so you have to stay quiet, but it’s good to make a wee bit of noise to keep the snakes away.’

  In other words, the hotel was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, angry guards and starving poisonous reptiles. Winston recalled the Eastern Brown was prolific around Canberra and had the second-deadliest venom in the world. The snakes must be circling that fence like sharks, stopping anyone getting past.

  ‘It’s too cold for them to be really active, but they’ve gotta eat sometime I suppose, and they wouldn’t have put on enough condition this time of year to go into total hibernation, like they usually do in winter
. You can just about brush them gently out of the way but some of them are more . . . feisty. What’s your name?’

  ‘Winston. Sorry, Winston.’

  ‘Listen Winston, do you reckon you could get under the fence and try and get some water? I don’t think this bite’s too serious, but I really need a drink, or I’m gonna flake out.’

  Winston had a strong suspicion the gap in the fence her husband would’ve used was the same one he’d come through. If this were true, he’d moved in a big circle between running from the trench and finding the girl. It was a miracle he hadn’t been bitten.

  ‘I’m Melanie.’

  He screwed his eyes shut, and decided to keep them closed too, until all this went away. The situation was horrific beyond belief. If he couldn’t see anything, maybe it wouldn’t seem as bad. An eerie howl echoed nearby, then a faster yip, yip, yip sounded in reply. Something metallic clanked from the direction of the hotel. He felt himself sliding into a sickening descent, as though his body wasn’t moving but his head was caught in a swirling hurricane.

  ‘Are you alright?’ whispered Melanie. ‘Hey. Hey!’ The lighter clicked on and Winston forced his eyes open.

  He dredged up a smile. ‘I’m fine. Just catching my breath.’

  ‘Dingos,’ she explained. The lighter went off. ‘Don’t worry ’bout them. They’re more scared of you.’

  Winston hummed quietly while gently brushing a long, thin branch held out at full stretch as he shuffled slowly forwards. Very slowly forwards. The hotel lights were far enough away to be absolutely no help seeing the ground, but they still carried an ugly sharpness making them unpleasant to look at. No more than seventy meters she’d said, then he’d get to the fence, and needed to follow that until he was in line with the light at the extreme left-hand side of the hotel. The gap Ben snuck through should be right around there. Each time Winston looked directly at the hotel to take a mark, the lights made it more difficult to see his immediate surroundings. He finally saw the fence, and stopped. Then he worked his way along for what seemed like ages, until the bearing light was well to his right, so he must’ve gone past the gap. He started back, this time veering closer to the fence. Still no sign of it. He looked one way, then t’other. The hotel lights were just sufficient to make out the row of barbed on the top, which he had no chance of clambering over. He studied the fence again. Fifteen meters to his left, a vine had wrapped itself halfway up a support post, and he couldn’t see much past this. In the other direction he could see perhaps thirty meters before the fence disappeared . . .