The Worm King Read online

  ‘They’ve been moving us from place to place to work,’ her father told Lord Brown, the Hat and Zelda. Jerry and Ken had gone to the loo, and David had settled down for a nap. ‘We were getting some slops for tucker, but now we’ve stopped working, we get less slops. Apparently one bloke from down the other end there, who we didn’t know, said he wanted to shoot through, so they just took him to the edge of town and told him to bugger off. Dunno if they even gave him any food, and I know he didn’t have a torch, so he wouldn’t a got far.’

  Lord Brown gazed around the populous. ‘What sort of work they have you doing?’

  ‘Shifting bricks off the footpath from a couple of houses that fell over. The rains got something in it, and our raincoats just bloody dissolved and it was like we all had sunburn, so we told them we weren’t going out in that no more for a while.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ agreed Zelda. ‘We noticed the rain was a bit marginal too.’

  Peanuts licked Tim’s hand. Jimmy had been much improved, and returned with Sgt Kevin, giving the boy a break from roadblock duty. ‘You might have a problem with that dog, girl,’ her father said. ‘Surprised they let it in.’

  ‘The Deacon did see it,’ confirmed Tim. ‘He asked Dad if it was staying. You should be alright.’ Tim didn’t look very confident about it though.

  Her father lowered his voice. ‘We’re supposed to do exercises twice a day before meals, or you’re not supposed to get anything to eat, but they’ll still give you something anyway. See that fūlla up on the tower? Calls himself the “Lodge Deacon”. He’s with the Masons and gives the orders and spends his whole time watching everyone. He tries to move people around if he thinks they’re causing trouble. Geoff reckons this is like being in the Big House. He did a string in Paremoremo.’ Tamati sniggered. Āmiria knew Paremoremo was a jail in Auckland, but had no idea how many months or years a “string” was.

  ‘Two days ago we noticed the sun coming through, but didn’t say nothing, because I wanted to see what they’d do.’ Her father jerked his thumb in the direction of the watchtower, and shrugged. ‘As it turned out, they hadn’t even seen it, but someone else told them, and they passed it onto us straight away. Gave us some extra kai too, so we think they’re on the level.’

  Tim looked surprised they’d known about the sun two days ago, and Tamati ruffled his hair. ‘They’re not all bad though!’ Tim blushed. ‘That right Tim? You do all the work in here anyway, don’t you?’ Tamati laughed, and the boy turned even redder.

  ‘Tamati’s right,’ her Dad continued quietly. ‘Some of them are doing a great job, but some of the others, they’re downright fucken crazy.’ Āmiria didn’t often hear him use the F-word in front of her, so he must mean really crazy.

  ‘We need to get out of here. The cops and local council have lost communication with pretty much everyone, and they don’t have the numbers themselves, so they’re getting community groups like Rotary and the Masons to help out. Now this militant faction of Rotary is virtually taken over completely, and the Masons . . . well, they’re running around like some kinda secret police.’

  Tamati glanced around furtively. ‘I got a feeling, if we stay here much longer, and this bloody weather doesn’t improve, we all going to end up in someone’s pie.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hole

  Astrid had never seen Dick Snow look so haggard. He’d walked into their room uncharacteristically stooped with disheveled hair, bags under his eyes, and obviously hadn’t been sleeping. She’d been all set to tear into him about the twins, and especially for taking so long to come see her, but after seeing Dick, that would’ve seemed downright rude.

  She didn’t feel too hot herself. Maybe it was something going around, because Francesco had a splitting headache this morning. Probably just the smell. The toilet bucket in their bathroom stank real bad, despite the rolled-up towel crammed into the door jamb which was supposed to prevent the whiff escaping.

  ‘We thought we had tracked their parents down. Unfortunately it wasn’t them. I wanted to speak to you first, before the girls arrived. We’ve still got feelers out, and are hopeful, but . . . ’ Dick shook his head sadly.

  ‘Is it getting light now?’ Francesco asked. Astrid had seen the faint glow through their grimy window, noticing it before Francesco, which she’d been particularly proud off.

  ‘We believe so. There was no sign of it today, but the other day there was definitely something there.’ He smiled weakly. ‘The bad news is, I’m sorry to say the hotel told me someone’s stolen your truck, so when you leave it’ll have to be on foot.’

  ‘On foot?!’ replied Astrid, startled.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Francesco. ‘And where is the Winston? And why has our door been locked?

  ‘I’ll speak to the Building Manager about that. I believe they insisted on the locks until they verified who you were, and I’ve only just made it back. Also for the sake of security. Things are chaos out there, I’m afraid. The hotel won’t let anyone just wander around: they’re concerned people outside are still trying to break in for food. They caught a group of them last night, and it all got rather nasty, I’m told. But don’t worry, Bob’ll be camping in the hall near your room, so no one will sneak through.’ He smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Of course, you don’t have to leave either. You can stay as long as you like. What was the other thing? The dwarf? He ran away! Do you know what was wrong with him?’ Dick frowned, puzzled. ‘Bob needed help shifting some little boxes, and I’d suggested Winston might be of use, then he simply run away. Bob thought the poor thing must’ve gone mad, with the stress and everything. Just snapped. It wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Who’s Bob?’

  ‘He does odd jobs for the hotel, and they’ve lent him to the station while I’m staying here, although for the last few days I’ve been called away. Yesterday Bob came and let me know you were here, but we were calibrating tests and I couldn’t get a lift back until today.’ Dick leant against the wall. Francesco stood by the window with his legs wide and arms folded, while Astrid sat on the bed. She felt a little snubbed not being involved with whatever the station was doing, mind you, she wouldn’t have been that easy to track down. And why would you get the shortest person within miles to help move stuff? Even if it was “little” equipment. Then again, why not? Everyone had to help out, and there’d been tension between Dick and Winston for some unknown reason right from word go, so it wasn’t inconceivable that when an unpleasant job came up, Dick might’ve mentioned Winston’s name. Probably would’ve done it unconsciously.

  ‘What’s the situation in Griffith? The concierge told me you’re with the local council there.’

  ‘The people, they are resilient. The mayor send me to find when the power will come back on, and the phones. So far I find out not very much.’

  ‘It could be a while. To be honest, I don’t think anyone here knows. How’s the fuel situation out your way? And the water?’

  Francesco shrugged, shook his head. ‘In best times is little; now is none. This why I here.’

  ‘Oh. These are troubled days, I’m afraid. Order seems to have broken down almost completely. My understanding is, the authorities are putting a game plan together for rebuilding, depending on how the environment unfolds, which is where the station comes in. That’s why it’s so good you’re here Astrid; the more hands the better. Absolutely. Anyway, we know where you are if we need you, but certainly, if you need to get back to family, or whatever you have to do, don’t hesitate. We think the twins should stay here until we’ve confirmed their parent’s whereabouts. They’ve been sharing a room with one of the chefs, which wasn’t very satisfactory, so it’s fortuitous timing he decided to return home and isn’t likely to be back. I think the girls will be much happier in here with you, but rest assured, if you have to leave they’ll be well looked after.’ For an instant Astrid saw that old weatherman confidence muscling through, with his prophecies and obfuscation shimmering like a poisoned ch
alice under the fading tan.

  Tap, tap, tap. The soft knock barely moved the door, which Dick had left ajar. He turned and opened it just enough to poke his head out, listened for a few seconds then swung it open completely, exposing a young man in hotel uniform. Dick continued listening but said nothing and the messenger was too quiet to hear. The man finished and stepped back out of sight, waiting.

  ‘There’s a slight hitch. The hotel wants to spray this wing for spiders, so we can go and wait with the girls in the cafeteria by the courtyard. Li Sheng’s looking after them in there. Apparently they’re doing the whole hotel: big huntsmen; they’ve come in because it’s colder, I suppose. Might take two hours this fellow said. Problems. Always problems.’ Dick shook his weary head.

  Astrid certainly felt for him, but guiltily elated in a way too, that they’d finally be leaving this room after god knows how long, and she’d be able to confirm the twins were alright. If they were, and she was already much relieved on that score after speaking with Dick, then she could start making her way back to Griffith. They’d have to arrange some kind of transport first of course. Walking that far obviously wasn’t an option, so surely Dick didn’t mean it about leaving on foot? And what about Winston? Why would he just run away? Actually, she’d picked up pretty clear vibes he was sort of keen on her, so why would he run off like that? It didn’t make sense. They couldn’t leave without at least trying to find him.

  ‘Wait on.’ Dick paused mid-step as they made ready to leave. ‘One of the porters told me there’s a room down the end of here that has channel six gear in it. I might make sure it’s covered over before they spray everything. That stuff can be quite corrosive. You go ahead, I won’t be long.’ He ushered them out of 237 then clicked the door closed, but didn’t do up the external lock.

  Astrid and Francesco followed the nervous porter one way down the hall, while Dick went the other. It occurred to her that huntsmen weren’t even poisonous, but it’d still be good to get rid of them.

  * * *

  After turning the corner at the end, Dick stopped. Risk a peek back? Why not. He edged his head out, as slowly as possible. No sign of them. Give them a minute anyway. He flexed his shoulders back and forth, stretching, and working the sag out. Arghhhh!

  Dick smiled, and a proper smile this time which felt good. He noticed a dark smear on the white wallpaper near the corner of the corridor. It was on his fingertip too. A smudge of pencil lead, a remnant of the dab he’d rubbed under his eyes an hour ago. Note to self: careless. When it seemed certain they weren’t returning, he retraced his steps back up the hall to room 235, the room directly next door to the bitches. He rapped his knuckle twice on the door and it opened immediately.

  Bob stood in the doorway gripping a hand-drill. It was one of those heavy, ancient models with a “U” in the middle where your arm rotated. The wood on the centre handle and knob at the end were a grainy tea color, polished smooth by years of man-sweat. The metal was all rusty-red, except for the drills spiraling leading edge, where it’d been ground to a menacing silvery curve. You didn’t need to calibrate any fucking tests on that baby to see it’s dangerous. Dick smiled at Bob. ‘Come on.’

  They crossed the threshold into 237 and Bob sniffed the air like a rodent entering a drain. Little bristles around his harelip twitched, and the bandage over his eye had gone crusty, and needed changing. Normally the smell would’ve been a concern, maybe leaving a telltale signature fragrance, but the room already stank to high heaven from what Dick imagined to be the toilet bucket in the bathroom.

  A pair of heavily-framed prints decorated the wall separating 237 and 235. Each showed a solitary Australian bushman riding across some barren, godforsaken outback landscape. Same bushman, just from a different angle in each. The artist must’ve thought by splitting it into two paintings, it’d look as though the bushman had ridden further, somehow. People really are easy to fool. Dick pulled the rooms side table along until it lay under the left-hand print, then reached up and took Hopalong Cassidy down, standing him on the carpet.

  Bob got onto the table and began drilling a hole in the wall.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Iron Age

  The cold, stinking pre-dawn of Tamworth reeked like an infestation in Lord Brown’s nostril. A great flushing was called for. A vileness of this magnitude would require a flushōid magnifiquè at the very least. Flushoidal tendencies: they’re in here somewhere, where though? Oh where, please! If he knew that, he could try and wrench them out . . . grab them by their black, scaly tails and tear them free, casting the filthy creatures asunder. The beast inside governing this CRAVING was back, drifting at the periphery of his consciousness and mostly fainter than the touch of a feather but soooo cunning. Brutal. Lord Brown knew all its tricks, and how ruthless it could be. When you least expect it—wham! He brushed angrily at the Thing above his left shoulder and jerked his head away from it, grimacing, the room spinning.

  Wiremu Ruarangi gave him a hard stare.

  A damp unpleasant waft hung, dangling, like a long-dead rat on a rope. The dull, intermittent lighting wasn’t doing much to lift spirits either. A hundred and thirty-seven? No, hundred and thirty-eight: a figure stirred beneath a blanket some forty meters distant crosswise. He needed to go for a leak. The gymnasium had that feel of a cold, oversized, badly-lit library without any books. Perhaps books secrete some soothing, yet-to-be classified elixir because in the majority of libraries, if you did toss out all the books, you would be left with just a . . . shithole, pretty much like this.

  ‘Last roll!’ called the Hat. The sound of the coins striking the wooden gym floor seemed unusually loud; an ugly, rattling clank which wouldn’t normally be heard in Two-Up. More often than not, a hundred shouting drunken yobbos drowned out the delicate symphony of the pennies. ‘Tail’s ’e wins!’ Geoff drank with gusto.

  Lord Brown took the penultimate slurp from his plastic cup. The game had begun as a minor celebration after Tamati procured two dozen bottles of beer, then rapidly degenerated into a Two-Up drinking match. Amazingly, Lord Brown, the Hat, Wiremu, Tamati, Hemi and Geoff were the only ones who could be induced to play. It was that pervading gloominess, and sense of despondency that’d settled over everyone in recent weeks. Or maybe it was because the compulsory chugging glass in the middle was half beer, and half Windowleen. Gives it that extra kick.

  Regardless, he was off the wagon. Off, off and away! Far-king-off! The reason? Hang on, they’re all lining up now. The usual suspects are never hard to find: do it to dull the pain, or get over this, or get over that. Because there’s nothing else to do.

  Or nothing to lose. Dull what pain?

  Lord Brown stared into the dirty, plastic cup. One last mouthful. It’d had a queer, metallic taint anyway. Windowleen and beer, again. You think to yourself, I’ll never touch that shit again, and here he was. Again. His hand had a tiny tremor and wobbly concentric circles rippled from the liquids rim to the centre where they cascaded into angry whorls. An awful lot has been paid for the spiraling escape this evil fluid bought. Initially, it had been a massive problem, then it’d cost him everything, and with nothing left to lose the problem resolved itself. Your classic, self-resolving spiral. Spirallis fixum. Definitely a paper in that.

  The pain you ask? It’s all around, like glue. Look at these people! Just look at them!

  ‘You alright?’ asked Wiremu.

  ‘The pain . . . ’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  He gulped the last mouthful. A hundred and thirty-nine.

  The lustre had gone off the game. No, the game had actually stopped. He blearily realized why: the beer had run out, of course. Those two dozen departed this earth remarkably quickly. Was it worth it? By crikey, I’ll say!

  ‘That was one sweet drop,’ declared the Hat

  Well, it was worth it until now. But from here on, it’ll all be downhill. The hangover tends to begin immediately when one’s acutely attuned to the cycle. The cycle of Brown. Brownis Cyclu
m. When the last drop’s imbibed, the happy anticipation factor disappears at that very instant, and depression and night terrors and leg twitches and those other horrors slowly poke up their heads and creepy, creepy back.

  ‘Some celebration,’ said Tamati glumly.

  The news yesterday that the sun maybe making a comeback should’ve been cause for celebration, but it wasn’t being interpreted like that. The brief emergence was merely a dose of harsh reality: there wouldn’t be any magical return to normal, just a desperate, touch-and-go clawing back that won’t even vaguely return anyone anywhere near close to “normal”, it’d only dump them at some forlorn spot well south of whatever normal used to be. They all knew it too: that’s why they’re so quiet. A saturating depression was seepy, seepy through the roof and dripsky down on every man, women and kiddie present.

  Lord Brown leant across, getting close enough to Wiremu’s face to make out the individual pores on his wide, flat snoz. ‘You’ve got to take your girl away from here. This is a very bad place.’ Tamati and Hemi both heard too, and glanced around, on alert.

  Wiremu’s expression didn’t change. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s dripping through.’ He pointed a finger at the roof.

  Wiremu looked up at both ends of the gym, then shook his head. ‘Outside.’ The tone suggested he’d made the most banal of statements in the world, but the eye contact made it very clear this was an order, no a mere suggestion.