The Arrival
Silas
Blake had returned to his
Eyes opened and slowly, focused upon the white ceiling above his head, inside of which a tiny man was tapping away with a hammer. Silas Blake sat up on the brown leather couch and looked about the room, he was home, still dressed in grey jacket and trousers, white shirt, and Chelsea boots. Everything was as it should be, nothing was out of place.
64
Television,
telephone upon the small oak occasional table, the sound system, his collection
of CD’s and vinyl records, his writing bureau with its brown leather desk
blotter and other numerous pieces of deskanalia, including three dip pens and
two ink wells. Table lamps, various prints hung on the wall including Turner’s
Fighting Temeraire. The plaster bust of Napoleon Bonaparte sat looking at him
from a shelf in the recess in the wall, on the shelf down his 19th
century writing slope. He was glad to find himself still in the lounge of his
home, sitting there on the edge of the couch he felt tired and drained, wondering
what had happened. Only two things were missing, his laptop, and computer! Slowly
he rose to his feet and went over to the window to look out. It came as a shock
to him, but one which many before him have experienced. For as he pulled on the
blinds, instead of gazing out upon the houses of St. Katherine Place, Blake was
met with a view not exactly alien to him, but one that shouldn’t be as it was.
Nor should he be there at all, and it was with that realisation that panic set
in, not that he was open to panic, but on this occasion…… He spun round from
the window, his pulse was racing and sweat broke out upon his brow. Here he was
in his very own home, yet he was here, in The Village….. how was this possible? Checking
his desk calendar it read Tuesday the 15th of May, if correct that
meant it had been only a week since the survey mission…… no it couldn’t be, it
just wasn’t possible. Yet through the window, the picturesque view of the Italianate
Village told him otherwise. He opened the French door and stood on a small
balcony, in the morning sunshine of The Village.
Leaving his cottage he went out into
The Village, no longer over grown as it was the last time he was there, but now
standing in beautiful pristine condition and not a sign of decay anywhere. The
candy coloured cottages of his row, all without broken windows and doors, not a
slate missing from their roofs. Boxed hedges all neatly trimmed. The
From his lofty position Blake could see all
around The Village, which had been put through an extensive period of
restoration. Paths cleared, roads re-tarmaced, steps reset, the ‘Free Sea’
cleared of it’s once slime and dead leaves and now filled with blue clear
water, as was the stone triangular outdoor swimming pool. The Village looked so
quiet and perfect, too quiet in fact. It was a cliché he knew that.
65
But he could not see a solitary sign of one single person. Descending the steps of the Bell Tower Blake’s next point of call would be the Green Dome, which he knew to be the residence of Number 2, Chairman of The Village and the one person who could give answers to his growing list of questions. Down the path he marched, across the square, across the street, up the steps, he couldn’t miss it. However, walking under the double arched porch, he found the white door of the Green Dome was secured against him. Pulling a couple of times on the black wrought iron bell pull to the right of the door, brought a negative response, it looked like he would have to wait. From the right side of the Green Dome’s balcony, stone steps wound their way to the road below. Blake descended these steps and bumped into a gardener, a man of medium height and bald as a coot, dressed in brown overalls, he was busy tending a flower border, pulling out the old plants and planting new ones.
“Here, watch what you’re doing!” the
gardener exclaimed.
Blake had accidentally upset a crate
of plants.
“Sorry, how long have you been here?” Blake
asked.
The gardener stood up slowly and thought
for a moment before replying “About twenty minutes sir.”
“No I, I err didn’t mean that, I meant how
long have you lived here in The Village?” Blake asked.
“Longer than I care to remember sir, my
father was here before me” returned the gardener.
“You
were born in The Village?” queried the Prisoner, becoming more confused by the
minute.
“Where else? This is where I live” said the
gardener “The Village having been my home for the past …….”
“The past week?” Blake suggested.
“I’m sorry sir?” The gardener said looking
quizzically at the new arrival.
“I myself was here in The Village not more
than a week ago, the place was over grown then, the place had long fallen into
dilapidation and dereliction.”
“What’s that sir? Let The Village get
overgrown! Oh no sir the grounds are tended to every day, not even the woods
are allowed to get over grown in most places. We horticulturalists take pride
in our work. More then me’ jobs worth to let things get overgrown!” the
gardener said with indignation.
“What’s the date today?”
The Gardener thought for a moment, it was
during this moment that Blake noticed the black circular badge pinned to the
man’s brown overalls. It had a white canopied penny farthing design upon the
badge and in the penny wheel the red Numeral 38.
“Tuesday May fifteenth sir” replied the
gardener.
“You’re sure, you couldn’t be mistaken?” Blake
asked
“Why no sir, two days ago was my birthday that was on the thirteenth so today must be the fifteenth” retorted the gardener.
66
Blake
couldn’t take this in, he was stunned “It can’t be, it just can’t
be, its not possible not in so short a space of time. Months possibly, a year
or so yes, but certainly not in the space of ….. a week!”
“What did you say sir, are you alright
sir?” asked the gardener, somewhat concerned “you seem to have had a nasty
shock!”
As Blake wound his way down along the path,
the gardener shrugged his shoulders and returned to his work without giving the
man a second glance. He stood in the road at the bottom of the steps, to his
left was a small stone pantiled loggia, inside of which was the golden statue
of Buddha. Opposite were steps leading down to a narrow cobbled path. He took
to the road which ran passed the top of the stone bandstand and a stone wall.
On his right a rock face atop of which were a variety of cottages large and
small. There came a bend in the road, an arch in the wall and turquoise
coloured gates opposite, with steps which led up to a grand looking mansion.
Past the bend in the road came the elaborate balcony of the Gloriette, the back
of which was not as elaborate as its façade. Then came the café where a middle
aged waitress dressed in a black dress and white frilly apron was setting out
the canopied tables on the patio, a gardener was watering plants in terracotta
pots with a hose pipe.
“We’ll be open in a minute” the waitress
told him.
Blake noticed that she, like the gardener,
was wearing a black badge with white canopied Penny Farthing upon it, its red
numeral denoting the Number 243. He sat down at one of the vacant tables, there
seemed little point in doing otherwise, well for the moment anyway.
“What can I get you sir?” asked the
waitress, note pad and pencil in hand.
“Coffee please” he said.
“Anything to eat? Full English is it, toast
or maybe just a croissant?” the waitress suggested.
“No nothing to eat, just the coffee.”
The waitress disappeared into the café but
returned in a few moments carrying a tea tray with a cup of black coffee, milk
jug and sugar bowl and placed the items upon the table in front of her early
morning customer.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of your custom
at the café before sir. You’re new here aren’t you, have you just arrived?”
asked the waitress
“I’ve been here before, in what appears to
have been less affluent days” he said, adding two sugar lumps to his black
coffee.
The waitress made a note upon her pad.
“What did you write down?”
“Black with two sugars, just for future
reference” replied the waitress with a smile.
“Why would you want to do that?”
67
“I
like to remember the tastes of our regular customers sir, it
makes
for a better service. That will be…..” smiled the waitress.
“……Four credit units” Blake suggested.
The waitress was taken aback for a moment “Yes
sir, but I was going to say that seeing as you are a new arrival you can pay me
later.”
“Is the phone box still around the corner?”
Blake asked, finishing his coffee.
“Yes sir” replied the waitress.
He rose from his table and set off around
the corner, leaving behind him a slightly bewildered waitress, who took a
mobile phone from the pocket of her apron and dialled a single number before
speaking.
The phone kiosk was just as it had
been, but now like The Village, in pristine condition, a wooden structure with
a red and white canopy. A notice read ‘for information lift and press’ He
lifted the blue ‘L’ shaped cordless telephone and pressed the silver button.
“Number please” asked a cheery female
voice.
“Isn’t this an automatic exchange?” asked
the Prisoner.
“Your
number please” repeated the operator.
“02078593120” said the Prisoner.
“I’m sorry but that number is not
recognised” the operator said.
“Not recognised? Please check again” he
asked.
“I’m sorry, that number is not recognised”
returned the operator after a few moments.
“It’s the number I want” he told the
operator.
“But is it your number?”
“My
number, oh I haven’t got a number.”
“No number, no call” said the operator.
The telephone went dead, Blake replaced it
on the wooden shelf and walked away.
Opposite was the red and blue painted stage
coach set upon a small paved patio and there standing by a tree was the
electronic ‘Free Information’ board. Standing before it Blake made a study of
the ‘Map of Your Village’ upon which his eyes settled on the image of the Green
Dome. Then casting his eyes over the two banks of multiple black buttons, each
indicating a different white number, except for any kind of numerals containing
the numeral ‘7’ he selected ‘Taxi Rank’ and pressed the button and instantly
with a squeal of tyres, a white Mini Moke with a candy striped canopy drew up
beside the Information board.
“Where to sir?” asked the taxi driver, a
pretty blonde haired girl in a white cap and orange and white striped jersey,
the Penny Farthing badge denoting the Number 22.
“The Green Dome” Blake told the driver,
climbing into the front seat beside the driver.
The taxi driver engaged first gear and the taxi pulled away smoothly, but not in the direction which the Prisoner had expected. The route took them passed the Town Hall and down the hill towards the old peoples home where the taxi turned round and returned back up the hill, taking the right fork, passed the pink pavilion and round the statue of Hercules back round and up the road passed the Town Hall, up the road and through a huge yellow and white arch.
68
“I said I wanted to go to the Green Dome” he
said gruffly.
“Yes sir and that is where I am taking you”
replied the girl, with a sweet smile.
The tree lined road ahead wound round
passed the stone balustrade of a large pond, winding up and down until it
joined the main street leading into The Village.
“Are you giving me the guided tour, or are
you just deliberately taking the longer scenic route?” Blake asked.
The girl turned her head towards him and
smiled.
“I bet you couldn’t take me to the nearest
town could you?” he asked as the taxi followed the road through an archway.
“Oh no we’re only the local service”
returned the girl, still smiling.
“I knew you would say that” he replied
feeling satisfied.
The taxi sped through the second archway
and came to a stop at the foot of the stone steps.
“Say what sir?” asked the taxi driver,
pulling on the handbrake “we’re here sir.”
“That you are only the local service’ he
returned stepping out of the taxi.
“That will be …..”
“…. Two credit units?”
The girl taxi driver looked startled at her
passenger “Oh well, pay me next time.”
Blake stood in the road and watched the
taxi drive off before turning his attention to the imposing structure of the Green
Dome above him. Having climbed the steps for a second time that morning he stood
at the white door of the Green Dome. This time the door opened automatically
for him and he crossed the threshold into the small foyer beyond where a smartly
dressed butler stood waiting. He was tall this butler, bald-headed, dressed in
a dark two piece suit, white shirt, dark
blue tie and highly polished black shoes. There was nothing really
extraordinary about him.
“I’m here to see Number Two” Blake said as
he approached the centre table.
“That’s alright, he’s been waiting to meet
you all morning” he said in his gruff voice. “His nibs instructed me to have
breakfast prepared for your arrival. If you would like to step this way” returned
the butler doing his best to be and sound polite, and with a slight bow turned
and opened the French doors behind him.
Leading the way through a pair of steel doors which opened automatically, the Butler stopped at the top of a ramp with Blake about to enter, but was stopped by the butler.
69
“A gentleman to see you.”
“Who is it?” asked the man sat behind a
curved desk.
“What’s your number?” the butler asked.
“I
haven’t got a number!” Blake replied.
“No of course you wouldn’t have, not yet!
Sorry Two, he hasn’t got a number, on the account that he’s only just got here.”
The man sitting in the chair looked up from
the file he had been reading, and smiled “Very well, send him in.”
“Alright, you can go in now” the butler
instructed.
Blake marched smartly down the ramp and
into the domed chamber of Number 2’s office.
The butler withdrew and the pair of steel
doors closed behind him.
The office was just as he remembered it
only now redecorated. The Penny Farthing bicycle was still free standing and the
pair of lava lamps{the one above the other} were switched on and the
perpetually moving wax inside reminded him of……… The black spherical chair
behind the curved desk slowly revolved round, sitting in it was a man in his mid
to late thirties, with black curly hair. Dressed in a double breasted dark blue
blazer, roll neck jersey, grey flannel trousers. About his neck was the dark
blue, white and yellow striped old school scarf, in his hand a furled umbrella
shooting stick.
“There was a hole in your dome the last
time I was here, it’s been repaired, and you have been redecorating” Blake observed.
“Really!?” Number 2 said from the comfort
of his chair.
“How did you do it?” asked Blake pausing by
the lava lamps.
“Do what?”
“This,
all of this, how did you manage it in so short a time?” his shouts echoing round the dome.
“You’re confused, only to be
expected. The Village, it’s always been here, its wonders to perform” smiled Number
2.
Blake turned to face the man sitting in his
chair and looked him sternly in the eye.
“You are Number Two Chairman of The Village,
and I know all about The Village. Its a place where people turn up, people who have
a certain type of information, as well as people who know too much or too
little, people who cannot be left around.”
“Just like you, you mean?” returned Number
2.
At that moment the pair of steel doors opened and the butler entered pushing a breakfast trolley down the ramp. A small round table suddenly raised itself through a hole which appeared in the floor and upon which the butler set out the breakfast things. Pots of both tea and coffee, two cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl, a rack of toast, butter, marmalade, and a plate covered by a stainless steel cover which the butler removed, revealing a full-English breakfast and smiled at Blake “I didn’t know whether you liked black pudding, but I added it anyway.”
“Don’t I get any breakfast?” Number 2 asked.
70
The butler nudged Blake with his elbow
“Don’t let him fool you. He
had
his breakfast over an hour ago.”
“Then it must be time for elevenses”
Number 2 remarked.
“Elevenses, listen to him” said the butler
consulting his pocket watch “it’s barely
“Yes that will be all, for now” said Number
2 watching the butler who was about to leave.
“Don’t forget you have a meeting with the
Town Council this afternoon, it is logged in your computer events diary’ the butler
reminded him.
“Yes, thank you.”
“And The Village Festival Committee have
requested an interview with you for later today” the butler told him.
“Yes by all means, thank you” retorted Number
2.
“Shall I tell them
“What? Oh anything you like” returned Number
2 wearily.
“Just as you say, and I suggest that you do
not forget your scarf and umbrella shooting stick like you did the last time” returned
the butler.
“No I won’t forget!” retorted Number 2.
The butler smiled “Enjoy your breakfast”
and turned pushing the empty breakfast trolley across the floor and back up the
ramp and out through the opening steel doors.
“Excellent man that. But there are times
when I wonder who’s the boss here! Now to business, oh do help yourself to
breakfast” Number 2 offered.
“I’m not hungry, so you can forget the pleasantries”
Blake snapped.
“Oh dear, and after my butler had gone to
all the trouble of preparing it, he will be disappointed” said Number 2.
“You could always eat it for me, and save
him the disappointment.”
“That would be a deception!”
“I would imagine that people here are
used to that sort of thing. You see I know all about The Village and I know all
about you!” barked
Blake leaning across the desk at the man sitting in the chair.
“You mean you’ve read my file? I’ve
certainly read yours” began Number 2 picking up the black file from his desk
“and I know all there is
to know about you. Well almost everything, from your date of birth
71
“Which demonstrates what?”
“That we know decidedly more about you,
than you know about The Village, in fact you know only a fraction and you don’t
know anything about me because we have never met before, I would have
remembered. However let me assure you that we do know all about you my friend”
returned Number 2 with a wry smile.
“You will learn very quickly, that I am not
your friend!” snapped Blake.
“No not yet, but perhaps we will become
friends during the time you are with us” Number 2 smiled.
“I have no intention of being with you, but I do have several
questions, questions to which I should like answers if that is not too painful
for you. First why have I been brought here?” he barked, his voice echoing
around the chamber.
Number 2 rose up out of his chair, poured
himself a cup of tea, added milk and two lumps of sugar and helped himself to a
slice of buttered toast before returning to his desk.
“My dear fellow of course, you have every
right to feel aggrieved, after all they have taken quite a liberty. You were
brought here on the decision made by other people and for protection” Number 2
answered, slowly sipping his tea.
“What people, for whose protection, theirs
or mine?” Blake snapped, pacing the chamber.
“Why yours of course” returned Number 2 “believe
me I can understand, but try to see it from their point of view. With the
certain knowledge and information you now have in your possession it has become
impossible to leave you at large so to speak. You don’t realise what a hot
property you have become.”
“You
know where my loyalties lie” Blake shouted “I was on a fortnights leave…”
“And so you are here, and we have to be
sure don’t you see?!” returned Number 2 with a knowing smile “people change so
do
loyalties
and they have to be sure” retorted Number 2.
“By having me brought here?”
“Better
to be safe than sorry” retorted Number 2.
Blake helped himself to a cup of tea and added two teaspoons of sugar, then standing in front of the desk staring at Number 2 he stirred and sipped his tea.
Number 2 munched on a piece of buttered
toast.
“Having read my file, don’t you think that they may have made a mistake?” asked
Blake with confidence and a sip of tea.
“Mistake?” queried Number 2, the file in
question upon his desk.
“Might I not be a danger to yourself and
this Village of yours?”
“It a risk I freely admit that, but the same
can be said of anyone brought here. Now all we want is for you to be happy, try
to settle down, join in with the community spirit. There are opportunities here
for the right man.” offered Number 2.
72
“Me for example?”
“Perhaps, if you cooperate and tell us what
we want to know” returned Number 2.
“Well there had to be a catch didn’t
there.”
“We know that you secretly made a copy of The
Village file, together with all those photographs, we want to know where you
put them. Now that’s not much to ask is it?” asked Number 2 rising again from his
chair.
“I’ve nothing to say, is that clear
absolutely nothing, I will not be.....
“Stop! I do not wish to hear it, besides
it’s hardly original!” retorted Number 2.
“You won’t hold me” Blake promised.
“Same old, same old. I suppose I’m to say won’t
we, let me show you that we will” and then I take you in a helicopter tour of The
Village. Down at the Old People’s Home I tell you that you’re looked after for
as long as you live. Is that how it goes?”
“You mean I’m to be a prisoner for as long
as I live here?”
“That all depends upon you, your attitude
to The Village and whether or not you give up that which we seek” Number 2
offered.
“I don’t usually make deals, but I’ll make
an exception in this case. You release me from The Village and I’ll make sure
that its file and photographs never see the light of day again” was his offer.
Number 2 began to laugh “We release you from The Village, and you will bury the file forever, that’s your
deal, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.”
“What’s so amusing, it’s the best deal
you’ll get” retorted the Prisoner.
“You’re so amusing Number Six.”
“What did you call me?”
“Six, Number Six.”
“I have a name, Blake, Silas Blake.”
“Not here old boy, you should know that names are not used
here” 2 told him.
“I am
not a number I am a person” retorted Number 6.
“That’s hardly original either, but then I
suppose it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other” returned Number 2 “I’ll bid
you a good day.”
The interview clearly over, the Prisoner
walked up the ramp and up to the opening steel doors at which he paused and
turned.
Number 2 had picked up his mobile phone and was recording a message. “Report on Number Six, re normal classification. Subject arrived today and showed shock symptoms, but has not then followed the usual accepted behaviour pattern, this can be put down to his pre knowledge of The Village and which will prove to make him difficult. Although he is aggressive and has been uncooperative, he has not yet attempted to escape, but this can only be a question of time. Here for his own protection does not automatically make him important, only the information in his head. However no extreme measures are to be used yet.”
73
Now a prisoner, Blake, having been classified as Number 6, marched through the open steel doors, out of the Green Dome and into The Village. Returning to his cottage he paused by a loudspeaker mounted under a candy striped canopy upon a black and white striped pole.
“Good morning, good morning’ began the
cheery female voice ‘the good news is that the fine spell of weather will
continue for another month. Here is a warning, there is the threat of intermittent
showers later in the day. Ice cream is now on sale, flavour of the day is
chocolate.”
The speaker fell silent and Number 6
continued on his way, up the steps and back to his cottage. The music of the
brass band could be heard playing the Radetski March. Outside the door of his
cottage a sign had been erected, white lettering on a light blue background mounted
underneath a candy striped canopy, upon a black and white striped pole ‘6
Private.’ The door of his cottage opened automatically for him, accompanied
with an electric hum. Number 6 turned from the open doorway and hurried down the
steps, he had read about The Village, even been here in less affluent times,
but now he was a prisoner of the village and he wanted none of it. No one had
ever escaped from The Village well he vowed to be the first!
The Village was now busy with its citizens,
who either attended the regular brass band concert or promenaded around the
central piazza where an Admiral was busy playing with his plastic boat in the
‘Free Sea’. Gardeners tended the flower beds, taxis plied their trade, cyclists
and pedestrians were everywhere. Cyclists riding shopper bicycles with candy
striped canopies! An electrics truck drove slowly past, obviously not an
emergency, as in an emergency ‘they’ walk!
“Beautiful day” saluted two citizens as
they passed by.
Number 6 took no notice, only the path which led up into the woods where he dodged behind bushes to avoid being seen by a passing taxi and worse evading the white membranic sphere which slowly bounded past. There were several paths through the woods the prisoner could take, along the Mangrove walk was one. Another led to the cliffs, atop of which the Prisoner now stood looking out over the open sands of the estuary below. Walking along the cliffs Number 6 was looking for a way down, but found the structure of what seemed to be a lighthouse but without the light! Below this on the beach was The Village graveyard, complete with crosses and headstones some of which tilted this way and that in the sand. Descending the cliffs he stood amid the headstones which only denoted the number of each of the dead lying in their graves; 11, 73, 108, 8, 48, 86, 12, 14, 66.
In the Control Room the Supervisor Number 28 was watching the Prisoner’s progress upon the large wall screen, he smiled to himself as he watch him make his way from the graveyard out across the sand of the estuary and moving away from the village. He picked up an ‘L’ shaped telephone.
74
“Now approaching outer zone on foot, Number
Six, I repeat Number Six. Orange alert, orange alert.”
From somewhere beneath the waves the white
membrane of the Guardian was released from its containment area. Floating
upwards, its shape ever distorted by the water pressure, breaking through the
surface of the sea it skimmed across the surface and through the waves towards
the open estuary. The sound emanating from the Guardian, was a cross between the
sound of an aqualung, a bicycle pump, and Gregorian chant!
Number 6 was making good progress, but was
surprised that they had not sent anyone or thing in pursuit of him, after all there
were cameras everywhere. So with no sign of any one in pursuit he pressed on,
in an unknown direction and without knowing how far he would get. Then there it
was, rolling and bounding across the sand ahead of him, the white membranic
mass of the Guardian which was getting closer and closer. No wonder they had
sent no one in pursuit. He had faced this thing before, and knew what it was
capable of. Now he was unarmed and with no cover to hide behind. But there were
the cliffs which he now ran towards and began to scale. The Guardian gave chase,
rolling and then hitting a rock, suddenly bounded into the air towards its
intended prey emanating a blood curdling roar. It missed its prey, and floated
back down to the beach where it stood agitated at the base of the cliffs. Yet
everything comes to “it” that waits. And pride comes before a fall. And so it
was that a loose rock gave way under Number 6’s right hand, his footing gave
way and he fell backwards to the rocks and sand below.
In his Control Room the Supervisor observed on the large wall screen what had taken place. The order to deactivate Rover given, and an ambulance was immediately despatched to the area. He watched the Guardian as it slowly backed away, as from out of the distance another white shape was emerging across the sand. Number 6 heard the high pitched sound of a siren, as a white Mini-Moke approached, towing behind it a canopied Red Cross trailer, speeding across the sand towards the body lying at the foot of the cliffs. As the ambulance neared its objective, the siren was switched off, leaving the electric powered vehicle practically silent. The ambulance came to a stop, two male medics got out and carried a blanket and stretcher over to the unmoving body of the Prisoner, over which one of the medics bent and spoke.
“You’ll be alright now, don’t try to move
we’ll take care of you, can you hear me?”
But Number 6 could not reply, he could not move as blackness came over him like a dark shadow, and unconsciousness engulfed him.
75
No comments:
Post a Comment