Watson, Ian - Novel 16 (11 page)

 
          
‘A
scroll. That’s right. Of ribbon. It
is
a sort of amulet.’

 
          
Her
nails tapped the plastic. ‘Oh no it isn’t. You know what it is, and I know what
it is. There’s nothing
right
about
it, that’s for sure.’ She didn’t shrink away or seem scared. ‘How did you come
by it?’

 
          
‘I
found it.’

 
          
‘Where?’

 
          
‘It
fell off a donkey.’

 
          
She
laughed with delight. ‘Oh yes, it fell off a passing donkey - right into your
private parts!’

 
          
‘Something
like that. I didn’t know what to do with it. I was going to hide it somewhere.
It must be important, to be here in
Babylon
. Who is it important to? And why?’

 
          
‘Look,
Greek . . . What is your name, anyway?’

           
‘Alex.’

           
‘How imperial. Mine's Thessany.’ She
stuck out a hand, though not the hand holding the tape. ‘Hullo.’ How odd to
shake hands shortly after copulating nakedly, bodies hand in glove.

           
‘I don’t suppose people often swop
names here, Thessany?’

 
          
‘I
don’t imagine they do. But everything has suddenly altered for us, hasn’t it?’

 
          
‘It
needn’t.’

           
‘Oh, it must. And it has. You see,
Alex, I’m by way of being a high-born lady.’ She looked wryly amused, as though
remembering other times, other places. ‘That gives me certain expectations and
ambitions. Lots of restless yearnings! I think I’ll take a glass of wine, after
all.’

 
          
Alex
poured, into two goblets of dark-blue glass inlaid with white festoons. The
wine tasted superior.

 
          
‘I
take it that your ladyship isn’t married?’

           
‘Not quite yet.’

           
‘You will be?’

           
She nodded. ‘I suppose I must. A
married woman has more opportunities for intrigue.’

           
‘But aren’t there punishments?’

           
‘For intrigue? Failure is the
punishment.’

           
‘No, I mean for having affairs.’

           
‘Only if you poison your husband for
love of another man, or chop him up. Otherwise, that’s up to your husband. He
can thrash you if he cares to; or dares to. Alternatively you can conduct an
affair under Ishtar’s roof and protection. Mentioning no names, but it
has
happened. That can prove costly.
These old bags who do the tidying are real mnemonists. Try to pull the wool
over Ishtar’s eyes and you’ll soon find that the goddess isn’t satisfied with a
single coin. It’ll be five; and of gold.’

 
          
‘That’s
a bit corrupt!’

           
‘No it isn’t, it’s religious.
Religions always gather money. Religions sell goods: salvation, forgiveness,
blessings, victory. But who mentioned affairs? Not I, my dear Alex! I spoke of
intrigue, which is often far more interesting. So it seems, to my comparatively
unenlightened young flesh.’

 
          
Was
that a reproach? Had he failed to satisfy? Maybe the satisfactions she sought
were something else entirely.

 
          
I thought of her as Mouse, mused Alex. How
wrong can one he?

           
‘You’ll soon be married,’ he said,
‘and so you came here first.’ Yet she hadn’t been a virgin; not as he
understood virgins.

 
          
He
didn’t need to voice his query. She grinned. ‘I had a kind of affair with a
fellow when I was thirteen; I looked younger. The man in question was here
today.’

 
          
‘He
took that urchin girl!’

 
          
‘Probably
he’s still busy taking her. Yes, I had a precocious affair. Then other
interests intervened. I came here to remind myself of past sensations, soon to
be my lot again.’

 
          
‘How
was the reminder?’

 
          
‘Okay.
Quite acceptable.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘Frankly, it’s better on my own;
then my brain really schemes. But this way I can scheme other sorts of things.’

 
          
Alex
forbore to comment on her assessment of him as lover. ‘Didn’t your other, um,
lover run risks seducing a high-bred girl of thirteen?’ he asked.

 
          
How
ridiculous to call that perverted dandy a lover! Thessany’s experiences with
the pervert had undoubtedly been something quite other than a love affair.

 
          
‘Risks?
Risks are delicious.’

 
          
Thirteen
. . . When Thessany was thirteen
Babylon
had only just opened its gates; or not long
previously.

           
Presumably her parents had brought
her here, to become instantly high-bred.

           
‘Do you know who it is you’ll
marry?’

 
          
‘A
man. Never mind who.’

 
          
‘And
that man needs to ask permission from your father?’

 
          
‘Naturally.’

 
          
‘So
who is Daddy? What’s his status? Is he Inspector of Coracles - or President of
the Perfume Guild? Costermonger to the Court of Alexander? Official Procurer
of Pillows?’

 
          
Thessany
sniggered. ‘Let’s return to the intrigue at hand. If we wish to discover the
secret of this little scroll’ (which she still held on to), ‘we’ll need to keep
in touch, right? Where are you staying?’

 
          
‘An
inn called Between the Skin Shops.’ He held out his hand for the cassette, but
what she handed him instead was her empty goblet.

 
          
‘If
this little box fell out of your jockstrap in the street you could get into
fearful trouble. Or supposing some official spy searched your room; or somebody
might waylay you, pretending to be a robber. Possession of this scroll puts
you in a vulnerable position, my Alex. Whereas
I
have plenty of places where I can hide things.’

 
          
‘Why
should a spy . . . ? Oh, I see. You’re blackmailing me.’

 
          
‘Do
pour me some more wine, will you? You’re uncouth. First you bed me; now you let
me parch with thirst.’

 
          
He
refilled her goblet, then his own, of which he drank deep.

 
          
‘I
ought to toss the wretched thing in a canal.’

 
          
‘Oh
no! That wouldn’t do at all. You could be destroying Babylonian government
property.’

 
          
‘So
you’ll take charge of it, eh?’

           
Alex felt very reluctant to yield
control of the tape. To his annoyance he realized that it had become a kind of
idiot talisman for him. Other people wore mystic amulets of all sorts round
their necks; he wore a cassette tape stuffed in his waistband. In a way the
tape amounted to the same thing as an amulet. He couldn’t read any information
magnetically encoded on it; a computer tape couldn’t be decoded for another two
thousand years and more. That made it a magical object, which tied him
mystically to that distant future twentieth century which he had abandoned
either permanently or temporarily. The tape had become an irrational key to his
personal time machine. He feared to surrender it - even while yearning to
become a true Babylonian, which was another sort of surrender.

 
          
He
squared up to Thessany: ‘If you keep it, that puts
you
in a delicate position, not me! Surely you don’t want me to
have a hold over you?’

 
          
So
far she had avoided telling him her father’s name or occupation or address . .
.

 
          
‘Tush,
does the worm turn? I think I shall entrust the object to my friend Moriel, for
safekeeping and research.’

 
          
‘Who’s
Moriel?’

 
          
‘Why,
the man I was speaking about a while ago.’ The pederast! Or paedophile,
whatever he was. ‘Him? He’s
reliable?
He nearly collected a spear in his guts just recently. I want nothing to do
with a type like that.’

           
‘A type like that can be very
trustworthy and useful. He doesn’t wish certain irregularities in his conduct
highlighted. Yes, he’s ideal.’

 
          
‘He
seems the very acme of self-advertisement!’

 
          
‘Oh,
within limits. He’s also rather good at selfpreservation. Never oversteps the
bounds. Not so far! He’ll make an excellent go-between. He has all the right
instincts, finely honed. He’s a hairdresser, which gives him entree to all
kinds of circles. You’ll find his salon in the inner city, junction of
Esagila Street
and
Qasr Lane
.’ She drained her wine. ‘Let’s hasten, and
await him in the courtyard. We’ll find some quiet alley, to pass the package
ever so discreetly.’

 
          
‘I’d
rather know how to get in touch with you directly.’

 
          
‘No
doubt. The essence of a good intrigue, however, is an impeccable go-between.
Someone who can procure items of interest - rumour, scandal, secret news.
Someone with naughty connections.’

 
          
‘Maybe
Moriel has already left.’

 
          
‘I
rather doubt that.’

 
          
When
they intercepted Moriel, the hairdresser’s behaviour no longer seemed so outrageous.
His eyes looked less drugged. No doubt he had successfully discharged certain
pent-up excesses.

 
          
They
adjourned to a nearby alleyway littered with fresh turnip peelings. Thessany
negotiated. The cassette, wrapped in its cloth, was exchanged. Thessany packed
Alex off in one direction and herself went the opposite way, leaving Moriel
lingering on the spot, brooding. Alex was thus prevented from doubling back to
trail Thessany homeward, if homeward was where she was heading. He returned to
the inn, wondering how soon he would see Deborah.

 
          
In
the yard Gupta stood chatting with the landlord, a rotund, bald, squinty man
called Kamberchanian, obviously Armenian. Kamberchanian also owned the
neighbouring striptease parlour, and abominated the fulling and tanning
business on the other side of his inn. It was his ambition to buy those
premises and transform them dramatically into a costly furrier’s, thus
eradicating the smells of alkali, ash, alum, and dung which tended to invade
both of his own premises when the wind was in the wrong direction. Such odd
smells made some guests doubt the quality of cuisine at the inn, and had even
put occasional customers off his girls. These discriminating patrons of the
skin shop - the sort whom Kamberchanian forever hoped to attract - conceived
strange fancies that there was some symbolic connection between the unveiling
which the girls performed and the removal of flesh, fat, and hair from animal
skins next door but one. A spectre of mortality haunted Kamberchanian’s entertainments
and their intimate aftermaths.

 
          
All
this had emerged when mine host joined his guests for supper the previous
evening in the hostelry.

 
          
A
fanciful ambition, Kamberchanian’s! Here was the wrong part of town for a
costly furrier’s.

 
          
Gupta
made a beeline for Alex: ‘Ah, I was just gleaning some business tips. Did you
enjoy yourself?’