Page 97 of The Lost Future of Pepperharrow

The warden stamped back in then, by himself this time. ‘Aha. You must be Mr Nishi?’

‘That’s right, sir.’ The guard bowed. ‘Is the warden …?’ His eyes flicked out to the side gate through which the Kabato warden had not returned, and then, just for a skitter of a second, back to Mori.

‘Yes.’ The warden sounded weary. ‘And while is it very proper and socially responsible and upstanding and so forth, I do wish I weren’t obliged to shoot people in front of my favourite view. Puts one off. Anyway. Right.’ He studied Mori, curious and wary together, then glanced around the emptying courtyard and the men holding Takiko’s teacups. In a gesture of real decency Takiko had not expected, the Abashiri guards had taken over from the Kabato ones without a murmur. ‘Prisoners all tucked up, gentlemen?’

There was a murmured chorus of yes-sirs.

‘Well – up to the tower, then. I think you fellows deserve to drink your tea in the warm. Miss Tsuru will look after you excellently.’

Takiko went up with them and made another round of tea. More wood went on the fire, and soon the warden’s office was full of the animal smell of damp fur drying, and sweat. Dr Fujiwara had come up to look at the Kabato men, several of whom had frostbite. When the warden took a cup, he paused and massaged his temple with the hot rim, wincing.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ she murmured, half to cover over the thud of her own pulse in the long vein in her neck. It was so hard she was sure they could all see it.

‘Oh, I’m fine, the splatter missed me rather,’ he said. ‘Although I think I might be dying of a brain tumour. You’re all swimming in sparkly lights.’

‘You need glasses,’ Mori said.

‘Sorry?’ The warden frowned. And then, as if a bird had spoken to him, he looked to the kind guard for translation. ‘What did he say?’

‘You need glasses,’ Mori repeated. ‘It’s not a tumour. You have headaches because your eyes are straining.’

‘What?’ the warden said slowly. ‘But I can see.’

Mori had already lost interest. He looked at the kind guard and handed over a tiny paper crane, which he’d made from a scrap of paper he’d picked up from the desk. The guard laughed gently.

‘Tsuru, that’s right. There you are, miss, I expect that’s for you.’

She took it gradually. She couldn’t tell if it was just that some half-wakeful part of his mind had put together the word and the meaning, or if it was the closest he could come to hello in front of everyone. She tucked it into the top of her belt. The warden was still staring at him.

‘My dear fellow, are you serious?’

‘Oh,’ the guard said suddenly, and produced a pair of spectacles. ‘He gave me these ages ago, said to keep them. I had no idea what he was on about at the time, but, you know. You get to trust him. Must be for you.’

The warden took them slowly, put them on, and read a note he had written on the back of his hand. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

‘I think,’ the warden said finally, ‘that we all deserve something a bit stronger than tea.’ He was watching Mori still, rather than the room generally. ‘And I think we can afford to unchain this gentleman, just for a few minutes.’

After perhaps half an hour, the courtyard below was as still and quiet as it had been this morning, and the snow began to cover over the tracks. Sitting still with wine and a fire, and looking out at the white gatehouse and its little lights, the whole thing felt like Christmas.

A bell on the kind guard’s watch dinged. Everyone looked around, except Mori, who had his hands flat on the floor as if it was moving.

‘Ah,’ said the warden. ‘That means a new dose?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the guard. He looked uncomfortable, but he took a neat medicine box from his pack. Out of it came a delicate vial, and a syringe. Mori’s arm was already a mess of needle scars. He frowned when the needle went in, but then, horribly, his expression faded down to nothing, and his focus moved a thousand miles somewhere beyond the floor.

Dr Fujiwara pursed his lips and held Mori’s wrist, looking to one side while he counted. Despite his seriousness, his purple necktie made him look festive. Before enough time had passed for him to have taken any kind of average, his eyebrows lifted, but he seemed not to see the point in saying anything to the warden, who was conscientiously ignoring him.

Takiko couldn’t watch any more. ‘What is that stuff ?’ she asked.

‘Oh, it’s clever. Chinese,’ Mori’s guard said, with muted cheer. ‘It makes him remember better. That’s what he calls it, remembering, but forwards instead of back. Only there’s quite a lot more future than past, it looks like, and – well, lately, I don’t know if he can tell what did happen from what might have, or what could happen from what is. Here and now looks a bit remote in all that. I think.’ His eyes flickered back to Mori, who still hadn’t moved.

‘He’s getting worse,’ someone remarked.

‘It’s the same dose,’ his guard murmured.

‘Yeah, but he’s getting worse.’

‘Can I see that?’ Dr Fujiwara said, holding his hand out for the case. When Mori’s guard gave it to him, he took out one of the glass vials. The label was in dense Chinese. He frowned. ‘This is for patients with hysterical disorders.’