Black Light by Bedford K. A

Author:Bedford, K. A.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fremantle Press
Published: 2015-11-23T05:00:00+00:00

Gordon was in his workshop, in his oft-patched and filthy overalls, surrounded by a dizzying array of bits and pieces, all of them, he would have me believe, destined to one day form part of his elusive time machine. The whole place reeked of oil and electricity, a worrying mixture. Gordon looked as if he had been there all night. His face was a smear of dark smudges. And, as ever, too many dogs leaped and barked around me. Something looked not quite right about them, though, that was hard to spot. And in my haste to get here I’d forgotten to bring them any treats.

He said, seeing the look on my face, “I’ll just get cleaned up. Be right with you.”

This took a further twenty minutes, but when he emerged from the laundry room he was clean and fresh-faced, now reeking of the better odour of degreasing oil, wiping his large, pale hands on an old rag.

As we waited for his old kettle to boil, I showed Gordon the latest note, and its envelope. He held each by corners and edges, and peered closely at every surface. “Smells the same,” he said. “What are you going to do about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s wanting money.”

The kettle boiled. Gordon set about making tea.

“Do you believe it, this business about Antony killing your father?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it, obviously. It’s just — ”

“You need to know the truth.”

“Julia’s coming home from hospital this afternoon.”

He brightened, “That’s marvellous! What a relief that must be!”

“Yes, and she’s planning to take me, and of course you’re invited, too, on a little jaunt to … ” I couldn’t finish the thought. It was still too much to face.

“The deadworld?”

“Yes,” I said. “The very idea curdles my blood.”

Gordon was more philosophical. “From Miss Templesmith’s descriptions, it doesn’t sound too horrifying.”

“Perhaps that’s exactly the problem.”

“I expect it’s practically overrun with lost soldiers,” Gordon said, staring into his tea.

“Yes.”

“Still, I’m sure you’d rather, as it were, die than visit … ”

“Quite. In any case, Julia says it’s the only way to find the truth about everything.”

Gordon paused a long moment, and blinked. He sipped his tea with great care. “The deadworld, eh?”

“She says we just have to find the records on Father and Antony — ”

“If he’s there.”

“Precisely,” I said, perhaps more bitterly than I’d intended.

Gordon put his chipped teacup down and took up the note again. “Or, of course, you could just pay this bugger the money.”

He was right. It had occurred to me that potentially I could avoid a jaunt in the deadworld by simply paying my correspondent his thousand pounds — except, where was I to lay my hands on one thousand pounds, in cash, at short notice? I had the money, but withdrawing it would most likely mean going up to my bank in the city and arranging an appointment with my bank manager, who would then have to arrange for that amount of cash to be available, and that could take some time.

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