Dr Siri Paiboun 04 (2007) - Anarchy and Old Dogs by Colin Cotterill

Author:Colin Cotterill
Format: epub
Published: 2007-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

12

THE FIRST SNEAKY MALEVOLENT SPIRIT ATTACK

As many counter-revolutionaries would have you know, when in the midst of diverting a national crisis, there’s always a case for taking a little time off for tourism. So it was that Siri and Civilai, heads heavy from a serious whisky night, found themselves in possession of a sturdy black Willys jeep for the day. It belonged to the old postmaster. Daeng had somehow talked him into parting with it. Siri had somehow talked Civilai into joining him and assigned him the role of driver.

“I’m not at all sure we should be doing this,” Civilai said, “given that – ”

“Oh, shut up,” Siri shouted above the growl of the engine. “What else would we be doing? Sitting around waiting for information to drop into our laps? We’ve got good people on our side doing all the legwork. What difference is one day going to make? Let’s just think of ourselves as the command centre. You’re the commander in chief and I’m the commander’s travel agent, responsible for his psychological well-being.”

“Of course, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Before reaching the end of the first street, they dropped into a pothole deep enough to bury a buffalo. Siri reached for his stomach. “Damn it.”

Civilai stamped on the brake.

“You going to be sick?”

“Worse than that.” Siri reached for the hem of his shirt and caught the white amulet as it dropped to his lap. The platted hair that formed its string had always looked frayed, and finally it had snapped.

“This isn’t going to cast us into eternal damnation, is it?” Civilai asked.

“Probably not,” Siri answered without any great conviction. “I’ll have to get it fixed, though.”

“Right. We’ll just stop off at the nearest haunted-hair-replaiting centre.” Civilai crunched the gear, lurched a few times, and finally found a happy speed somewhere between walking and running with a stone in your shoe. Siri looked at the unmoving speedometer.

“At this rate the hair will have grown back naturally by the time we get anywhere.”

“More haste, less speed. Remember the hare.”

“I seem to recall the tortoise died of old age before he reached the finish line.”

In a city with so few cars, the green army jeep that tailed theirs was never likely to blend into traffic. The only way Civilai could fail to notice it was by being in a Willys with no rearview mirrors, which indeed he was.

They found the only hairdressing salon open before eight. The waxen-faced girl who ran it assured Siri she could reweave the plait but she’d have to make it shorter by some three inches. The hair string was wound and knotted tightly through the loop of the amulet, and Siri’s instructions from the amulet maker had been that the hair and the pendant should never part company. Their blessings were intertwined. He had no choice therefore but to leave both at the shop. The girl told him it would be ready that evening and hesitantly suggested a price of two hundred kip. Siri gave her his most charming smile and told her if she did a good job, it would be worth even more.

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