Before the Storm (9 page)

‘Do you think we shall be arrested?' asked Daniel nervously.

‘Nah, the coppers will say they 'ad a stoush with that push, and that they won,' said Barry, whose nerve seemed to be returning. ‘Scabby coves will get arrested.'

‘Serves them right for robbing me the other day,' said Daniel.

‘You never told me that!' cried Emily.

‘Train's comin',' said Barry, hoping to prevent raised voices that would draw attention to them.

‘BC, can you walk to board the train?' asked Emily as she stood up.

‘Asleep,' said Fox. ‘Will carry.'

After all that had happened in the city, the train journey was remarkable for the fact that nothing happened at all. Barry's father was busy selling tickets at their home station, so that it was no problem to hide BC in one of the small storerooms.

‘The old man thinks stores is too much like 'ard work, so I does it all after school,' explained Barry. ‘Come Christmas, I'm outta school for good an' in me career.'

Emily and Daniel went home for blankets and a pillow, and when they returned Emily made up one of the shelves as a bunk. BC had been lying in a corner on old mailbags, but now he sat up and shook his head.

‘Somnulacillian, two tabs,' he said to Fox, who turned to Barry.

‘Bag,' Fox said softly.

Barry produced his bag, and from this Fox took all of the strange things from the room in Flinders Lane. This included the tiny kit of medical supplies. He dissolved two pinhead-sized tablets in a glass of water, which BC drank, then he lifted the youth onto the bunk and put the stubby rifle in his hands. BC lay back and closed his eyes.

‘Healing coma, twenty-five, induction of,' he explained.

‘What's he mean?' Barry asked Emily.

‘The tablets will make BC sleep, um, so that he heals faster,' Emily guessed.

‘Oi, with all the sleepin' me old man does, you'd think he'd be the fittest cove in Melbourne,' replied Barry, then he raised his finger at the sound of a distant bell. ‘Train comin'. I gotta do the gates, now I'm 'ere. Back soon.'

Neither Emily nor Daniel said much while Barry was gone. Fox busied himself with tidying his tiny medical kit and other supplies, and occasionally checked BC's pulse. Presently Barry returned.

‘Bad news,' he announced. ‘Lurker was in the dogbox on that train.'

‘And who is Lurker?' Emily interjected, by now feeling vaguely annoyed about something, but not sure what it was or what to do about it. ‘If it's that horrid Lurker the Worker –'

‘Yeah, it's him. Lurker lurks around and hears stuff, like. Anyhow, Lurker heard that a station inspection's on Wednesday. We gotta have BC out by then … for a day, anyhow.'

‘But he cannot be moved!' protested Emily.

‘Benzothoractine, one tab, in reserve,' announced Fox. ‘Battle-ready, renders, duration, five hours.'

‘Um, so you have a medicine that allows BC to walk about normally for five hours?' asked Emily after thinking about the words.

‘Did say.'

It was now that BC turned over on the bunk and opened his eyes.

‘FoxS3, Barry, Daniel, leave,' he said softly, his voice already slurred with the sleeping mixture.

Having been given an order, Fox walked straight out. Barry and Daniel took their lead from Fox, and filed out behind him. Now BC turned to Emily.

‘Must speak, ah …' Strain twisted BC's face, and for a moment Emily thought he resembled the boys trying to gather the courage to ask her for a dance at the school balls that she attended. BC actually looked embarrassed. ‘Must speak, courtly!' was what BC finally forced himself to say. ‘Is like, your speech, being. No alternative, complex matters, must explain. Battle standard, is limited. Scholarly, too complex. Speaking courtly, is presumption. Apologies. No choice. Important thing, to ask.'

‘BC, please, speak courtly,' said Emily. ‘I'll never tell anyone.'

BC closed his eyes, then lay still for some time. Finally he turned his head on the pillow, opened his eyes, and stared unblinking at Emily.

‘You must understand, this is unimaginably embarrassing for me,' BC whispered in English that was close to flawless. ‘I am stepping out of my role as a battle commander, and being BC is all that I have left.'

‘Oh no, you have me!' babbled Emily, then immediately wished that she had said nothing. ‘I am your friend,' she added hastily, hoping that he would not get the wrong idea.

‘Friend,' echoed BC. ‘That word is forbidden to the battle, scholar, and command classes. I am of the command class, we are born to lead. We speak courtly because we must kneel before the nobles and royalty, as well as stand with soldiers.'

‘I never knew it was like this in Britain,' breathed Emily.

‘I am not from Britain as you know it, neither is Fox. I am from a place … that does not exist. Should fortune smile upon us, it will never exist. In that place, I was made a Deputy Boat Commander at the age of seven, and a Boat Commander two years later. When I was just eleven years of age I was promoted to become the youngest Battle Commander in history. I was to be presented with the Imperial Youth Cross by King Charles himself.'

‘You speak so well,' said Emily when BC paused for breath.

‘Thank you Miss, you are very kind. I speak D-field, D-tech, D-comm, and D-regal, of course, and I speak the ally languages French, Spanish and Japanese as well.'

‘What are the D languages?' asked Emily, her head whirling and her mind barely assimilating the strangeness that she was hearing.

‘They are the German versions of battle standard, scholarly, and courtly. The BBC tutorvids say that the Germans stole the idea of language classes from us, but who can know what the truth may be? The Germans have a command language too, but we do not. I can only apologise for speaking to you this way, but as you must be aware, I have no choice. In your world, everyone speaks courtly. I find it profoundly unsettling.'

‘Please, don't feel bad!' insisted Emily. ‘This is Victoria, even someone as uncouth as Barry is allowed to speak, er, courtly.'

BC's head fell back on the pillow as the somnulacillian's effect washed through his mind.

‘Why is he called Barry the Bag?' he asked, his mind losing focus and his voice slurred.

‘Oh, because of that horrid, tatty bag he carries everywhere. All sorts of things vanish into it, such as bottles of my father's wine. As for what comes out, well!'

‘Well?'

‘He has French postcards. They are unimaginably naughty!'

‘Why should postcards from our occupied French allies be naughty?'

‘I …'

Words failed Emily. She lived in a world where one had to say
postcard from France
if one meant a French postcard that was actually not rude. She searched for words to describe what everyone should know.

‘They have pictures of ladies – well, women – who are wearing no clothes,' she managed at last.

‘Is that because they are very poor?' asked BC innocently, all the while fighting to stay awake.

‘No!' snapped Emily, again exasperated and floundering for words.

Suddenly Emily realised what BC must be going through, having to speak courtly. In his society, this was probably the rudest thing possible. Emily took a deep breath. If BC could cope with embarrassment, she could too.

‘The women are showing their bottoms and titties,' she managed. ‘Boys like to look at them. They are called French postcards, but I am sure that some of the girls are Australians just pretending to be French.'

‘Ah, bonding revels,' said BC, who seemed to be struggling with the concept of what it meant to be rude.

‘Bonding revels?' asked Emily.

‘Yes. The seats do it, once they are over twelve years of age. Everyone gets a turn at taking off their clothes and dancing on a table while others throw food, and laugh and cheer.'

‘Oh!' gasped Emily, shocked almost speechless. ‘Did, er, you ever do it?'

‘I am command class. It is my place to attend bonding revels, but not to participate.'

The onslaught of alien values was by now on the very edge of what Emily could cope with. Her head spinning, she sat down heavily on a large package. He is a different person when he speaks in courtly, thought Emily. Something about that hard, precise, unforgiving battle standard language gives those who speak it a focus and intensity that is almost a weapon by itself.

‘You said you had something important to ask me,' prompted Emily.

‘Ah, my apologies,' said BC, his voice slurring again. ‘The allure of speaking courtly … and the pain from the operation has … muddled my thoughts. Nearly asleep, but must tell you … save last benzothoractine tablet … in case I have to fight … or you must …'

‘Fight?' gasped Emily. ‘You will do no such thing! Not until you are well enough, anyway.'

‘You have … soul of command,' said BC in a soft, slow whisper. ‘Can you understand … what is meant … to accept … CW … and hear mission profile?'

‘With all my heart!' said Emily eagerly, realising that she was finally to learn the truth about her enigmatic new friends.

‘DBC … take CW,' whispered BC, holding up the strange, stubby rifle. ‘Thumb … red pad.'

Emily took the weapon with great care, then placed her right thumb on a red, halfpenny-sized patch. It had a rough feel to it.

‘Zeta, seven, dash, alpha, delta, six, six, phi, dash, share,' said BC, forcing himself to stay awake for a few moments more. ‘Is … red light … shining?'

‘Yes.'

‘Remove thumb … act with wisdom. I must now … stand before … the House of Death. Should the door open … all … up to you …'

BC finally surrendered to the onset of the healing coma. Still holding the oddly light rifle, Emily went to the door and called the others back. Barry and Daniel stared in surprise at the rifle in Emily's hands, but Fox showed no emotion at all.

Fox said, 'To store, groceries, selling, going now. Work, commencing, noon.'

‘Wait. Fox, can you explain what BC said to me just now?' asked Emily. ‘He gave me this, he called it a CW, and called me DBC. He made a red light come on for me whenever I touch the red pad.'

‘Arming light, to fire, is ready, when glowing. This, intensity slide. Low, singe paper. High, cut six inch steel. To you, assigned. Of command, symbolic.'

‘Assigned? What do you mean?'

‘CW, meaning, Command Weapon. To you, assigned, ranking, Deputy Battle Commander.'

‘Fox, please. Can you explain all that again?'

Fox raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. ‘Shall try.'

Emily sat miserably on her bed, contemplating the stubby rifle that lay on the dresser in front of her row of dolls and bears. DBC. Deputy Battle Commander. BC had conferred the rank upon her, then lapsed into a coma before he could explain anything else. Fox had been no help at all when she had questioned him about what BC had called the 'mission profile'. Briefing was not his duty, apparently. He had, however, explained that the rifle's most powerful setting could cut through the steel armour of a battleship. Lower settings were used when fighting people, so that innocent bystanders or equipment would not be damaged.

‘I have command of a soldier from somewhere that does not seem to exist but seems to be British, my younger brother and Barry the Bag,' Emily told the dolls and bears. ‘Oh, and I have to lead them on a mission that I know nothing about.'

She recalled the previous day's preparations for battle, which had involved running up and down the stairs to get fit, and arming herself with her father's letter opener. All that suddenly seemed laughably silly, now that she had a gun that could apparently sink a ship. A very big ship. On the other hand, she had no idea who to point it at, or when to use it. Emily cringed at the memory of pointing the pistol at the push boy without removing the safety catch or even putting her finger on the trigger. Suddenly remembering where the pistol had gone, she reached under her dress and took it out.