The Doorkeepers

Twenty

Did you know that she was going to do this?” Josh demanded.

“I didn’t have a clue, Josh. Honest. But it sounds to me like she’s got some kind of a plan.”

“How the hell does she expect to catch Frank Mordant single-handed? The goddamned Hoodies will have her before she’s gotten anywhere near him!”

“She probably stands a better chance alone,” said Ella. She picked up the cardigan that Nancy had left on the bed. “It looks like she bought herself some period clothes, too, so she shouldn’t attract too much attention.”

“I have to go after her,” said Josh. “She doesn’t have any idea what kind of danger she’s in!”

“I think she does,” said Ella. “I told her all about Frank Mordant. Well, the little we know. Obviously she’s decided that she can deal with him better if she deals with him alone.”

“Deal with him? Deal with him? How do you deal with a guy like Frank Mordant in a world where the Hoodies are loose? You might as well deal with your broken sink disposal unit by sticking your hand down it.”

“Josh, there’s nothing that you can do. You’re injured; you’re in shock. You need to sleep for twenty-four hours just to get your head back together. Besides, you can’t go looking for Nancy because you’ve only been back here for less than an hour.”

“I’m not tired, Ella. I’m going after her.”

“Josh, it’s impossible. You have to wait for at least one full rotation of the earth before you can go back to that London. Otherwise, you’ll carry on to the next London, and the next.”

“But it’s only a door, right? You come in, you go out.”

“We call it a door but it’s not like a normal door. If you go through it again and again, all on the same day, you’ll take yourself further and further away from the London you left. We’re talking about parallel worlds here, Josh. Worlds within worlds, like one of those Japanese ivory balls, with another ball inside it, and another ball inside that. To put it in words of one syllable, things have to line up.”

“Ella, I can’t let Nancy wander around alone in that other London. She’s not sightseeing, for Christ’s sake – she’s trying to find a serial murderer!”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that she might know exactly what she’s doing?”

“Oh, sure. And maybe bears go into the woods and dress up as women.”

Ella laid her hands on his shoulders and looked him directly in the face. “You cannot go after her, Josh. Neither can I. Right now, all we can do is to give her some time, and wait to see what happens. If you really want to go and find her tomorrow, then we’ll talk about it. But you’re a wanted man now, and you won’t be able to do it unaided. If the Hoodies catch you again, they’ll kill you, no doubt about it.”

That evening, Josh ordered a turkey club sandwich on room service, and after he had eaten it, he poured the entire contents of the salt-cellar into the bathtub, to make a healing saline solution. He had a long and painful soak, and several times he nearly fell asleep. When he managed to haul himself out of the bath, he stood in front of the steamed-up mirror. He hardly recognized himself. He looked like an amateur boxer after an unsuccessful fairground challenge; or the victim of a head-on traffic accident.

It was so tempting to creep between the clean white sheets of his hotel bed and fall asleep. After all, hadn’t Ella told him that there was nothing he could do until tomorrow? But he wasn’t sure that Ella had been telling him the truth about the rotation of the earth. Simon Cutter had said the same thing, but both he and Ella had shared a vested interest in him not going immediately back through the door. Ella, because she obviously cared about him, and wanted him to rest; and because she didn’t want him causing any more trouble for the resistance movement. Simon, because he had wanted to exploit him for all of the watches and laptop computers and bottles of whisky that he could get.

But Nancy was out there someplace. Nancy was out there, all on her own. And it didn’t matter to Josh how independent she was, how self-sufficient. It didn’t matter if she was one hundred percent sure that she could handle herself. All that mattered was that he wasn’t able to stand beside her and protect her.

He wondered if he was jealous of her, for having had the courage to go looking for Frank Mordant on her own, and for trying to solve the mystery of Julia’s murder for him. All his adult life, people had come to him for help, and he wasn’t used to the idea of being looked after.

In spite of his anxiety, he slept for nearly an hour, although when he woke up he felt worse. He read a few pages of a John Grisham novel that somebody had abandoned in the nightstand, folded over at page twenty-three. Then he watched the television news. Serbs and Muslims were killing each other in Kosovo. Catholics and Protestants were killing each other in Northern Ireland. A famous television chef had suffered a heart attack. England’s cricket team were all out for eighty-seven. Tomorrow’s weather: humid, with thundery showers. No hijacks along the Embankment; no Hooded Men killed; no Masters of Religious Observance found in the road with their throats cut. But what was the difference?

Did that other London really exist? Or did this London really exist? What did existence mean? If nobody knew that you existed, would you still be there?

The phone rang. It was Ella. “Are you OK?” she wanted to know. In other words: you’re not going to try anything rash, are you?

“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just trying to catch some zees.”

“Well, make sure you do. Abraxas will never forgive you if you do anything stupid. He’ll come around and bite your balls off.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

When he woke up again it was half past midnight. He went into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. He still felt stiff and pummeled, but he was much steadier on his feet, and his head was clear.

After cleaning his teeth, he went to the closet and took out a pair of dark blue chinos, a pale blue check shirt, and a tan linen coat. Maybe it wasn’t exactly period costume, but it was reasonably inconspicuous. He had seen three or four people in the other London wearing linen coats. Admittedly, they had all been clerics, but that was a chance that he was prepared to take.

He left his room and went down to the lobby, to the night porter’s desk. The night porter was a gray-haired black man, who was sitting comfortably in his chair with the cryptic crossword in The Daily Telegraph.

“Morning, sir,” he said. “Looking for a drink?”

“No, no. I… uh … I wondered if you had any candles.”

“Candles?”

“It’s a religious thing. Every fourth Tuesday I light a candle for my father, and a candle for my mother, and a candle in memory of John Lennon.”

The porter took off his glasses and gave Josh a long, unfocused look. Then he said, “Are you serious, sir?”

“Do I look as if I’m joking?”

“No, sir, you don’t. But then different people have a different sense of humor.”

“Listen, I’m serious. I’m looking for candles.”

The porter rummaged in the bottom drawer of his desk and eventually produced four wax nightlights, in little aluminum-foil cups.

“That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to them.”

“They’re great,” said Josh. “Absolutely ideal.”

“They’re nightlights, that’s all. I only keep them here in case of power cuts. You’re not going to light them in your room, are you?”

“No, no. I’m going to do this outside.”

“Well, that’s OK. We don’t allow candles in the rooms. Not even for religious purposes.” He picked up his glasses and said, “You could help me with this clue, though. ‘It’s disgusting that hell is so elegant.’ Eleven letters.”

“Don’t ask me. I was never any good at cryptic crosswords.”

Josh left the hotel and hailed a passing taxi, reaching Star Yard at about twenty after one in the morning. His footsteps echoed against the buildings on either side. The only background noise was the harsh brushing of a roadsweeping truck as it made its way slowly up Chancery Lane.

As he knelt by the niche that led to the other London, he thought he saw a brief shadowy flicker, further up the passageway. He turned his head, and saw a gray cat running around the corner. He stood up, wondering if he ought to go after it. It meant something, he was sure, but he didn’t know what. But he waited and waited and it didn’t reappear, so he knelt back down again, and set out three of the nightlights, and lit them.

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, he breathed to himself. He waited until he was sure that the nightlights were burning properly, and then he jumped into the niche.

Putting out one hand to steady himself against the wall, he looked back at the London he had left. The nightlights were still burning, their flames dipping in the breeze; and beyond the nightlights, with the flames reflected in its eyes, stood the gray cat, staring at him.

“Ladslove?” Josh challenged it.

The cat continued to watch him with the solemnity that only cats can muster. Then it turned away and disappeared.

Josh turned left, and then right, and then left. It was very dark between the buildings, and when he looked up he couldn’t even see the stars. He was beginning to feel very tired, and the wounds of the Holy Harp were feeling sore. What was worse, he had to make sure that he breathed through his nose, because the slightest flow of air across his deeply-drilled teeth was agony.

He saw light up ahead – not as bright as the sodium lights that he had left behind him, but the same distinctive orange. He stepped out of the niche, back into Star Yard. He heard traffic, and the distant clanging of bells. There was a strong smell of burning in the wind, and another smell, like dust.

Cautiously, he walked as far as Carey Street. It was deserted, except for three parked trucks and an old-fashioned-looking automobile. There were no streetlights anywhere, and not a single light in any of the buildings all around him, but there was a glow in the sky above the rooftops, and so he guessed that this part of the city was suffering from a power blackout. He heard a woman’s high heels walking very quickly down a side alley, but he couldn’t see her.

It felt like the same London that he and Nancy had first ventured into. He recognized the Law Society and the Public Record Office – and down at the end of Chancery Lane, although it was closed for the night, he saw the same newsstand where they had tried to buy a paper. But as he walked down to Fleet Street, the smell of burning grew stronger, and before he could reach the corner, a firetruck drove past, with a silver bell clanging on its front bumper, and firefighters standing on its running-boards.

He soon saw where it was headed. Less than a mile away, the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral was surrounded by fires. Thick gray smoke was billowing up into the night sky, and powerful searchlights were criss-crossing through it, as if they were fencing with each other. The air was filled with distant shouts and panicky bells and the deep, soft rumbling noise of buildings burning.

There was hardly any traffic around – only one or two small private cars speeding along Farringdon Street with their headlights shuttered – and not a soul on the sidewalks. No sign of the Hooded Men, thankfully, or their drummers, or their dog-handlers. Josh didn’t have much of a plan, apart from finding Nancy, but he knew that he was going to need help. He started to walk toward the British Museum, keeping close to the walls, and stepping back into the shadows whenever he heard a vehicle approaching.

He was walking along a narrow alley off Drury Lane when a voice called out, “What’s your hurry, darling?”

He stopped. A woman was standing in a doorway opposite. All he could see was the glow of her cigarette and the light shining on her stockinged leg.

“Got a spare ten minutes, darling?” she asked him.

“I’m sorry, I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“You won’t regret it, sweetheart, I promise you. Five pounds and you can do anything you like.”

“Thanks for the offer, but no thanks.”

There was a pause, and then the woman said, “Here, you’re not a Yank, are you?”

The way she asked him, Josh was suddenly aware that he ought to be careful what he said. “I’m just on my way to meet some friends, that’s all.”

She stepped out of the doorway. She looked much younger than she sounded. Nineteen or twenty, not much older. She walked in an odd tilting way because her shoes were too high. She had upswept blonde hair and she wore a purple satin dress with padded shoulders, a deep décolletage, and a handstitched hemline that finished just above her knee. She was heavily made up, with thin plucked eyebrows, but she hardly needed it. She had a pretty, almost elfin face and huge dark eyes.

“Come on, darling. You can spare a fiver, can’t you? I’m starving.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any money at all. If I did, believe me, you could have it for nothing.”

She came up to him, lifted her hand, and turned his face to the side so that she could see him better. “You sound like a Yank. You didn’t get shot down, did you?”

“Shot down? No. You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t even fly.”

“So what are you? A spy? I could make a lot of money out of you, if you’re a spy.”

“Listen,” said Josh. “I came here looking for a friend of mine, that’s all. I’m not a pilot and I’m not a spy. If you really want to know I’m an alternative veterinarian.”

“What’s that when it’s at home?”

“I don’t really have time to explain. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“You are a spy, aren’t you? A Yank spy. They give you fifty quid if you turn one in.”

Josh heard the distant crump-crump-crump of anti-aircraft guns. More searchlights played tic-tac-toe in the sky.

“This may sound like kind of a dumb question,” he asked the girl. “But… is there a war going on here?”

“Oh, no. It’s fireworks night, that’s all.”

“God, you British and your sarcasm. There’s a war on, isn’t there?”

She came up close to him, and gripped the lapels of his coat, and pouted at him, and licked her lips, and lifted her thigh up against his leg. “Where have you been?” she asked him, with a smoker’s catch in her voice. “How come you don’t know there’s a war on? You’re not a loony, are you?”

In the far distance, Josh heard the droning of aero-engines. Not jets – piston engines, and there were scores of them, by the sound of it. The whole night started to throb, and the crump-crump-crump of anti-aircraft fire grew deafening.

“Second wave,” said the girl, in a matter-of-fact voice. “We’d better get under cover.”

She opened the door behind her and stepped inside. Josh stayed where he was, unsure whether she wanted him to follow her. “What are you waiting for?” she asked him, from the darkness. “You don’t want to get blown to bits, do you?”

Josh entered the shadows. The girl closed the door behind him and switched on the light. He found himself standing in a narrow, cabbagey-smelling hallway. On the right, there was a gloomy flight of stairs covered in old brown linoleum. On the left, there was a door which obviously led down to the cellar. “Come on,” said the girl. “We’ll be safe in here. Unless we cop a direct hit, that is.” Josh hesitated, but he suddenly heard a shrilling chorus of whistles in the air high above them, followed by seven or eight deafening bangs. They couldn’t have been more than half a mile away, and Josh felt the jolt through the soles of his feet.

“Don’t hang about. My Aunt Maisie hung about, and got her head blown halfway down the garden.” The girl led the way down the steps. Josh closed the cellar door behind him and followed her. “See … look,” she said. “I’ve got it quite homely, really.” The cellar walls were limewashed white. Two brick arches supported the ceiling, and formed three separate rooms: a makeshift bedroom at the far end, which was curtained off with a thick gray blanket, a living area with two old armchairs and a sagging sofa, and a kitchen with a paraffin stove and a few cans of food – corned beef, peas and carrots and a box of Shredded Wheat.

The cellar smelled of damp and stale cigarette smoke and unwashed sheets, but the girl was wearing a strong, cheap lavender perfume, which mostly overwhelmed it. She sat down in one of the armchairs, crossed her legs so that her dress rode high on her white, bruised thighs, and held out a packet of Senior Service cigarettes. “Gasper?”

“No, thanks.”

“Come on, it’ll do you good. Look at the state you’re in.”

“Are you kidding me? Don’t you know how bad for you those things are? You don’t want to survive all this bombing and die of lung cancer, do you?”

“Lung cancer, darling? What are you talking about? My doctor told me to smoke. He said it was good for my nerves.” She lit a cigarette and inhaled it deeply, blowing out twin tusks of smoke from her nostrils. “I think I’d die if I couldn’t have a fag.”

Above them, Josh could hear the pulsing of engines coming closer and closer, punctuated by dozens of ground-shaking explosions. It sounded as if somebody were stalking along a corridor, violently slamming one door after another. After each explosion, dust sifted down from the ceiling, which the girl nonchalantly brushed off her knees with her hand.

“It’s murder on your hair, all this dust. They said it was going to be bad tonight. I reckon we’ll have to throw in the towel if it goes on like this.”

There was another immense explosion, very close by. The lights went out for a moment, and they could hear masonry and glass dropping on to the ceiling.

Josh held out his hand. “Guess I’d better introduce myself, if we’re going to die together. Josh Winward.”

The girl said, “Petty Horrocks. Stupid name, isn’t it, Petty? Better than Petunia, though.”

“How long have you lived here, Petty?”

“Three months, give or take. My mum and dad moved out to the country when the war started, but I couldn’t stand it there. Lincolnshire, do me a favor. Nothing but sugar beets and lads as thick as shit. I told them I’d rather be blown to bits than die of boredom. So I came back to London; and this place was empty; and that was that.”

“And you survive …?”

“By screwing anybody who’s got a fiver. Or two pounds ten for a blow job. Sorry if that offends you. But at least I can go dancing in the evenings and have a laugh.”

“I guess we all have to survive the best way we can.”

Another five or six bombs fell, but this time they sounded further away. All the same, the droning of aero-engines continued, and Josh guessed that there must have been nearly a hundred airplanes passing overhead.

“We won’t be able to put up with this much longer, you know,” said Petty, in a matter-of-fact voice, tapping her cigarette ash on the floor. “The docks is all gone, Covent Garden’s gone. They even dropped a bomb on the Odeon in Leicester Square. Fifty-eight people killed, right in the middle of a Ronald Shiner film. Serves them right for going to see it, that’s what I say. Still, I won’t be sorry when it’s all over.”

Josh said, “Listen, I know it all looks pretty bad at the moment. But you guys are going to win this war. I promise.”

“Oh, yes, and how do you know that?”

“I just know it. Trust me.”

“I bet you’re a loony. Where did you escape from? It’s all right. You can tell me. I won’t grass on you, promise.”

“I’m not a loony. I happen to have… privileged information, that’s all.”

“So you are a spy!”

“I told you. I came here looking for a friend of mine, that’s all. But you shouldn’t worry about the war. Once the United States gets involved – that’s going to be the end of it.”

Petty looked baffled. “You just said we were going to win.”

“Of course you’re going to win. We’ll be sending over planes and ground troops and tanks and you name it.”

“Oh, great. How are we going to stand up to that? We’ve got hardly any air force and most of our army got killed in France and the King George V was sunk last week and that was our only battleship.”

“I don’t understand. We’re sending more of everything. The Germans are going to collapse.”

Petty blew out smoke and shook her head in bewilderment. “The Germans? What have the Germans got to do with it?”

“They’re bombing you to hell, aren’t they?”

“The Germans? That proves it, you need locking up. The Germans wouldn’t bomb us. They’ve done nothing but send us ships and tanks and food. They’re our allies, the Germans. Same royal family, same blood. Why would the Germans want to bomb us?”

Josh was speechless at first. Then he pointed a single finger upward, and said, “Those are not Germans?”

“Of course they’re not Germans. They’re bloody Yanks.”

“Americans? Americans are bombing London?”

Petty sucked on her cigarette and tugged her hemline up a little higher. “Do you know something, I believe you. You can’t be a spy. You’re too bloody stupid to be a spy. In fact you’re too bloody stupid to be a loony.”

“Jesus. Americans are bombing London. But why?”

“Don’t ask me, darling. They call it the War of Independence. They don’t want to be part of the good old British Empire any more. And of course the bloody French are helping them, letting them base all their bombers in France. But, you know, what can you do? I don’t think there’s any point in fighting. They’re going to win anyway, aren’t they? The sooner they invade, the better, as far as I’m concerned. Life is going to be ten times better, under the Yanks. All cocks and chocolate.”

It was then that Josh knew for sure that Ella had been right, and he was wrong. The world needed to turn through a complete twenty-four hour cycle before you could venture through the doors again. The first parallel London was the London of Frank Mordant and the Hoodies. This must be the second London. And who knew how many infinitely different versions of London lay beyond, like the endless reflections in a dressing-table mirror?

* * *

The bombing eased for a while, although Petty said that they should stay in the cellar until they heard the “all clear”.

“Cup of tea?” she asked him.

“No thanks. You don’t have anything stronger, do you?”

She produced a half-bottle of Gordon’s gin from under her chair and poured two large measures into teacups. “What shall we drink to?” she asked.

“Peace,” Josh suggested.

“I don’t know. How about clean knickers?”

“OK, then.” He lifted his cup. “Peace, and clean knickers.”

“That’s what I’m really looking forward to, when it’s all over,” said Petty. “Clean white cotton knickers, with a lacy frill.”

Josh said, “How long has this been going on? This war?”

“Do you know, I can’t make out if you’re having me on toast.”

“I promise you, I’m serious.”

“Well, all right, then. But I still think you’re kidding me. The war’s been going on for nearly a year now. The bloody Government said it would all be over by Christmas. I don’t know why they didn’t just let the Yanks go off on their own. But, oh no. Treason, they called it, and then the Navy sank that big American aircraft carrier, and that was it. All bloody hell broke loose.” She looked at Josh for a long time, playing with one of her earrings. It was a plastic poodle with green glass eyes. “I like you, you know,” she said, after a while. “I know you’re supposed to be the enemy and everything. But you’ve got something about you, you know? You’re thoughtful.”

“I’m confused, if that’s what you mean.”

“I just don’t understand how you don’t know nothing about the war. The Yanks have been bombing us for months and months. It’s not exactly something you wouldn’t notice.”

“I haven’t been here. I’ve been … away.”

“Bloody hell, where? Mars?”

Josh leaned forward. “If you want to know the truth, I came from another London.”

Petty gave him a smile of bewilderment. “Another London?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but there are probably hundreds of Londons, all of them different, all with a different history. There are doors between them – ways to get through – and if you know how to do it you can get through these doors, from one London into the next. In the London I came from, there’s no war, no bombing, nothing. There’s plenty to eat and drink. There are restaurants, nightclubs, you name it. Clean knickers, too.”

Petty blew out smoke. “If that’s true, what did you come here for? To see how miserable we all are, and have a good old laugh about it?”

“I came here by accident. I was trying to find another London, but not this one.”

“So what are you going to do? Listen to me! I’m talking like I really believe you.”

“I’m going to try to get back to the London I started from, and have another crack at finding the right one.”

Petty didn’t say anything for a while, but she didn’t take her eyes away from him, either. She started to gnaw at the side of her thumbnail. At last she said, “You’re having me on toast, aren’t you?”

“Why should I do that? If it’s a joke, it’s a pretty goddamned stupid one, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps you’re expecting to have your wicked way with me, without paying for it.”

“I don’t want my way with you, wicked or otherwise. I’m involved with somebody else.”

“What, engaged, are you?”

“Kind of.”

“Would she mind if you took me back with you?”

“Say what?”

“Your fiancée or whatever she is. Would she mind if you took me back with you? To your London, with the restaurants and the nightclubs and everything?”

“So you do believe me?”

“I don’t know. Either you’re completely bonkers or else you’re telling the truth. But you don’t talk like you’re bonkers. You meet loads of people with shell-shock and that, and they talk about their families like they’re still alive, and stuff like that, and then you find out that they all got bombed. I had one bloke who thought he was an angel. But you don’t talk like one of them.”

Josh checked his watch. It was a quarter after three in the morning, and he was exhausted. “Do you mind if I get some sleep?” he asked. “I have to wait a full twenty-four hours before I can go back to my own London. Otherwise I’ll end up in another London like this. Or worse.”

“Couldn’t be worse, darling,” said Petty, finishing her gin. “Why don’t you and me lie down for a while?”

“I’ll take the couch. No problem at all.”

“Oh, rubbish. Let’s go to bed. I’m too knackered to rape you anyway.”

She stood up and tugged her satin dress over her head. Underneath, she was wearing nothing but a grubby white bra. Josh had thought that she was wearing pantyhose, but she had simply colored her legs with foundation cream, which ended just above her hemline, where she was startlingly white. She was plump and full-breasted, with a rounded tummy, and she wasn’t unattractive, but there were bruises all over her – finger-bruises mostly, where men had gripped her thighs and her buttocks and her breasts. Josh felt powerless and sad, and he cursed all men for everything they do, their wars and their religions.

He watched her as she cleaned her teeth with an old, splayed toothbrush. She drew back the blanket that separated the “bedroom” from the rest of the cellar, and climbed into bed. Josh waited for a few minutes, but tiredness was overwhelming him, and eventually he stood up, took off his coat, and stripped down to his shorts. He climbed into bed next to Petty and lay there staring at the lime washed ceiling.

She turned over and touched some of the reddened scabs from the Holy Harp. “Are you all right?” she asked him. “Who did those?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t mind. Everybody says that I’m a very good listener. You have to be, when you’re on the game. That’s what they come for, you know. The listening, more than the sex.”

She kept on stroking him, but the effect was more soporific than erotic. She played with his nipples, and then ran her fingertips down his sides. His eyes closed. He wasn’t quite asleep, but he was very close to it. Her fingers trailed lightly across his stomach muscles, almost as lightly as butterflies. He saw darkness and thought that he was back in bed in Mill Valley, in the middle of the night. He was sure that he could hear cicadas, and the wind-chimes jangling out on his verandah.

“Wouldn’t it be lovely if there was another world?” said Petty, as she inserted her finger into his navel. “No war, no bombing. Everybody being nice to each other. Imagine.”

Josh slept. He was very far away. He was sitting in the bookstore coffee house in Mill Valley, trying to discourage a little mongrel called Duchovny from jumping up and annoying people. Nancy was there, and she was laughing. He could see her eyes sparkling and the sun shining through the feathers in her hair. He reached out to take her hand, but she wouldn’t let him, even though she was still laughing. Somehow her laughter began to sound tinny, and false.

“They’re coming,” she said. “Can’t you hear them drumming?”