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Bamboo Horses, a fantasy novel by British-born New Zealand writer Hugh Cook, author of the ten-volume Chronicles of an Age of Darkness In this stand-alone alternative reality SF fantasy novel, which is independent of all Hugh Cooki's other books, business manager Ken Udamana has the problem of finding out who is murdering members of his family before he, in turn, is murdered. An arsonist is on the loose. Ken starts to worry that his own troubled teens, son and daughter, may have murder in mind. And what are the intentions of the foreigners, the Merlercians, regarding the exploitation of the Udamana family's paranormal powers? Modern fantasy fiction in a world with cellphones and its own Internet, but a world where they eat not with chopsticks, as we do, but with scissors. A truly original work, high-quality literary fiction including elements of quiet horror. |
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This page is posted online on a free-to-read online basis. However, the material is copyright, all rights reserved. For permission to use any of the material on this website contact Hugh Cook |
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Read first 30 chapters free |
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On the morning of Wednesday, May 3rd, I go to the city morgue on Tangmatasing Street and identify Aunt Chariot's body. It seems she made it all the way down from the tenth floor to one of the fire escape exits, where she perished of smoke inhalation, the exit being chained shut.
* * * In accordance with my decision, which the other members of the family are happy enough to go along with, Aunt Chariot's funeral is scheduled to take place on Thursday, May 4th, at ten in the morning. For this occasion, we decide to keep the children back from school. Early in the morning, while we're all sitting round the dining room table having breakfast, the phone in the living room rings. "I'll get it," says Helena, abandoning her toast and marmalade to field the phone call. Her alacrity immediately makes me suspicious. Helena uses her cellphone for all her personal calls, so why would she want to intercept a call on the landline? I tell myself not to be paranoid. Give the kid a chance, Ken! Yes, she has messed up on occasion, but that doesn't mean she's rotten to the core. "Who?" says Helena, speaking into the handset. As she listens, she starts unconsciously combing her fingers through her hair. It's amazing how busy her hands are, if you watch her. Always grooming herself, keeping herself orderly in the face of the disordering universe. Helena pauses, then looks at the hand she's been using as a comb. I get the impression she thinks there's something wrong with the hand, though I can't imagine what. "Dad," says Helena, holding out the phone, "it's for you. Some old guy." "Whose name is?" I ask. "Hey, I'm not your secretary," says Helena. Then grins, looking pleased with herself, as if she's gone and made a stunningly clever joke. I frown. She's been rude rather than funny. And smiles are out of place. Today is a funeral day. I get up from the table and, as I do, there's a sharp pain in my right hip. Have I gone and dislocated something? No: it was nothing more than a one-off twinge. Another of those little signs that warn me that perhaps my universe is starting to come loose at the edges. I take the phone, which proves to be slightly greasy. Somehow, Helena has managed to get some marmalade or something on the handset. Was it the friction of marmalade which disrupted her grooming just now? If so, does that mean she managed to get marmalade on both hands? Would that be evidence of early morning sloppiness or drug-induced incompetence? "Udamana here," I say. The caller turns out to be Nakarishi Depapaka of Inajari Dragonhouse Liquors who has two matters on his mind. First, he gives me his condolences on Aunt Chariot's death. Then, he raises the second matter. "From what I see on your web site it looks like you're closer to selling Bamboo Horses," says Depapaka. "Any idea what the buyers are likely to do about bamboo supply?" "It would be premature to speculate," I say, "but I imagine that they wouldn't make any sudden changes." This is a lie. I can't imagine any buyer wanting to continue with the business of animating bamboo animals. That's yesterday's business. Rather, it's the land that the buyer will be after. And, even if a new buyer did want to keep our Bamboo Horses operation going, they wouldn't want to continue buying bamboo from Inajari Dragonhouse. What is bamboo? Cut away the mystery and mystique, and, underneath the legends, it's grass. That's all. There's no reason why grass should be expensive. But the bamboo that we buy from Inajari Dragonhouse is conspicuously expensive. Presumably there was once a rationale for this, but, whatever the rationale, it's buried generations back in the past. "Any buyer will want what I want," I say, elaborating the lie I'm telling. "Which is stability and continuity." Untrue, untrue. What I would really like to do, if we were to continue to keep Bamboo Horses going, would be to rationalize our operations. To get our bamboo somewhere else. To get it cheaper. A complicating factor is that Inajari Dragonhouse Liquors owes a significant amount of money to Udamana Holdings. What's more, I've made a personal loan to old man Depapaka. I don't want to do anything to upset him until these monies are paid back. Would this be a good time to raise the subject of the two loans? Perhaps not. I decide to let the matter slide for the moment. I ask about Depapaka's health and about the weather up in Inferior Chimono. He starts warming up, and wants to chat about the rotten egg scandal which was the lead item on this morning's TV news. Eager to escape, I tell him a courier has come to the front door. "A bit early for a courier, isn't it?" says Depapaka. "Here in Yendo they get going early to avoid the morning rush," I say, and conclude the call. "Who was that?" says Iola. "Depapaka," I say, grabbing a tissue, which I use to wipe breakfast residues from the telephone's handset. "Depapaka, expressing his sympathies on Aunt Chariot's passing." "Did he say if the police had talked to him?" asks Iola. "About what?" I say. "About Genfi's death," says Iola. "Why would they talk to Depapaka?" I say. "They're casting a pretty wide net," says Iola. "It's a major case." Momentarily, this "major case" statement fails to make sense. Then I realize I'm only thinking about the demise of my elderly aunt. I'm forgetting all the other people who died in the fire at Dolagataka Dignity Domiciles. It is a major case. That's inevitable. After all, we're talking mass murder. "Are you going to get arrested?" says Helena. "Arrested?" I say. "What are you talking about?" "I thought you had to go see the police," says Helena. "You know, about Aunt Chariot, about her dying and all that." "They're talking to everyone," I say. "No, I'm not going to be arrested. I just have to answer some questions, that's all." * * * After the funeral, I drive the kids to school then drop Iola off at home. Then I drive to the Oikura Police Station to be questioned about the fire. Given that the fire was on Tuesday, I have no idea why the questioning is only starting today, Thursday. Maybe it's a consequence of the police staffing problems that we hear about in the news. Or maybe it's because the case is so huge, with so many people involved. Although I'm being interviewed at our local police station, I'm not being interviewed by Chobber, our assigned patrolman. Chobber is in hospital, under observation following an assault. Someone punched him in the head, and it is possible that he has concussion. My police interview, which focuses tightly on the question of who benefits financially from Aunt Chariot's death, is conducted by two detectives who are based at Yendo Central Police Station, a Detective Makayama and a Detective Gamyong. I've already learnt from the news that the fire is being "treated as suspicious", which implies that the police are looking for an arsonist, which leads to the conclusion that I am a possible suspect. Since the facts are indisputable, I concede that Aunt Chariot's death has in effect left four of -- me, Atakana, Petticat and Po -- richer by fifty million zen each. It's not quite that simple, once you get into the complexities of the arithmetic, because the issue of Melshu's entitlement remains to be settled. But, since the detectives don't raise that difficulty, I'm content to settle for the simple version. Four of us are winners. Egishi, by contrast, has been a big loser. If we'd dissolved the trust and if Aunt Chariot had gotten her payout, then the money would probably have gone to Egishi on her death. And, given that she was eighty years old, her death would probably have occurred within what one could call a reasonable timeframe. "Tell us about Monday," says Gamyong. That's easy enough. I had the family meeting at Mitodarni's office in the morning and then did media interviews. Then I went home. Detective Gamyong takes me through Monday evening and into the small hours of Tuesday morning. "I was asleep," I say. Asleep in bed. Next to my wife. Who was also asleep. Not much of an alibi, really. "Apart from the meeting at Ajima Law," says Detective Makayama, "have you had any other meetings about this matter?" "For example?" I say. "For example, between yourself and Po Udamana, or yourself and Molo Opal." Now I see where his mind is going. He's thinking about the possibility of a conspiracy. "No," I say. "There have been no meetings." This is not necessarily the truth. I have probably chatted with Po and Molo about Aunt Chariot and the land. But I can't remember the occasions. Similarly, if the police were to ask me "When did you last eat a pear?" or "Have you polished your shoes in the last three weeks?" I would be unable to answer with any uncertainty. One's daily routine is largely uncharted, days subsiding into each other soundlessly, leaving no trace behind. So I inevitably end up telling a lie, albeit accidentally. But the police officers probably expect that. After all, isn't a truism of police work that everyone is guilty of something? As expected, my interview ends without me being arrested. |
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