The Evidence Read online

  ‘Welcome to Dearth.’ The voice, closer now, revealed its owner as a man. ‘I am Soradauy Wendow, from the Historical Society.’

  ‘Yes! We exchanged letters – you invited me.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you at last, Dr Fremde. I hope you had a good journey.’

  We made an effort to shake hands, but our thick gloves made it almost impossible. My teeth were suddenly aching from the cold, and breath was a drifting cloud of vapour around us.

  ‘I’d like to go to the hotel before anything else,’ I said.

  ‘We might be able to take a taxi. But it’s better we should walk. We can go straight to the venue.’

  ‘I’d prefer to drop my luggage at the hotel first.’

  ‘Not much time for that. You can leave your bags in the office.’

  ‘You said you were going to meet me with a car.’

  ‘That’s generally in use by department staff at this time of the week. It’s not too far to walk.’

  ‘I’d prefer to hire a taxi,’ I said. ‘I will only be a few minutes at the hotel.’

  ‘As you wish, Dr Fremde. But I think you’ll find there’s a long queue for the taxis outside.’

  We made our way with difficulty across the concourse, having to step several times around groups of other heavily weather-insulated people.

  Once we were outside the main part of the station there was indeed a queue, but I was determined not to yield. I did not want to walk an unknown distance in this freezing place, in these bulky clothes. After about five minutes a small group of taxicabs turned into the station yard, and we were able to hire the fourth one. We piled into the small passenger compartment, dragging my luggage in with us.

  He gave the driver directions to the Plaza Hotel.

  I said to Wendow: ‘If you don’t mind waiting I really will be only a few minutes. I just want to freshen up after the journey, and collect my thoughts before I deliver my speech.’

  ‘Of course.’ Wendow was peering ahead through the grimy front screen of the vehicle. ‘As a matter of interest, Dr Fremde, we were wondering about your university career. Which is your alma mater, and where exactly did you gain your doctorate?’

  ‘I’m an author, a writer. I’m not an academic. I write thrillers and mysteries.’

  ‘Yes. We did rather gain that impression. Even so, you must have studied somewhere.’

  ‘I have an honorary doctorate,’ I said. ‘It was given to me by the Citizens’ University of Salay, awarded a few years ago. They like my books. But I never use it as an honorific, and in fact I’m surprised you even know about it.’

  ‘We have ways and means of checking out our speakers,’ Wendow said. ‘A citizens’ university, you say? How very fascinating. That would be a college for serfs, I take it? We don’t have a system of honorary degrees on this island, so we’re unused to the concept. Salay – you’ve had to come a long way.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s a lot warmer than this place.’

  ‘Of course, I was thinking about the university.’

  ‘Culturally, Salay is renowned—’

  But Wendow had abruptly lost interest. He began typing on his cellphone, having slipped two detachable finger covers from one of his gloves. He was holding the phone in his other massively gloved hand so I couldn’t see what he was doing. He completed his message, then quickly slipped the finger covers back into place.

  Soon afterwards the taxi arrived outside a large, concrete-built edifice, a rectangular block with small windows rising up in an orderly grid. The sign carrying the hotel name was partially obscured by grime, not snow. I noticed that Wendow was not readying himself to leave the taxi with me, and that the cab’s meter was still running.

  ‘I just need a few moments to dump my stuff. Will you wait for me here, with the cab?’

  ‘No, I can’t do that,’ he said, and I sensed his impatience with me. ‘I have to go straight to the conference hall. You should be with me. There are a couple of important guests I want to welcome, whom you should meet. However, we are now running a little late and I need to make certain our practical arrangements are in place. Because I’ve been on leave my assistants have been preparing the conference.’

  ‘Then how will I get across to the hall – and where exactly is it?’

  ‘I’ve sent texts to two of our History Society members asking them to collect you here, at the hotel,’ he said. ‘They will meet you in the lobby in a few minutes’ time. They know what to do and where to take you.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. He was staring at me, waiting for me to leave. I opened the taxi door to a massive inflow of freezing air. I struggled past him, having to pull my bag past his legs. ‘Should we exchange cellphone numbers, in case we need to make contact?’

  My main bag fell on to the frozen pavement, and my computer tote was swinging down from under my arm and across my chest as I stepped, crouching and awkward, from the cab on to the slippery surface. I staggered to regain balance. Wendow reached across to the inner handle of the cab door, and slammed it closed with a forceful movement. The vehicle drove away moments later, while I was still straightening. I could barely glimpse even Wendow’s dark shape through the condensation on the taxi’s windows.

  The moment I passed through the hotel’s triple door complex I felt I was back in an understandable world. The doors closed swiftly behind me and streams of warmed air came down from ceiling grilles. The reception area was large and light-filled, soft classical music played unobtrusively. The atmosphere was fresh but overall maintained at a pleasant temperature. Lights were recessed, the carpet was thick piled. Close to a piano on a podium, not being played at that moment, there was a loose, informal arrangement of dozens of armchairs and long settees, clustered beside or around tables. Many groups of people were sitting about in the relaxed atmosphere, talking and drinking. Every table had a small, independent electric fan heater beside it. I could smell the appetizing aroma of well prepared food and saw direction signs to two separate restaurants. The reception desk was a long gentle curve following the back wall of the lobby, and was staffed by two young men and two young women.

  I felt huge and disruptive in my heavy outside clothes, but I assumed the staff would be used to people moving in and out through the doors. I began unzipping my bulky padded jacket before I reached the desk and removed my hood. I pushed my protective glasses up my forehead. I felt the strap briefly adhering to the skin of my cheek.

  I presented the confirmation booking I had been sent by the Historical Society several weeks earlier. The young man who was attending to me glanced quickly at it, typed something at his keyboard, then looked up at me.

  ‘Dr Fremde?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Welcome to the Dearth Plaza Hotel, Dr Fremde. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us, citizen sir. It is just for one night, I believe? And you are alone?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Is this the first time you have visited Dearth City?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He typed some more, then produced a room card and an electronic key. He wrote the room number on the card, made sure it was the same number he had seen on his monitor, and turned the card around for me to see.

  ‘You are in Room 627, Dr Fremde. That’s on the sixth floor. The elevators are in the corridor around the corner,’ he added, pointing to the side. ‘Are you familiar with the use of elevators in this city?’

  ‘I assume so. Presumably—’

  ‘You won’t have any problems, Dr Fremde. All the elevators have printed notices reminding you what to do in an emergency. This is a period of vertical stability, so none of that will apply to you tonight. On the other hand, as this is your first time I have to inform you about mutability arrangements. I notice you are a citizen serf of the seigniory of Salay?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, wondering how much longer this would take. I was anxious to go up to my room, take a shower, and so on.

  A second electronic card had appeared in his han
d and he was sliding it across to me. It was the same size and shape as the other one, looked slightly thicker, and was white all over with a bright red border. A computer chip was embedded close to one edge. Apart from a hotel logo, nothing was printed on the card itself.

  ‘Again, you are unlikely to need this card tonight but the hotel rules insist you carry it at all times. Mutability is a problem many people who visit Dearth have never experienced before, but while you are staying at the Plaza Hotel we ask that you treat it with great seriousness so that you will fully enjoy your stay.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by mutability?’ I said.

  ‘You’ll find all the information you need in your room. Always use the standard room key. That is the one for locking and unlocking your door.’ He started speaking more quickly and insistently, as if he had recited the same words many times before. ‘Under seignioral mutability regulations we have a legal requirement to provide you with a second key. This will also open your door, or any other to which you are directed. You must only use the second key if the first does not work properly. Hotel management are always on hand, here in Reception at street level, or in any of the Mutability Stations. There is a Mutability Station on every floor of the hotel. If you experience any difficulties at all, you can always find someone to help you. Both keys must be returned to Reception before you leave the hotel.’

  ‘It sounds terrifying,’ I said, trying to get an informal, unrehearsed response from him.

  ‘A routine, sir,’ he said. ‘The last mutability crisis in this hotel was seventeen years ago – I had just started school. The incidence level is currently flagged at green. I hope you will have a most pleasant stay.’

  The young receptionist turned away from me with a professional smile, to greet two more arriving guests. They were crossing the lobby with a slow walk, as thickly wrapped as I was. The man and the woman pushed up their protective eye-glasses, revealing their red-rimmed eyes and their eyebrows whitened by frost. As they passed me I felt the deep chill of the outside air still clinging to them.

  I ascended to Room 627 and for a few minutes I was free of mutability warnings, inadequate doctorates, irritated hosts or mysterious keys. The room had an opulent feeling of luxury, cleanliness, privacy and comfort. There were flowers in a vase, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a notice that the minibar was fully stocked. A handwritten note from someone called Norie told me that she was my room maid, and that any requests I might have could be written on the notepad provided. The room, large and luxurious though it was, could not be described as a ‘suite’, as promised by the invitation letter, nor had I any idea if this really was the best hotel in Dearth City, also promised, but it was abundantly better than anywhere I had stayed before.

  Warm air circulated gently. I stripped off my outer clothing with a sense of relief, tossing everything aside and making an untidy heap in the centre of the carpet. There was a radiant electric fire, programmed to pour out heat with fierce purpose for one minute at a time. I squatted on the stool that was provided, driving away the last vestiges of the sub-zero chill from my hands and face. I then used a second minute for my ankles and feet.

  I ran a tub of hot water in the bathroom. I removed the rest of my clothes then stood in the warm and steamy bathroom while I shaved. Finally, I plunged into the tub and lay there for several minutes, glorying in the hot water. For the first time since leaving home I felt happy and comfortable.

  I was dressing when my cellphone vibrated. I did not recognize the number.

  A male voice said, but hesitantly: ‘Is that Dr Fremde?’

  ‘Yes, this is Todd Fremde.’

  ‘We have come to collect you, citizen sir, and will be honoured to accompany you to the conference centre. We are waiting in the lobby.’

  ‘I’m still getting ready. Can you wait another five or ten minutes?’

  ‘We are already late, sir.’

  ‘I’ll be down in two,’ I said.

  I experienced a faint frisson of irritation. I had been through this before, the sudden requirement expressed by other people that I needed to hurry up. I had been travelling for nearly two days. What was I now late for? I was after all the main, the sole attraction that evening. What else is the role of a keynote speaker? I did not delude myself with self importance, but in every practical way the event could neither start, continue nor end if I was not there. For what other event that evening would I make them late?

  Well, maybe there was a practical reason. A curfew, perhaps, that would define the finishing time, or an hour after which public transport no longer ran? But I have grown aware of this sort of possibility affecting other people’s lives, and I try to allow for it when attending an event away from home. Wendow, in his various communications to me about this trip, had said nothing about a finishing deadline, but I supposed it was possible.

  I completed dressing more quickly than I would have liked, aware of someone waiting for me down there in the lobby.

  I did take an extra couple of minutes to leaf through the text of my speech again, pencil in hand. I always found something that could be improved or corrected. So it was that evening: a misspelling no one but me would even see, let alone take any notice of, but I made the correction anyway.

  I then spent a few more seconds taking six deep breaths to calm myself (this always worked), and made sure my speech was complete and the pages were in the right order. Finally, I slipped my cellphone, the hard copy of the speech and a couple of pens into my computer tote.

  On the interior of the room door was a printed notice I had not spotted before:

  MUTABILITY AWARENESS

  To all guests, when exiting your room ALWAYS be sure to turn off all lights and other electrical equipment. We have to remind you there is an extra charge if you ignore this rule. (See our standard conditions.) Thank you!

  I read this twice, puzzled by it, but the hotel was an excellent one and I assumed there must be some reason. I quickly made sure everything was off, then let myself out of Room 627, took one of the elevators already waiting on my floor, and descended to the lobby area. To save time I had not put on my heavy outer clothes, and had everything bundled up under my arm. I headed straight for the reception desk, not glancing around to see if anyone was waiting to meeting me. The male receptionist who had checked me in was no longer on duty, but one of the women staff came forward immediately.

  I held up my room card for her to see, and said: ‘I have to be out of the hotel for most of the evening. Are there likely to be problems moving around the city later on?’

  ‘No, sir. Public transport runs until one in the morning, and taxicabs can be hired all night.’

  ‘Thank you. And if I should need a meal later, will the restaurants here still be open?’

  ‘The grill room is open twenty-four hours. Snacks can also be obtained in any of the bars.’

  I nodded to her and turned away, but immediately bumped into someone who had come up quietly and was standing right behind me.

  ‘Doctor Fremde?’ he said, from behind his mask and goggles. His voice made him sound nervous. ‘We are from the Historical Society.’ I realized then that another small person was standing close behind him.

  ‘I’m ready to leave,’ I said. ‘Let me put on my warm clothes first.’

  The one who had spoken to me took hold of my computer tote for me, while I struggled to pull on the thick garments. With two people watching I felt clumsy and self-conscious. One of the heavy sleeves made the arm of my jacket ride up inside, meaning I had to take the thing off and start again. Finally I had the top half in place. I reached down and wrapped the protective lower flaps around my legs and pulled the drawstrings. I put on my hooded cap and eye protectors, settled them around my head. Throughout all this neither of the students offered to help, but stood gawkily by. They were probably in awe of me, but I really wished they were not.

  ‘I hope you’ve brought a car,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to walk a long way.’

  They gla
nced at each other.

  ‘It’s not far, Doctor,’ said the one still holding my computer tote.

  ‘The conference hall is in the next block,’ said the other. ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘Ten,’ said the other and handed me back my computer bag. ‘There’s a hill.’

  Outside, deep night had fallen and a sharp wind had risen across the streets. The uncomfortable but warmly protective insulated clothing did what it was designed to do. I could soon see the conference centre ahead of us, floodlit in the night. It was true that there was a steep hill up to the entrance, for the last five hundred metres or so. We took it at a steady pace. The entrance to the hall was unostentatious. Its steps and pathways had been entirely cleared of snow and ice. As we pushed through the triple door system I glimpsed a poster announcing my speech. My name was prominently displayed. I was described as Dr Fremde. I decided not to spend the rest of the evening explaining I was just a writer.

  3

  The Lost Two Hours

  As soon as I arrived I realized that everyone must have been waiting for me: a local courtesy? There was a concerted rush towards the bar. Rows of filled glasses were standing there waiting to be drunk. If the students who collected me had mentioned that there was a party being delayed until I arrived, I would have understood, hurried up, skipped the irritated feeling. Still, they were not to blame. Conversation roared around me. Waiting staff circulated with trays of canapés, from which I managed to extract a single bite: raw fish, cream cheese and some kind of vegetable. Later someone gave me a glass of wine, as because of the press of people I could not get to the bar. I did not particularly wish to see Professor Wendow, but if he was there he was keeping out of my way.

  My hosts now were two graduate students, one male, one female, from the Revisionist History Department. In the noise I could not hear their names clearly. I liked them both and was attracted by their easy conversational style and, as an unsought-for bonus, by their apparent familiarity with several of the books I had written. Without going into my reasons in detail, I asked them both not to address me as Doctor, saying I preferred the use of my given name. They were fine with that. The ice was being broken in many different respects.