Several booths hung with Maori and Polynesian designs sat in the corner of the vaults, the distinctive use of white space highlighted in bold black to create koru spirals and geometric shapes. It was quieter down here, the sound of the bands muted by thick walls and flooring.
Three men stood near one of the booths, drinking bottles of beer. They turned as Jamie and Blake approached, their faces marked by tribal tattoos, their body language aggressive. Jamie took a deep breath.
Chapter 12
"We're looking for Tem Makaore," Jamie said, although Blake was clearly looking at one of the men more intently. He had distinctive facial moko, the blue-black ink curving around his chin and jawline, bisecting his nose with geometric shapes, sweeping up from his eyes like the wings of the dawn. His lips were fully tattooed and the fierce markings made him look like a warrior from another time, incongruous against his black t-shirt and jeans. Jamie had a fleeting desire to see if the ink continued on the rest of his tightly muscled body.
"I'm Tem," the man said, his face breaking into a smile. The warrior persona dropped away. "Kia ora. What can I do for you?"
"A friend of ours, O, is missing. We wondered if you'd seen her?"
Tem frowned.
"Of course, I know O. I'm super proud of her ink and I don't get to do such extensive work too often. We met for a drink last night about eight and she was meant to come by today, but I haven't seen her since then."
"We're worried about her," Jamie said. "Did she tell you anything about where she was going after you met?"
"No, but I wouldn't expect her to. But she wanted to talk about new ink, which means something has happened in her life. Something has changed. You see, the soul can't speak in words." Tem smiled, his eyes wistful, and Jamie wondered at the bond between tattoo artist and the skin he worked on. "The soul can only speak in symbols and patterns and every person will choose something different. Or, if they choose the same symbol, the meaning will be different."
"What did she want done?" Jamie asked.
Tem gestured for them to come closer and see some of the designs on the wall of the booth.
"She only had vague ideas and it's bad etiquette to ask the meaning of someone's tattoo," he said. "It's possible that the person themselves won't know what it really means." He pointed to his facial moko. "To try and put these markings into words will lessen their power. But you have to understand that to tattoo or modify your body is to embrace the shadow side of yourself. That's why many can't do it.
"Most people cannot bear to look into that darker side, preferring to keep the mask of normality. But to repress the shadow for too long will mean it eventually has to escape in other ways. Into compulsions, into chaos." Tem looked at Jamie, his dark brown eyes as tangled as an ancient wood. She saw secret things hidden in those depths, a glimpse of an older world. "I think O's octopus has been dominant for too long and to change, she has to ink something new. But I can't tell you what. She wanted to know how long I was in town as we'd need several sessions. But she was ready to walk through the fire again."
Jamie tilted her head to one side, his words puzzling her. "What do you mean by that?"
Tem pointed at the tattooing instrument on the bench. "That is for pain but also for change. After all, nothing worth doing is entirely painless. Friendships fade, marriages break apart, families splinter, but your body is yours until the end. What you do to it will be with you every day until you breathe your last. So you mark your skin to mark the path through the fire of life, and after the change is complete, the wound is bandaged and you can heal."
A picture on the wall drew Jamie's eye. A woman stood side on, her arm lifted to reveal a tattoo that opened up the inside of her body as if she were clockwork. Behind broken ribs, cogs and wheels turned, pistons pumped and over them lay a network of bones and skin. It was a macabre optical illusion of a steampunk hybrid. Next to her was a woman with blonde hair, her dark eyes staring into the camera from a face of blue and purple swirls, her whole body encased in ink.
"She was born with a skin condition," Tem said, noticing Jamie's gaze. "Her skin blistered and scarred so she started tattooing as a way to claim her skin back. If people were going to stare anyway, she decided to have them stare for good reason. This is the outward expression of her inner self, an alchemy of her physical curse and the archetypes within her mind. We are embodied souls, after all."
"What happens at the end?" Jamie asked, thinking of the implant of ashes they had seen upstairs. She pointed at Tem's heavily tattooed forearms. "When your body dies, is that the end of the meaning to the images?"
Tem looked serious. "In my culture, yes." He nodded. "The spirit lives on, but after death the body is buried, returned to Papatuanuku, Mother Earth." Tem paused for a moment. "But others revere the physical form. I've heard of specialists in skin preservation, those who work with the bodies of the dead to keep tats for family or gang affiliation. I've also heard rumors of a skin trade, a black market for inked skin. Fetishists mostly." He shook his head. "But after what I've put onto people's bodies, nothing surprises me these days."
Jamie thought of the missing and the dead so far. All were inked.
"Do you know where we could find someone like that in London?" she asked.
Tem shook his head. "Really not my thing. I prefer live bodies to work with, skin I have permission to ink." Tem pointed along the corridor. "Go see the taxidermists. They have their own little community." Tem looked at Jamie, meeting her eyes. "And come and see me when you make your decision about what you want inked."
Jamie blushed under his gaze, wondering what it would feel like to have his strong hands inking her skin. Part of her wanted to find out.
"Thanks for your help," Blake said, breaking the moment. He shook Tem's hand. "We really appreciate it."
They walked away from Tem's stand towards a corner of the convention hidden amongst the arches. Here were the cabinet-of-curiosity shops where strange objects were sold alongside herbal remedies, and taxidermists displayed their wares. The people who sat on the stalls generally wore black, many were tattooed, and Jamie wondered at the crossover between the groups. Was it a fascination with death or just with skin?
They walked around, trying to get a sense of who to speak to. One stall displayed beetles and spiders, butterflies and frogs pinned on boards, their remains spread out for viewing. The vibrant colors of the shiny carapaces and wetness of the skin made them look like they had recently been caught and mounted. Jamie was reminded of Damien Hirst's Last Kingdom piece, which placed dead insects in exact rows, a rainbow of colors of the dead. Was it all just memento mori, Jamie wondered, to help us remember that we are all animated dust waiting to return to the earth?
Blake wandered over to an area with pieces of furniture that had been modified to incorporate taxidermy animals. He bent to a red wingback chair to examine two young foxes, stuffed as if they were playing and mounted into the hollow back. Jamie turned to another stall nearby.
It had animal heads mounted on wooden bases, but they weren't in the style of hunting lodges where old men boasted of their kill. These heads were embellished with colorful beads and jeweled flowers, embroidered silk and ribbons. Each piece turned the animal into a celebration of life. Jamie stopped to look more closely and a young woman came out from behind the table. Her hair was ash blonde, tied back from her pale face with a garland of flowers. Her eyes were intelligent, slightly wary, as if she expected criticism for her work.