But what is that smell?
Something isn’t quite right.
A damp wetness settles on his face. The entrance hall goes black. Tiredness strikes quickly like the blow from an axe. He can’t walk to Winchester Publishing. He can’t even take a taxi. He must sleep instead. He tries to fight it. He wants to go to see Astra! Tries to shout out to her but gets cloth in his mouth. Takes a deep breath with his nose which is almost free. A pungent aroma. More dampness. No more air. Cloth in his nostrils too, like a wet hot towel in his face. Or a rag. His eyes smart. They are bleeding. He is forced to close his eyes under the dampness. Even more tired. Must rest. Falling. Tries to wave his arms to retain his balance. They are stuck to his body. Rough cloth around his body. First it was his shoulders. Now his legs. Everything is just stuck. Tight fit. Belts everywhere. Or ropes. Tighter and tighter. Round all of him. That’s nice. Relaxes. He’s going to sleep now. His legs leave the ground. He is an autumn leaf. He flies off. Or is carried. Sleep tight.
CHAPTER 33
Country Life
Astra is in a meeting at the office. They are talking about the programme for the imminent book fair and going through all the signings and programmes that their authors will be attending. The Gothenburg Book Fair is unique because both professionals and the public are welcome. That creates a special atmosphere and gives the book industry a unique gauge of what readers actually value. But for the publishing houses the fair is a comprehensive apparatus that costs a frightful amount of money. Nothing can be left to chance. For example, all the authors must eat well and stay at the most expensive hotel – they can’t have different hotels for different authors, since officially they are all worth the same. Obviously, the bestsellers must have decent accommodation and that means all the ‘cultural’ authors automatically get the same treatment. So they must slim down the production and maximise every hour that an author is at the fair. Once there, every author will have a permanent companion from their publishing house to guide them around the fair floor between various signings, seminars and interviews. So they need lots of people from Winchester Publishing at the fair, but when it comes to their ‘staff’ accommodation a strict hierarchy applies: the bosses stay on the top floor of the fair hotel in the city centre while the plebs are spread out in rings around the city, according to their rank.
Winchester Publishing has a strong list this autumn, and the highlights will be presented at the book fair. Their competitors have lots of exciting things to present too. In addition, the fair will be hosting several interesting authors from abroad. There will be a delightful mix of high and low, from the lightest entertainment to unknown poets who write in dying languages – just what your average cultural consumer wants to read and hear the latest about. It is extremely likely that there will be (again) a record number of accredited journalists. Those who claim that literature is a dying medium have never been to the Gothenburg Book Fair.
Astra has got so far in her career that she has a fairly free programme at the fair. She is going to chair a couple of mini-seminars, host some dinners and help the agents at the international rights centre to present some really heavyweight titles.
She has put her phone next to the big planning calendar and sees when it starts to vibrate. Looks who is phoning. Titus, oh well. He can wait. The phone signals that the answering machine has recorded a message.
After a while, Evita looks in through the door.
‘Astra, can I borrow you a moment…? There’s something I need to ask you.’
‘Sure.’
Astra gets up and takes her phone with her. She is going to check what Titus wants before she goes back into the meeting again. They go into the corridor.
Evita looks around to make sure nobody can hear them.
‘Yes, well… this is the situation. The Bitch in Barcelona has just phoned. She wondered if we had booked the same suite as last year for Pablo Blando.’
Astra looks surprised.
‘She phoned you about that?’
Are there no limits for that control freak, Astra wonders. Must she double-check with my boss too?
Evita seems to almost understand what Astra is thinking.
‘Well, they have slightly different ways of going about things in the Latin countries. We’ll have to put up with it. But I promised her I’d check with you. Can you email her about it?’
‘I already have done… but okay, I can do it again,’ says Astra brightly.
‘And there’s one other thing. A bit sensitive, perhaps that’s why she phoned me. Pablo is beginning to get a bit old and evidently gets an awful lot of palpitations when he takes Viagra nowadays. So she has started to ration his dosage.’
‘Oh, I’m glad about that, because it isn’t so easy for me to get hold of…’
‘Yeah, but the catch is that…’ Evita interrupts her without completing her sentence. She looks down.
‘What is it?’
‘She wants us to get him some crushed reindeer horn instead.’
‘What?’
‘She says that it would be the best for his heart.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘He has evidently seen a documentary about the effects of reindeer horn. When he was on a book-signing tour in Japan.’
‘No, I can’t believe it!’
‘I agree, it is totally sick. But true. We’ll laugh at it someday.’
‘I really hope so,’ says Astra and looks slightly worried. She knows what is coming now.
‘So can you arrange it, do you think?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ says Evita and tilts her head to one side. ‘You’re so incredibly competent.’
When Titus wakes up, he still can’t move. He tries to remember what has happened. Yeah, right, he was on his way to Winchester Publishing with the manuscript. And then he fell asleep.
It is dark, completely pitch dark. He opens his eyes wide to try to see anything at all. Nothing. He tries to open his mouth. He can’t. His lips are stuck together. It feels as if he has an iron band across his face on the level of his mouth.
He can tell that he is sitting and that he is stuck there. An iron band around his wrists and ankles too. Or is it tape? It is probably tape because he can’t feel any sharp edges when he tries to wriggle his way loose. Tape round his stomach too. Two hard poles against his back. A kitchen chair?
His nose is free. He takes a deep breath. Cold, damp air. Is he down in a cellar? Or up in an attic?
He snorts. Umpf. Ummppff!
Not the slightest sign of resonance or echo.
Total silence.
It is as silent as in a grave.
Uuuuuummmmmmpppppfffff!
Astra looks at her watch. Where has he got to? He said that he was on his way to Winchester’s. The message was recorded at 11.32 and now it is a quarter to five. He ought to have been here ages ago. She phones him once more, but his phone is still turned off. Weird. Perhaps she ought to call in at his place on her way home? Check if anything has happened. Perhaps he’s fallen ill? The thought of the manuscript makes her terribly curious. And just think – he stuck to the schedule! She would never have thought that possible when all this started. But it is thanks to her. She took an iron grip from the very first, just as Evita had said. The breathalyser lock was a stroke of genius, nothing less. But where the hell is he? Why doesn’t he answer his phone?