After the Bloodwood Staff

Chapter 2: In Which Hoyle Meets a Stranger

Chapter 2: In Which Hoyle Meets a StrangerHoyle waited nervously near the check-in counters, a new, and overstuffed, backpack at his feet and an equally new carry-on that dragged, book-heavy, at his shoulder. He’d spent the last half-hour scanning the passing crowds for Sybil. There! No, too tall. There! No, Sybil wouldn’t be carrying a baby. There—wait, yes! Hoyle started to wave idiotically.

Sybil spotted him and changed course. She, too, had a backpack, but hers was scuffed and dirty. “Good, you’re early,” she said when she reached him. “But … you know it’s five hours to LA, and then another twelve or fourteen to Sydney, right?”

“Um, yeah. Why?”

“You’re wearing—never mind. It’ll be fine. Let’s go check in.”

His heart sank. Was this what it was going to be like the whole time? Never being quite good enough? Always somehow making the wrong choices? Too late now. He sighed, heaved his backpack onto his empty shoulder, and struggled through the crowd after Sybil.

They checked in, went through security, and set up camp at the gate. Hoyle got as close to comfortable as he could and pulled out a book.

Sybil said, “Don’t forget to wake me at the boarding call,” wrapped her neck in a U-shaped pillow, and dozed.

While her eyes were closed, Hoyle risked a good, long look at her. Sleep softened her tough, bristling energy, and she looked almost kind without the scowl. She was dressed in loose clothes that almost hid a roll of fat around her middle. Her carry-on was half the size of Hoyle’s; he felt yet another flash of shame.

The people who set off on adventures together—weren’t they always friends? Shouldn’t Sybil be treating him like a trusted companion? Why had she even offered to take him along? Maybe this wasn’t his big chance for adventure after all. Maybe it was just the start of one more sad, sorry mishap in his ordinary life, one more time he would disappoint someone he wanted to impress.

At least he could try, though. Maybe this time would be different. With sudden resolve, he swapped the book he’d first taken out for another: an introduction to camping. With Sybil asleep, he could read it without fear of her dismissive pity. He started the chapter on how to choose a campsite. It seemed straightforward enough: you just had to imagine all the very worst things that could ever possibly happen and pick a spot where they were very slightly less likely than at other spots.

When the boarding call came, he put his book away and said softly, “Sybil?” When she didn’t wake, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake. She started awake and raised one arm to shield her face, then lowered it as she recognized Hoyle.

“Sorry,” they said at the same time. Together they got in the line and shuffled forward to board the plane. Hoyle’s seat was towards the back.

“See you in LA,” said Sybil.

Hoyle nodded to his seatmates: a teenage boy and a man who looked like the boy’s father.

“You staying in LA or going on?” asked the father pleasantly.

“Going on,” said Hoyle.

“We’re heading out to meet with a games company,” said the father. “Josh has some really good programs he’s been working on.” The boy smiled shyly. “I just wish he spent as much time on his homework.” The boy’s smile vanished.

“I’m sure he does fine,” said Hoyle, feeling embarrassed for him. “Smart kid like that. If he can program games, he can handle the French Revolution and—and Latin verbs. And stuff.” He was rewarded by another smile from the boy.

“Hm, maybe,” said the father. “So, where are you going on to? Hawaii? Tokyo?”

“Sydney.”

“Cool,” said the boy. “One of my f*******: friends lives there.”

Once they took off the boy had his nose to the window. That left Hoyle at the mercy of the father’s chatty curiosity. He found himself drawn into talking about H Rider Haggard and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the termites and his destroyed library, even about losing his job.

Sybil walked up the aisle on her way to the toilet. She noticed Hoyle and the father in conversation, and shot Hoyle a warning look. Then the trip was supposed to be a secret. Well, she’d never said so, had she? But he knew that wouldn’t excuse him. Adventurers always kept their plans secret. One hour into the flight and he was already a failure as a sidekick. He did as he should have done at first: excused himself and started reading a book.

He sensed Sybil coming back down the aisle. He kept his head down, but watched her through his eyelashes as she went to her seat. Just before she sat down, she glared at him over her shoulder. He wasn’t looking forward to the plane-change in LA.

* * *

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” said Sybil.

“Oh, come on. It was a shy kid and his pushy dad. They weren’t hounding me about the Blood—um.”

She nodded. “Better. New habits, Hoyle. People can overhear, put things together. The microphone is always on. Now. What gate for the Sydney flight?” She started walking.

Well. That hadn’t been so bad.

She stopped and put a hand on his arm. “And if you screw up like that again, I’ll turn and walk away from you, and I won’t look back. If that means stranding you in a seedy bar full of desperate junkies or in a ravine a hundred miles from the nearest road, I mean it, I won’t think twice. I like you and everything, and I didn’t want to do the journey alone, but …”

She stared up at him until he nodded, then continued on to the gate. Hoyle followed, his face burning.

He kept obsessively to himself on the flight to Sydney. He read, and dozed, and ate, and read, and used the toilet, and watched a couple of movies, and dozed, and read, and ate, and eventually the flight attendants gave everyone a white, steamy towel. A heavy feeling in Hoyle’s ears and a sense of being tipped over told him the plane was descending. The pilot announced the local time; he reset his watch.

He was doing his best to feel cool and worldly, but he still jiggled and fidgeted until he was allowed to stand up. And then it was another wait until the walkway was attached, and yet more waiting as everyone tried, and failed, to shuffle forward at once. Once off the plane, he waited for Sybil, and together they went through passport control, baggage claim, and customs, all of which required yet another wait.

Finally they went down a ramp, past the eager faces of other people’s relatives, and into the waiting area.

“Now what?” said Hoyle. He checked his watch: Seven-thirty in the morning. Awkward time to do anything.

“There’s a hotel in the city center we’ll be staying at while we get our bearings. We’ll have to share a room, though.”

“What?”

“Oh, grow up. You can change in the bathroom. I don’t know about you, but I’m not made of money, and halving the cost of the hotel was a little miracle for me. Besides, when I checked the website just before we left, there were no extra rooms anyway.” She settled her pack on her shoulders. “By the way, I snore.”

Hoyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Train station’s this way.”

They got out of the train at Central Station, and Sybil led him confidently down and up stairs, through tunnels, and out into the huge, Victorian main terminal.

“How do you know where to go?” he said.

“I don’t,” she said. “I’m open to suggestion at any time.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Why? Did you have a suggestion?”

“Um, no.”

“Then don’t worry about it. Come on, we need to get east of the station. East is this way.”

Adventurers always knew where east was. Hoyle never knew. This was going from bad to worse.

The streets of Sydney were cluttered and noisy, and the longer he and Sybil walked, the narrower and shabbier they became. Sybil took a map from her pack, and Hoyle watched passively as she studied it. They started turning corners and going down alleys. Finally Sybil stopped in front of a cramped-looking, four-story building with a sign on the door: “Happy Guest House. Nice Wisdom and Kindness for You. Free Wi-Fi.”

“What’s that about?” said Hoyle.

Sybil shrugged. “At least it doesn’t say ‘Bad Service and Bedbugs’.”

The lobby was all dark wood and dusty flowered carpets and odd corners. A staircase going up to a series of landings and hallways took up most of the space. Behind the desk was a woman who looked neither wise nor kind, just tired and a little bit anxious.

“Yes?” she said. “Yes? Yes?”

“Sybil Alvaro. Here’s my confirmation number.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it over.

The woman squinted at it. She pushed a form and a pen towards Sybil, who wrote for a minute and pushed them back. The woman gave her a key.

Sybil said, “Is there a second key for my friend?” The woman gave her an incredulous look. Sybil said to Hoyle, “I guess we’ll have to share.”

As Hoyle and Sybil lumbered up the stairs with their packs, a small figure shot past them on the way down.

The woman at the counter shouted, “Ada! Ada! Damn it, Ada! I—ah, shit.”

“Nice wisdom and kindness,” murmured Hoyle.

“Sh,” said Sybil.

The room could just fit the two beds and a small table and chair. The pillows were thin, the bedspreads meager and worn.

Hoyle put his pack on one of the beds. “What’s that you were saying about bedbugs?”

“Don’t complain, it’s cheap.”

“How long are we here for?”

“I guess until we figure out where to go next. I’m hoping the State Library might have some information. They’ve got collections of manuscripts and personal papers, and who knows? There might also be someone in Sydney, an academic or something, to talk to. Breadcrumbs, Hoyle.”

“Meanwhile, maybe I’ll take a nap. I didn’t sleep much on the flights.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll join you. Um, so to speak.”

Hoyle giggled. A second later, so did Sybil. Hoyle realized it was the first time he’d ever heard her laugh.

He thought he might go brush his teeth, which badly needed it, but decided he’d lie down for just a second.

* * *

Sybil woke him. “I’m heading out for dinner.”

“What? What time is it?”

“Four in the afternoon, but I’m ravenous. You want to come along?”

“Holy crap!”

“Jet lag is hell.” Sybil started for the door.

“I have got to brush my teeth first. You’ll thank me.”

“Now that you mention it, I believe I will. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

Hoyle found his toothbrush and toothpaste and squeezed into the tiny bathroom. He felt like he was brushing the crud out of his brain as well as off his teeth. He rinsed and spat, then splashed some water onto his face. Much better.

Sybil locked the door behind them and they descended the stairs. This time the desk was staffed by a tall man, with skin dark enough that he would have been hard to notice in the gloomy lobby had he not been waving his arms and shouting.

“I’m bloody sick and tired of your bullshit, Ada!”

“My bullshit?” It was a young woman’s voice, high and angry. “You promised me I could work here until Christmas.”

“That was assuming you’d actually do any bloody work.”

“What? What haven’t I done?”

“I don’t have all f*****g day to tell you, do I?”

“Oh yeah? What do you reckon Centrelink will say when I tell them—well, when I tell them what I could tell them?”

“You piss off during working hours again and I won’t give a s**t what you tell anyone.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Hoyle could hear her angry, stomping exit even over the carpet. A door slammed somewhere towards the back of the house, and the man behind the counter gave a loud sigh and rubbed his face wearily. Suddenly aware of Hoyle and Sybil, he looked up. “Yes?”

“How late is the front door open?” said Sybil.

“Nine. After that, use your room key.”

“Thanks,” said Hoyle, trying a friendly smile.

The man stared at him for a long moment. Abashed, Hoyle stepped with Sybil into a hot, humid, grey afternoon. His shirt felt damp in seconds. “That Ada seems like a piece of work,” he said as they walked.

“Not our problem. I need to find a money machine.”

“I guess back the way we came. I think there were some on that main road. God, it’s hot here.”

“What did you think? It’s November.”

They got to the wide, busy street Hoyle remembered from the morning, and Sybil got some cash. It occurred to Hoyle that he couldn’t expect Sybil to pay for his dinner—indeed, the thought of it made him feel queasy—so he got some, too. They bought fish and chips from a corner shop, which he found very charming: real fish and chips wrapped in paper, just like in books. Pretty good, too, if more than a bit greasy.

“I want to go make a start at the State Library when we’re done here,” said Sybil. “It’s just a little way up this street—I checked while you were asleep.”

“I thought you were going to sleep, too.”

“Couldn’t. Too much to think about.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“That’s all right, thanks. Here, take the room key. I’ll be back sometime before nine, I guess, so try not to fall asleep again until I get there. The way you sleep, you might not wake up no matter how loudly I knock. Do you remember how to get back to the hotel? Take the map, too. We’re right here. That street there,” she pointed, “is this one here on the map. Got it?”

“I can use a map.” He sounded defensive, even to himself, but Sybil was too eager to notice.

Hoyle decided to walk around for a bit. Maybe have a beer. Australians were famous for their beer drinking; it would be interesting to watch them at it. There was a bar up the street—it was confusingly called a hotel, but it definitely looked like a bar. He bought himself a pint, then sat at an empty table and watched some sort of football. At halftime he bought himself another. The conversations around him were warm and jovial. He was really starting to like Australia.

He glanced outside. Uh-oh, it was getting dark. Time to head back. He took out the map to plan a route.

“Need some help, mate?” Hoyle looked up and recognized the figure that had darted past him that morning. The voice wasn’t shouting now, but it was definitely the same one they’d heard before. Ada.

“Hey!” said Hoyle.

“Yeah, Happy Guest House—I saw you check in. This is my favorite pub, mainly because it’s the first one I get to after I knock off work. You in a rush to get back? Can’t think why. The place is a dump, and Mick and Melati are—well, never mind. If you had a choice, you’d be staying somewhere else. Mind if I sit down?”

“No, sure, please.”

She was smaller even than Sybil, and thin as a straw. Her hair was spiky, and bleached white-blond, making a bizarre contrast with her deeply tanned skin and wide, dark eyes. Her hands were never still: they gestured, or ran through her hair, or fiddled with one of the piercings in her ears or lips.

“Okay, never mind the map. What you want to do is, see that street there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go up there three blocks, then turn left, then second right and there you are.”

Hoyle blinked.

“Aw, hell, I’ll take you back there. If you shout me a beer.”

Shout?

Ada spoke carefully. “If you buy me a beer, I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

“Oh! Oh, sure, yeah. What kind?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

He got her the beer, which she drank a lot more quickly than he’d expected. She stood up. “You ready?”

“Almost.” He drained his own glass. “Okay.”

She led him through the darkening labyrinth of streets until they got to the hotel. “Here you go,” she said quietly. “Don’t tell Melati I’m anywhere near here, or she’ll drag me back in to do another shift, yeah? Thanks for the beer.” She grinned and was gone.

Mick was at the desk, looking at something on the computer and frowning. He glanced at Hoyle, then back at the computer.

“Good night,” said Hoyle, and Mick nodded without looking up again.

Up in the room Hoyle showered, changed into pajamas, and got out his camping book. It would be too easy to sleep if he lay on the bed; he sat gingerly on the rickety chair to read and wait for Sybil.

Despite his precautions, he was dozing when she knocked at the door. He jumped up, hid the book under his pillow, and let her in. She was glowing.

“It’s a treasure trove,” she gushed. “Letters, monographs, everything! I haven’t found anything Ingraham-specific yet, but I’m sure I will—maybe even tomorrow. I have a good feeling about this—we might be on our way to the wilderness before the week is out.”

Hoyle thought wistfully of the cheerful pub. Only one week until he was dragged away with nothing to shelter him from the wrath of the wilderness—and of Sybil. His bonhomie vanished, and he lay down to a restless sleep and an early rising.