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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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Recently, I have not been sleeping well. The responsibility of preparing for my upcoming negotiations with the Merlercians has been weighing upon me heavily. However, my session with Nezella has left my exhausted, and I sleep for five solid hours, waking feeling rested and refreshed, ready (more or less) for whatever Saturday has to throw at me.
* * * It is Chobber who comes round about the blood. By the time he arrives, I am more in control of myself. I have mixed feelings about Chobber's arrival. Phoning the police was probably a mistake under the circumstances. The problem, to be honest, is that my prime suspects in any murder plot (and any associated sequence of threats and menaces) are my own children. But I don't feel a death threat is something I can blandly ignore. "Any idea who might have done this?" asks Chobber. "Not a clue," I say. This is a lie, and I'm conscious of the inappropriacy of summoning the police and then, having summoned them, failing to give them the information they need to work with. I'm conflicted, and feel like an idiot. Well, I am an idiot. There's no point in going through the ritual of calling the police if I'm not prepared to confess my suspicions when they arrive. When it comes to culprits, I am perfectly capable of naming suspects. Quite apart from Tanto and Helena, one possibility is Chelooza, though getting up early in the morning and delivering a bucket of blood would take more determined self-organization than I can easily credit her with. If I tell Chobber that Chelooza has told me that I am going to be murdered, then maybe Chobber will lean on Chelooza and discover the details. Perhaps she will confess that her co-conspirator is Tanto. Once again, I logic my way through the situation and come to the same conclusion as before. I cannot risk having Chobber interrogate Tanto and Helena. I need to sort this out myself. "It was probably just kids," I say. A weak explanation, but Chobber buys it. "This is just a prank," says Chobber, claiming my deduction to be his own. From the way he says it, I rather think he suspects the culprits to be not just anonymous unspecified "kids" but my children, the irrepressible twins. However, I don't think that Chobber guesses that the twins might be linked to cyanide and potential murder. Even though I want him to take this matter lightly and to go away without interfering overmuch with our lives, I find myself becoming annoyed at his patent lack of interest in our drama. "Well," I say, unable to help myself. "Aren't you going to take samples? Analyze the blood?" Chobber gives me a look. It is a look I am not accustomed to seeing. A look of pure disgust. And, five minutes later, he is gone, doubtless to spend a busy day doing more important things, such as arresting delinquent bicycles. Chobber must be aware that this bucket of blood is one of the traditional tokens of a blood feud. It is a warning: I am going to kill you and yours. However. If someone seriously intended to kill me, why would they declare themselves in advance like this? We have outgrown, I think, the old traditional ways. In today's Nizon, murders are done without ceremony, the guilty party usually being the person who stands to gain the greatest financial benefit from the killing. Maybe the bucket of blood appeals to Chelooza's secret sense of theater. Or to Tanto's. Or maybe Helena is the dramatic one. Whatever the truth, it is impossible for me to ignore the bucket incident. It represents an escalation of the threat against me. Whoever is planning to kill me (and I'm increasingly persuaded that I'm the target) I need to discourage them. I am going to have to play detective and get a confession. But how? "Optimally," I say, "crack Chelooza." That certainly looks like the easiest way to start. Have a talk with Chelooza and find out what she knows. Chelooza is the weak link, not least because she has a self-dramatizing streak and loves to yabber. It should not be too difficult to find out what she knows. If I cannot get satisfaction from Chelooza, my next step will be to brace either Tanto or Helena. "So let's do it." * * * "If you're finished with your police show drama," says Iola, who thinks I've made far too much of a fuss about the bucket of blood, "we have time to sit down with the kids before they go to school." "About what?" I ask, dubiously. "Their curfew?" While it is admittedly unsatisfactory to have the kids coming home in the small hours of the morning stinking of cigarette smoke, I do not feel like having a row this morning. And, in any case, there have been almost no such infractions in the last few months. "Not about their curfew," says Iola. "About Dataporo." "Dataporo?" I say. "Yes," says Iola. "I phoned Grandmother Sarka last night, after you went to do your teleconferencing. How did that go, by the way?" "A waste of time," I say. "Just going round in circles. And Mama Pea said?" "She said the offer's still open, and, in fact, the place phoned her just a couple of days ago. They have some places open on the next course which starts just seven days from now." "Money," I say. "I was very frank with Mama Pea," says Iola. "She confirmed that she aims to pick up all costs. She'll even dole out pocket money to the kids." "Not too much pocket money, I hope." "No, she'll keep it within reason." This sounds good, so we summon Tanto and Helena, who are initially resistant to the idea of sitting down with their parents for a chat. It turns out they had been planning to watch Saturday morning cartoon shows until it was time to sprint for the school bus. In particular, they're both fans of Boochippy Gaftattle, that incredibly silly cartoon show about a two-headed tadpole with a talent for forging credit cards. (The twins have explained to me that the grotesque stupidity is central to the attraction, but I'm afraid I don't understand the explanation.) Under parental pressure, Tanto and Helena reluctantly agree that they can spare us thirty minutes. And so we briefly outline Grandmother Sarka's offer of a free course, six weeks in length, at the Dataporo Youth Development Paradise. To my surprise, Tanto and Helena take to the idea immediately. To me, the Dataporo Youth Development Paradise looks like a small piece of hell on earth, a whitewashed prison camp stuck out in the countryside remote from civilization. My children, however, do not take quite the same attitude. After all, at Paradise they have broadband Internet access plus "an approach to censorship which encourages the development of individual responsibility". They also wish to "develop individual responsibility" further in an environment in which "coeducational interaction is encouraged". My children are better at reading between the lines than I am, and, as I pick up on their interpretation of what they are being offered, I start to hear the silent screaming of my risk alarm going off. Helena's attention is drawn to the page with the picture of the medical care center, which looks to me like a plywood box sitting outside the kitchen. She murmurs, reading the advisory: "Confidential medical counseling is available." What does that mean? Free access to contraceptive devices? The more I look at the pamphlets from the Dataporo Youth Development Paradise, the more it looks like a recipe for trouble. Still. If we say "yes" then the kids can be gone in a week. Having the twins out of the house would relieve my anxieties about murder. Another point is that if we do sell our landholdings to the Merlercians and all have to relocate, it will be easier to get things done without keeping an eye on the twins. "Yeah, and, experimental chemistry!" says Tanto. "Maybe they could teach us cyanide and stuff." "Cyanide?" I ask. "And stuff?" "Yeah," says Tanto, giving me one of his most energetic grins. "You know, like that, that cult, the thingy, what's it called? That sold those suicide kits. Me for a new career!" And he grins again. Is he just making a clumsy joke? Or is he taunting me? If Tanto were really planning to murder me, then surely he would not be so foolish as to make a comment about cyanide right in front of me. Or would he? Age fourteen is a world away from wisdom, and, as you grow older, you forget the depths of folly that you were capable of as a kid. "So it's decided, then," says Iola. "I'll phone Grandmother Sarka today and work out the details. Ken, you'd better drive the kids to school. They're running late. I didn't think this would take so long." "Couldn't we skip school?" says Helena. "It's Saturday. We never do anything important Saturday." "You clean the school," I say. If I had my way, school would run for seven days a week rather than six. In fact, if Iola and I had the money then Tanto and Helena would have gone to a boarding school as soon as their junior high school days got underway. Tanto and Helena get the message. Yes, they are going to spend Saturday at school, just like every other regular school kid in this country of ours. The End of the First 30 Chapters •The first thirty chapters end here. The text of the first thirty chapters runs to a little less than 65,000 words. The full text of the novel "Bamboo Horses" runs to sixty-four chapters and about 140,700 words. The complete novel is available for purchase online via amazon.com. Chapter Thirty-One starts ... Although I do really want the kids to go to school, I don't like this business of driving them. It's been happening too often recently. However, our talk about life in Paradise has left me with no option, so I go to fetch the car, which means cutting through the grounds of Perturbations Lodge to get to the Older House. As I come through the gap in the high bamboo hedge that stands between the grounds of Perturbations Lodge and those of the Older House, I look up. That's something Grandfather Hondo taught me. Look up. Always remember to look up. And, although it's easy to forget, I almost always do look up when I enter the grounds of the Older House. Just in case Uncle Grendabous is standing at the window upstairs. And today he is. I feel a scalding shock. It's him! He's there! |
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