Right on cue, Klara and Jambit sipped their pineapple juices whilst Bastian tried to kill his thirst with a watery cucumber pulp minus the ice.
‘Nora’s behaviour, did it ever raise concerns?’ asked Bastian putting down his glass.
‘Far from it, she was an exemplary pupil. Her poor exam results were a mystery to us all,’ replied Klara.
‘Perhaps she got in with the wrong crowd,’ said Jambit.
‘On the contrary,’ said Klara. ‘At the University of Holistic Medicine there is no such thing as the wrong crowd. We select only those with the correct aptitude for what can prove to be a most difficult job.’
‘Like when a patient has dementia?’ asked Bastian.
‘Indeed,’ replied Klara.
‘If Nora failed her exams, what was she doing on a ship full of old timers?’ asked Bastian.
‘Perhaps you should ask Nabulus,’ she replied. ‘And I’m afraid I now have another lecture to give. I hope there won’t be any more questions.’
‘If I could ask one last thing from a historical perspective,’ said Bastian standing up. ‘The first pioneers that went to Scotland, did they take any medicines with them?’
‘I’m not a history teacher, but why wouldn’t they? Although I’m sure they were more than a little surprised at what Scotland has to offer.’
Jambit grabbed another delicious locust, fried in pineapple and coconut sauce.
‘Please take them all,’ said Klara. ‘And if you ever want to discuss something more than education give me a call. My late husband was bitten by a black mamba whilst mowing the lawn. It can get lonely at night without him.’
Harriet was sitting outside the office in the small recess as they left. They rode a chauffeured golf buggy back to the gates and their camels. The driver made no conversation. Once the University was at their backs, Bastian said what Jambit was thinking, ‘she’s lying.’
Chapter Thirty
They were gathered outside the church and its white painted walls. It was cooler inside but on today of all days there would be no room for everyone assembled to squeeze onto the pews. The last day of the month every month was the tribute whereupon grateful citizens everywhere gave one quart of all produce to the government. And to include in whole or parts thereof any slaughtered animals killed and salted after the last tribute.
Nabulus was seated at an unremarkable table wearing shorts and a black T-shirt invisible against his skin. By his side sat a commissar in a long white robe with a kepi upon his head and the peak tilted down over his eyes.
‘May I remind the village that the growing of sugarcane is strictly forbidden upon punishment of a ten-point deduction,’ he said slowly and without raising his head.
The villagers all nodded, sitting in deck chairs and fanning themselves as the flies buzzed around.
There was a pile of sugarcane behind them waiting to be burnt on tonight’s bonfire alongside the illegal fishing nets found on the beach.
‘And upon revised instruction from London for your own health and wellbeing, the final tobacco patch in the village is just that,’ said Nabulus. ‘It has been replaced with the poppies of which we are all so fond.’
This was Jeremiah’s tobacco patch which Mandrake had burnt to the ground the day his parents departed. Indeed, Mandrake had disposed of much since his parents’ retirement and the village’s third hand shops were full of their old goods. Neither he nor Rebekah wanted reminding of the previous occupants.
Holroyd was reading his notes, ready to ensure everyone handed over the correct tithe. But two villagers were about to lose more than just a quart of their goat cheese. Their entire herd had been seized for distribution amongst the village and the butcher.
‘Goat herders step forward,’ said Nabulus.
The young couple were pushed to the front by an angry mob.
‘You have been found guilty of hiding ten goats,’ said Nabulus. ‘How do you plead?’
They both mumbled.
‘Louder,’ insisted Nabulus.
‘Guilty,’ they said.
‘I hereby deduct twenty points from both of you, two for each beast.’
There were gasps amongst the crowd with Nabulus wishing to impress the commissar with his ruthlessness.
‘Joshua, you know what to do next,’ he said.
The mob marched the shamed goat herders to the village pond and the ducking stools. Joshua held a stopwatch, one minute was the maximum time allowed underwater at any one ducking and there had to be a gap of at least twenty seconds but no longer than a minute between each submergence. The mob howled and bayed for the maximum seven duckings per person and eventually the offenders were thrown spluttering and half drowned onto the grass. Should the task have proved insurmountable for their lungs, they would have been considered fortunate in that God had forgiven them of their sins and called them to heaven at an earlier than hitherto time.
The villagers displayed their goods along the high street using the back of carts, wheelbarrows, pack animals and all sundry means and measures. Holroyd carefully walked the line and checked each tribute against his records taken from the hot-air balloon and visual inspection from the ground. Each was compared to the previous month’s tribute.
By the end of the day, the meats, poultry, fruits, vegetables, bushels of barley, corn and wheat, and all manner of goods were stacked high in ten government waggons awaiting transportation to London. And the most important waggon of all was at the head of the caravan, packed with bags of raw opium and cannabis.
There was a gift for the village too, boxes of candles and soap stacked at the side of the church for distribution at the next Sunday Service. They were in boxes of twenty stamped ‘made in Scotland’. Hand-made by retirees who sought work to keep their senses sharp or wanted to give something back to a society that had given them so much and still did.
* * *
That evening the villagers were letting off steam in the government owned pub the Dead Lion. Wine and cider flowed from goblets
