Calculus to the miserable figure of India. ‘You got money?’ she said eventually.
‘No good if you don’t got money.’ Calculus hastily held out a bundle of notes. She grunted. ‘OK, this way.’ She turned and walked back inside. ‘Welcome to Mrs
Chang’s,’ she added as an afterthought.
CHAPTER 7
THE PIRATE RIGGER
The inside of Mrs Chang’s guest house combined a dining room, a bar and a general store. There were open sacks of flour and dry beans by the door and tinned foods stacked
neatly on shelves. New steel buckets hung from the ceiling next to coils of heavy rope and the counter was packed with jars of jam, candles and, alarmingly, sticks of dynamite.
Large men were crammed around rough wooden tables, consuming jugs of beer and plates of meat and potatoes. The air was thick with cooking steam and alive with rowdy conversation. Hardly anyone
looked up at the newcomers. Mrs Chang picked up plates from the kitchen counter and began slamming them down on the tables.
‘Why you want room?’ she shouted to Calculus over the din. ‘Damned robot don’t sleep, don’t eat nothing, don’t spend no money, just take up space, bad for
business.’
Calculus assured her he would willingly pay for the food he wasn’t going to eat so that he could sit in her dining room.
‘What about her?’ said Mrs Chang, sizing up India with a critical eye. ‘She gonna eat? She’s as thin as a noodle, no good if she don’t eat.’
India felt sick to her stomach about the loss of the journals but she nodded miserably and said she would try and eat something.
Despite her hard-faced exterior Mrs Chang turned out to be a kind soul. She took pity on India’s miserable state and led her to a small guest room on the top floor where she drew her a hot
bath. At any other time India would have been entranced with the novelty of getting hot water from a tap whenever you wanted it. But now she just sat unhappily in the bath and hugged her knees
while Mrs Chang scrubbed her back.
‘Who was that boy in the alleyway?’ asked India.
Mrs Chang made a tutting sound as she pulled a brush from her apron and began to drag it through India’s hair. ‘That’s Sid the Kid. He’s a bad lot, just sixteen and
already he kill five men. One of them right here in my dining room.’
India was shocked. ‘But if he’s murdered people why doesn’t somebody do something about it? Don’t you have a constable?’
Mrs Chang snorted. ‘Not so easy, Sid is the Director’s son. No one can touch him and he have plenty men in his gang who do whatever he say. They’re all bad men but Sid,
he’s the worst of them all. You no want to tangle with Sid!’
‘Well believe me, I wish I hadn’t,’ said India gloomily.
Mrs Chang found her some warm clothes and laid them on the bed. There was long underwear that India had to roll up at the bottom, a thick woollen shirt and a set of padded overalls. Mrs Chang
explained they had belonged to her son whose rig had fallen through the lake ice two springs ago, drowning the whole crew She said it in a matter-of-fact way as though death was always close at
hand in Angel Town.
As India was getting dressed, the room gave a sudden lurch. She was wondering if she had imagined it when it happened again. The ground began to rumble and the glass in the windows rattled.
‘What’s happening?’ she cried, holding on to the edge of the bed. The rumbling stopped as quickly as it had begun.
Mrs Chang looked out of the window She muttered some indistinct words under her breath and made a curious sign in the air with her finger. ‘Earth tremor,’ she said, returning to the
task of folding towels. ‘Happen more and more these days. You ask me the Company take too much from under the ground. Not show enough respect to the mountain spirits.’
‘Mountain spirits?’ said India. ‘Do you believe that’s what causes earthquakes?’
Mrs Chang put down the towels. ‘You soon find out this a damn strange
‘No good if you don’t got money.’ Calculus hastily held out a bundle of notes. She grunted. ‘OK, this way.’ She turned and walked back inside. ‘Welcome to Mrs
Chang’s,’ she added as an afterthought.
CHAPTER 7
THE PIRATE RIGGER
The inside of Mrs Chang’s guest house combined a dining room, a bar and a general store. There were open sacks of flour and dry beans by the door and tinned foods stacked
neatly on shelves. New steel buckets hung from the ceiling next to coils of heavy rope and the counter was packed with jars of jam, candles and, alarmingly, sticks of dynamite.
Large men were crammed around rough wooden tables, consuming jugs of beer and plates of meat and potatoes. The air was thick with cooking steam and alive with rowdy conversation. Hardly anyone
looked up at the newcomers. Mrs Chang picked up plates from the kitchen counter and began slamming them down on the tables.
‘Why you want room?’ she shouted to Calculus over the din. ‘Damned robot don’t sleep, don’t eat nothing, don’t spend no money, just take up space, bad for
business.’
Calculus assured her he would willingly pay for the food he wasn’t going to eat so that he could sit in her dining room.
‘What about her?’ said Mrs Chang, sizing up India with a critical eye. ‘She gonna eat? She’s as thin as a noodle, no good if she don’t eat.’
India felt sick to her stomach about the loss of the journals but she nodded miserably and said she would try and eat something.
Despite her hard-faced exterior Mrs Chang turned out to be a kind soul. She took pity on India’s miserable state and led her to a small guest room on the top floor where she drew her a hot
bath. At any other time India would have been entranced with the novelty of getting hot water from a tap whenever you wanted it. But now she just sat unhappily in the bath and hugged her knees
while Mrs Chang scrubbed her back.
‘Who was that boy in the alleyway?’ asked India.
Mrs Chang made a tutting sound as she pulled a brush from her apron and began to drag it through India’s hair. ‘That’s Sid the Kid. He’s a bad lot, just sixteen and
already he kill five men. One of them right here in my dining room.’
India was shocked. ‘But if he’s murdered people why doesn’t somebody do something about it? Don’t you have a constable?’
Mrs Chang snorted. ‘Not so easy, Sid is the Director’s son. No one can touch him and he have plenty men in his gang who do whatever he say. They’re all bad men but Sid,
he’s the worst of them all. You no want to tangle with Sid!’
‘Well believe me, I wish I hadn’t,’ said India gloomily.
Mrs Chang found her some warm clothes and laid them on the bed. There was long underwear that India had to roll up at the bottom, a thick woollen shirt and a set of padded overalls. Mrs Chang
explained they had belonged to her son whose rig had fallen through the lake ice two springs ago, drowning the whole crew She said it in a matter-of-fact way as though death was always close at
hand in Angel Town.
As India was getting dressed, the room gave a sudden lurch. She was wondering if she had imagined it when it happened again. The ground began to rumble and the glass in the windows rattled.
‘What’s happening?’ she cried, holding on to the edge of the bed. The rumbling stopped as quickly as it had begun.
Mrs Chang looked out of the window She muttered some indistinct words under her breath and made a curious sign in the air with her finger. ‘Earth tremor,’ she said, returning to the
task of folding towels. ‘Happen more and more these days. You ask me the Company take too much from under the ground. Not show enough respect to the mountain spirits.’
‘Mountain spirits?’ said India. ‘Do you believe that’s what causes earthquakes?’
Mrs Chang put down the towels. ‘You soon find out this a damn strange
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