Corner Bar Magazine Volume 6 Number 4

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Corner Bar Magazine
                                                         Volume 6 Number 4

Page 1 — IS BLOOD THICKER THAN NANOBOTS, SIR LANCELOT? by Karin Osterberg.
Karin Osterberg has BAs in both Biology and Chemistry. She analyzes chromosomes by day
and creates worlds of fiction by night. Her work has been accepted by Adanna Literary
Magazine, “The End of Dragons” Chipper Press Anthology, Blink Ink, 50 Word Stories, and
has been nominated for the 2020 Best Microfiction Award.
Page 9 — GLOW WORMS by Tom Gartner. Mr. Gartner writes, “My background: I’ve had
short fiction (of various genres) published in numerous journals, including Aberations, The
Madison Review, New Limestone Review, and most recently Deracine. One story was nominated
for a Pushcart Prize. Other work is forthcoming in Levee and Aethlon. I work as a buyer for a
large independent bookstore in San Francisco.”
Page 25 — JUMPEYE KARTLE OOZYU GEN by Matt Ingoldby. Mr. Ingoldby works as a
copywriter in the UK. His stories have appeared in The Pennsylvania Literary Journal, The
Next Review, the Lowestoft Chronicle, Existeré, Octavius, Crimson Streets, Rogue Blades and
several anthologies, working his way up to a novel. He is also a keen runner and currently lives
in London.

“IS BLOOD THICKER THAN NANOBOTS,
SIR LANCELOT?”
by KARIN OSTERBERG

“I was a monster,” Arta explained with The OPEN 24hr sign flickered through
a smirk. “Mom was a pioneer. Nature and the dingy window.
technology were her paints.” Gawd this place is a dump.
The man stopped wiping the counter A red dot moved across the wall behind
and grunted, “You gonna order something the bar. The mirror flexed then seemed to
or not?” bend inwards before exploding into dust
Arta shook her head and exhaled across the counter. Two black helmeted
loudly through her nose. Knights sauntered through the swinging
“Now she’s gone, the old King’s gone, doors.
everything’s just… gone. But I guess that’s “Looks like the King’s Cavalry have
life. One minute you’re serving the Castle, arrived,” Arta said, ducking behind the
the next, you’re the last sentient Droid left counter next to the greasy owner.
drinking yesterday’s coffee.” A piece of glass had sliced her face wide
The man at the counter forced a laugh open. The flesh hung limp for only a
but the sour look on his face told her how moment before tiny nanobots in her blood
he really felt about having an Android in activated and zipped her rosy brown skin
his restaurant. back together.
“I wouldn’t push that Android Alert “Wh-What are you?!” the man
button, if I were you,” she added. stammered.
He gave her the once-over. “More than you could handle,” Arta
“I ain’t got time to worry ‘bout what answered with a wink and sent a handful of
anyone’s made of, so long as they pay.” coins clinking onto the floor. “Keep the
Arta rolled her eyes. “You’re a real change.”
open-minded guy, you know that?” Like a dog with its tail between its legs,
He pushed the button, alright. the man crawled through the flapping
Arta swirled her tepid coffee. kitchen door. A moment later it was blasted
“I can tell you one thing, King Mordred into wood shavings.
is as rotten as they come… people think “I told him not to push the button,”
Androids are heartless.” She made a pfft Arta said, gripping her sword. “They never
sound with her lips. “That man isn’t fit to listen.”
rule an anthill.” The dishwasher hummed against her

back. Your Highness,” Arta said, setting the black
Crunch - crunch. The Knights were helmet on the table.
within striking distance. She vaulted over “Don’t call me ‘Your Highness’. It
the counter slamming her boot into a makes me feel…I don’t know, anxious.
Knight’s chest. The other Knight aimed his ‘Gwen’ is just fine.”
blaster at Arta’s head. Before he could even “Old habits… sorry,” Arta replied.
pull the trigger, she sliced through his legs. “Was it Knights again?” Gwen asked.
He collapsed to the floor with a heavy “Yep. Just another open-minded citizen
clunk, sparks spraying from his boots. pressing the King’s alert for Unauthorized
“Drop your weapon,” a robotic voice Droids… but I also got this.” Arta tossed a
ordered behind her. metal box onto the table. Gwen’s tired eyes
Arta turned and laughed, “Oh sure, I’ll lit up like a birthday cake.
get right on that. First, a quick question: do It’s almost worth getting my face ripped
I have to join your club to get that slick open just to see her smile again.
outfit or do you guys have a gift shop?” “You got it?! You know what that
The Knight’s punch caught her off means?” Gwen said, setting the console on
guard dislodging her jawbone towards her her lap and rolling her wheelchair over to
right ear. the computer.
Cheap shot. “No more suicide missions?” Arta asked
She popped it back into place, wincing wishfully.
slightly. Gwen laughed. “With this I can hack
“I guess I’ll just take yours.” into the Kingdom’s surveillance mainframe
With a single slice, the black helmet and prove that my traitor brother murdered
rolled along the floor stopping the front the King. The Kingdom will be liberated.”
door. Arta lifted the sleek black helmet and “And Droids like me?”
shook the shiny metal head from it like old “You will be second to no one. You
coffee grounds. She ran her hands know that.”
admiringly across the helmet’s visor. Arta sighed. She wanted to believe her,
“Cool.” but every “No Androids Allowed” sign, and
She kicked open the door, slipped on new anti-Android law made it difficult
the helmet, and mounted the jet-black enough to survive, let alone hope.
motorcycle she called Hengroen. Dust “Maybe to you, but I won’t hold my
billowed behind her as the Tavern sign breath on the rest of the world,” Arta
“The Round Table” flickered pink against replied, taking a bottle of thick metallic
the velvet sky. liquid off the shelf. She took a gulp filling
# her mouth with the taste of tamarind and
“You’re late.” engine oil.
“I had a little complication at the cafe, “That stuff will kill you,” Gwen

chastised. Arta replied with a smile, remembering the
“If the King’s Knights don’t first,” Arta security card in her pocket. “Now that you
said, taking another swig. “Life’s full of mention it…” She tossed the card to Gwen.
risks.” “I nabbed this on my way out.”
She walked past the table and down the Gwen picked it up. “The card’s got
scaffolding staircase to a cot below. Lying blaster damage.”
down gingerly, Arta stared at the metal “You try breaking into the Castle
beams and Gwen’s wheelchair above her. Offices without getting blaster damage. I
Gwen deserves to be Queen, but then lost some serious skin in there.”
what? “Lucky for you it grows right back,”
Arta’s alloy heart hurt when she Gwen replied.
thought about it. She had no family, no “Your skin grows back, too.”
friends. Gwen was all she had left. “Only a thousand magnitude slower
Who am I kidding? Queens don’t need than yours,” the Princess said, glancing
Androids for friends. down at her wheelchair. Gwen had taken a
Rolling onto her side, she gingerly blaster shot intended for Arta when they
probed her cheek with her fingertips. escaped from the Castle three years ago. It
Nanobots hurt like hell. was a sacrifice Arta would never forget.
She closed her eyes against the pain Arta put her arm around Gwen’s
and tried to count sheep, while Princess shoulders.
Gwen worked late into the night. “You’re the smartest techie I know.
# You’ll have this hunk of metal cracked in
Arta’s body ached. The nanobot repairs no time.”
had taken their toll. She crawled out of bed She mussed up Gwen’s short black hair
with a groan and walked up the stairs to and picked up her red leather jacket.
find Gwen in the exact place she’d left her “I’m heading out for supplies. Need
the night before. Arta dumped three scoops anything?”
of instant coffee powder into a mug and Gwen shook her head and said, “Just
filled it with hot water from the tap. Gwen be back soon.” She looked concerned, but
didn’t look up from the module. Her olive about what Arta couldn’t be sure.
cheeks were hard angles on her face and her #
brown eyes were shadowed with dark circles. Down the road was a rundown
“Did you sleep last night?” Arta asked. convenience store called Morgana’s Market.
“A few hours. This module is more The owner, Cybil, had made it clear from
complicated than I thought. If I had the very start that she didn’t give a damn
security access, it’d be a lot easier. Is the that Arta was an Android.
module all you got last night?” The door chimed as Arta scooped up a
“Here I was thinking that was enough,” blue plastic shopping basket.

“Arta!” the grey-haired woman greeted foot.
merrily. “It’s been a long time. I was “I’m back!” she called out.
beginning to think you got picked off by There was no answer.
the King’s Knights.” “Gwen?”
“Nah, I’m too quick for that,” Arta The echo of slow clapping came from
replied, throwing three cans of oil into her above her head.
basket, followed by a loaf of bread, expired “Well done,” Mordred said. “You really
sliced ham, and a skinny carton of Swiss had me believing my sister was dead.”
Miss. Inhuman strength gripped Arta’s arms
Plopping her basket onto the warped behind her back.
counter she asked, “You got any gasoline “What have you done with Gwen?”
out back?” “Oh, don’t worry about my little sister.
“How much do you need?” I’ve got plans for her.”
“Five gallons. Just add it to my tab.” There was a thud on the metal floor
Cybil gave her a disparaging look. above her. She saw Gwen lying unconscious
“You know I’m good for it,” Arta through the grate.
added. “Don’t you lay a finger on her. I’m
“Okay, okay,” Cybil said, waving her warning you,” Arta said through gritted
hands. “But times are getting tight for teeth, her eyes flashing violet.
everyone.” Mordred just laughed and signaled for
“Ya, that Mordred is a real jerk,” Arta his Knights to carry Gwen outside to the
replied. waiting limo. He followed behind, stopping
Cybil leaned in and gave her a when he passed a pasty skinned weasel of a
conspiratorial look. man.
“You know, some of us think Princess “Make sure the Android doesn’t give
Gwen is still alive,” she said. me any trouble.”
“Is that right?” Arta said, stowing her “As you wish, Your Highness,” the man
items in her black messenger bag. said with a groveling bow. Mordred walked
“I’m just an old fool, but I have this out and the man signaled for the Knights to
feeling in my gut. Anyway, it feels good to chain Arta to a chair.
hope.” “What are you supposed to be… the
Arta smiled. “Only a fool gives up King’s Henchman?” Arta asked.
hope. Things will get better, you’ll see.” “You could say that, but I rather think
“I hope you’re right. You be careful of myself as a philosopher.” He unrolled
around those Knights, okay?” Cybil warned. the tools of a deranged dentist and snapped
“I always am.” on rubber gloves.
# “Tell me, do Androids feel pain?” he
Arta kicked open the door with her asked, running his hand down her cheek.

She recoiled in disgust. “You really are quite yelled from the backseat. Arta saw Gwen
lovely for an Android… such a pity.” slumped over the seat next to him.
Arta’s eyes went wide as he brought a I have to stop the limo without hurting
small hooked blade close. Gwen. But how?
Suddenly there was a scuffle outside. She scanned the horizon where a rusty
“You,” the man pointed to a Knight. water tower stood.
“Take care of whoever is out there.” Bingo.
The Knight disappeared on the other Arta’s dreads wiggled like snakes as she
side of the door, and then came the grating sped down the road at 120 mph. Cranking
whine of a scrap grinder. Three blasts from the handlebars hard to the right, she
the door disintegrated the man and left the skidded to a stop at the base of the water
remaining Knights sparking on the floor. tower. Her skin grated against the asphalt.
A familiar face walked in. Nanobots activated in her blood making
“Cybil? How?” Arta asked, as the her head swim. She took out her sword and
woman cut through her bonds with a bolt banged it against one of the four supports.
cutter. Water sloshed and the tower groaned. The
“Half an hour ago, Princess Gwen white limo was coming in fast. Arta held
forwarded me the surveillance footage from her sword at the ready. With a guttural yell,
the night her father was killed.” she sliced through metal. The tower
“She did what?” collapsed. A torrent of water cascaded onto
Cybil gave her a wry smile. “I was head the road and into the fields on either side
of Princess Gwen’s Security. Only, until of the highway.
thirty minutes ago, I thought she was The limo spun in the maelstrom of
dead.” water, coming to a halt twenty feet from
“Mordred’s taken her. I have to get her Arta. Sunlight glinted off her sword as she
back,” Arta said. stood like an otherworldly angel in the
“Your motorcycle is gassed up and ready unnatural lake.
outside, My Lady,” Cybil answered. Mordred kicked open his door, three
Arta climbed onto her noble black Knights following after.
steed and turned the throttle. “Clever roadblock, but you can’t win
# this fight,” Mordred sneered.
Just ahead the white limo sped down “Who’s going to stop me? You and a
the abandoned highway, its gaudy gold couple little Knights?” Arta scoffed.
bumper shimmering in the sunlight. Arta The trunk popped open and out
leaned her motorcycle next to the driver’s crawled a seven-foot tall, indomitable Droid
side window and smashed it with the hilt of with blasters on his wrists.
her sword. The limo swerved. “Do you like him?” Mordred asked,
“Don’t stop! That’s an order!” Mordred “He’s my prototype Knight II. I call him Sir

Lancelot.” “Arta!” A scream came from the back of
The elephantine Lancelot lumbered the limo.
forwards. Waves lapped against Arta’s “Gwen?” Arta asked.
calves. She lifted her head in time to see
“Hey there big guy, I don’t usually Mordred raise his gun to Gwen’s chest.
dance on a first date.” “Don’t you touch her!” Her voice
Blasts peppered the water around her sounded like the rumble of thunder. Arta
like angry wasps. Arta leapt over the fallen climbed to her feet and raised her sword.
tower, then ripped a large iron pipe from “You ready for a real show, Mordred?” she
the collapsed structure. asked, and sent her blade twirling into the
“Well, if you insist.” air, slicing through the power lines along
She rushed Lancelot, smashing the pipe the road. Sparks rained down as the
against his leg with all her might. The dull frenetic wires landed at Sir Lancelot’s feet.
thud reverberated through her titanium The last thing Arta heard was Gwen
bones. Lancelot lifted her off the ground by scream, “Arta! Get out of the water!”
her throat and planted a crushing punch to #
her jaw. She went flying through the water The radio on her bedside table
like a broken speedboat. broadcast the calm voice of the news
“Ow,” Arta said, cracking her neck. correspondent.
Mordred watched with morbid delight. “Prince Mordred found guilty of
“Just admit it. You are no match for my treason and murder in the first degree…”
Lancelot!” Arta turned the dial to off. It was the
A blast exploded the ground between first day she had been well enough to get
Arta’s thighs. She rolled this way and that. out of bed. The nanobots were finally
More blasts came, taking flesh with each settling down into a dull ache.
blow. The nanobots in her blood swarmed It had been six months since the
like angry bees. The pain was too much. accident that sent fifty thousand volts
Her vision blurred and she collapsed into skittering through her circuits. Arta ran her
the water. hand over her nearly shaved head. Then she
Sir Lancelot trudged towards her like heard something slide under the door. It
an executioner to the gallows. was a letter with the official seal of the
Mordred’s face was painted with vile Crown.
satisfaction. “Your company is requested in the
“Do you really think my sister cares Throne Room,” was all it said.
about you? You are nothing but the Arta felt nervous and she didn’t know
leftovers of a failed experiment.” why.
Lancelot’s heavy steps were only ten feet #
away. “You wanted to see me, Your

Highness?” Arta asked, entering the Gwen held out the crown and Arta
expansive Throne Room. kneeled before her.
Gwen rolled her wheelchair to meet “I, Princess Gwen, place this crown on
her. She looked different, her olive cheeks your most noble brow and with it seal the
fuller, her eyes clear and rested. promise of a Kingdom ruled with courage
Arta kneeled low to the ground. and compassion for Humans and Androids
Gwen leaned over and put a hand to alike.”
Arta’s chin. “You don’t need to bow to me. Arta stood and turned to face the Royal
I owe you so much.” Council. Her eyes glittered more brightly
“You really don’t, Your Highness.” than the jeweled crown upon her head.
“I told you to stop calling me ‘Your “Long live the Queen!” They all
Highness’,” Gwen said. “The crown was cheered. v
always too heavy for me…and that’s why I’ve
called you here.”
“Oh?” Arta asked.
“The Kingdom needs someone from
the royal family to sit on the Throne.”
Arta was confused.
“We have that now. You’re here.”
“No, not me… my sister.”
“Sister?”
“Yes…. You.”
“I don’t understand...”
“The day I was born, your mother took
a vial of my blood and with it she created
you. Royal blood runs through your veins.
You are the rightful heir to the Throne.”
Arta was stunned silent.
I’m a princess?
The Royal Council filed into the
Throne Room. The crown, worn by the
Kings and Queens of old, was brought
before Arta on a red velvet pillow.
“Will you rule our people?” Gwen
asked.
Arta sprang forward wrapping her arms
around her.
“Yes, Sister. I accept.”

Copyright 2021 Karin Osterberg   8   Corner Bar Magazine

“GLOW WORMS”
by TOM GARTNER

It started… well, how? You could say it yachts or cars or even a house—nothing that
started on a trail in New Zealand, you could wouldn’t fit into the apartment Linda and I
say it started with a phone call, you could had shared. Maybe none of that helps, but
say it started fifteen years earlier in anyway, that’s who I was when I met
Washington state, but for me I suppose it Tamara.
started with my wife’s death. Or to be precise, when I met the
It’s not something I like to talk about, woman who told me her name was Tamara.
but here’s what you need to know. I lived *
in San Francisco. I’d made some money in Linda and I had turned New Zealand
real estate; hard not to, in the Bay Area in into a signifier for everything we were miss-
the 90s and early 2000s. Linda owned a ing by living in an American city: endless
bookstore. She worked too hard, she drank beaches, jungles full of bright-colored birds,
too much, she took too many meds, and in mountains wrapped in ice, flawlessly clear
2014 it caught up to her. Her heart failed lakes, undammed rivers. But we’d never
one morning as she was brushing her teeth. gone. Five years after she died, I decided it
I owned the bookstore now, but as its was better to go and be sad than not go and
managers made clear to me, it ran best if I be sad.
limited my involvement to signing pay- The night before I left , my phone start-
checks, negotiating with the landlord, and ed ringing, not the usual tone but a sharp
e-mailing book reviews to the buyer. I three-part trill. The number looked famil-
didn’t need it to make money, and it was- iar but no name displayed. I answered:
n’t; but if I had one firm intention in life it “Patrick.” A woman’s voice, soft, faint,
was to keep the store open, because as far as but still urgent somehow.
I was concerned it was still Linda’s. “Yes. Who’s this?”
It wasn’t like I didn’t have other things “Don’t you know?”
to occupy my time: I ran, I cooked, I took “I don’t.”
photos, I traveled, I drank. If it sounds like “That’s disappointing.” A pause, a
I was a useless idiot who deserved to lose noise in the background of something large
everything, that may be true. I can say that moving through empty space—a car, a train.
I donated serious money to charity; that I “Patrick, I’m here.”
tipped like a crazy person; that I didn’t own It wasn’t Linda’s voice, because she was

dead; but also because something was miss- pulled up, headlights shone through the
ing from it. But it was very close. window, the doorknob rattled. I got up
She hung up and I stood there staring and opened the door.
at the phone. “What the hell—“ The woman from
* the bridge. She didn’t recognize me at first.
I met Tamara at Mt. Cook, on the trail “Isn’t this my room? She said she’d leave it
to the Hooker Glacier. Near the trailhead open.”
is a steel suspension footbridge over the “My mistake,” I said. “But… was this
muddy torrent that comes off the ice. She your premonition?”
was standing at the far end, under the cliffs That quick twitching smile, then a
of Mt. Cook’s southern spur. wider one as she did recognize me. “No,
I paused mid-span. Fifty feet down to not exactly,” she said. “But maybe it should
boulders and raging brown water. The have been.”
bridge vibrated with the wind swooping *
down the gorge. I can’t say it was smooth, even at the
When I got to the far side I saw she was start, but she fascinated me. Partly that she
frowning down at the water. was a hybrid, born in the U.S. and raised in
“Intimidating,” I said. “But you already New Zealand, with just a touch of Kiwi
made it across once.” twang to her speech. More that I wasn’t
She smiled, sort of—a quick twitch of young anymore, and she was: matte pink
the lips. “It’s not that.” cheeks, a screen of mahogany hair, ice-
I raised an eyebrow. smooth thighs, a bounce to her breasts.
“Premonition.” Calmly, as if this hap- Like Linda, she read voraciously, but
pened to her a lot. unlike Linda she was undisciplined, unfo-
But as I headed up the trail I saw her cused, unrestrained; a woman with an
crossing. openness to the world, a hint of tragedy in
I had a reservation at a B&B in her past, a future that seemed completely
Wanaka that night. Late start after the unpredictable. About some things—politics
morning hike, long drive across the brown and business, for instance—she seemed will-
Canterbury plains, befuddled search for the fully ignorant to the point of naivete.
right driveway on the lakeside road, 1 a.m. About others—music, the occult, abnormal
arrival. I’d called ahead and the manager psychology, animals, drugs, prisons—she was
had told me she’d leave my room open and weirdly knowledgeable.
the key inside. When I got there, I found What did she look like? OK, yes, a bit
my room locked but the one next door like Linda. Short, curvy, unremarkably
open. Fine, I thought, she got the number pretty. The thing you noticed was her eyes,
wrong. I didn’t wake her up to make sure. bright blue irises, eyelids tinted jade, eye-
Almost sleeping an hour later. A car lashes enormous and fake. If you ever saw

her without the makeup, though, there “Good to know.”
were shadows, a hollowed out and almost “It started with doctors,” she said.
frightened look. “You know how it is with doctors.” She’d
* been seriously ill when she was a teenager—
New Zealand is gorgeous. Tamara is a some kind of kidney disorder. “You get a
complete lunatic. new one, and you think they’re nice. Then
By the time we got to Te Anau, I almost they get less nice, as if they’re the customer
regretted sending the postcard. We’d been and you owe them something. And you
together a week now, and there had been a start thinking, what if there’s bad news? Is
few tiffs, nothing serious. But that morning this the person you want to hear it from?
we’d had a murderous fight at the B&B in ‘Sorry, inoperable! Nothing we can do!
Glenorchy, both of us hung over and disin- Nice knowing you!’”
clined to compromise. It started with a dis- She could laugh about it; she’d had a
agreement about where to go and ended transplant, everything was fine now, and
with her accusing me of trying to get it on she was only thirty-seven. I was pushing
with one of the maids in a vacant room. fifty, had high blood pressure and a bad
I’d finally walked out, bought the postcard liver.
at a Take Note bookstore, wrote it and sent “So, defense mechanism. I started
it before I could stop myself. Toni and Ron changing doctors every few months. I just
were old friends in SF, book people like didn’t want to get to know them that well.
Linda. They’d take it with a laugh and a Or them to know me, whichever.”
headshake. All they knew about Tamara “Understandable,” I said.
was a photo I’d sent with an email after “Then it started leaking over into my
that first night in Wanaka. friendships. I’d imagine having to tell my
But in the car, with coffee, sugar, and friends I was dying. Which just put a
who knew what else in her system, Tamara damper on things. I had to cut people off,
slid from furious to sulky to sultry to viva- you know, before I could get cut off from
cious. She didn’t quite apologize for the them. Relationships, too. I still can’t stand
accusation about the maid, but almost. “I anyone for more than six months. Is that
know, I know, I know. You’re not that kind weird?”
of guy. You were married for—how long?” “Fairly. But then I’m sure to die before
“Ten years.” you, so it should be fine.”
“Unfathomable. And you never cheat- “Thanks! I appreciate that.” A laugh.
ed?” Apparently we were friends again. “But I
“Well, never with my wife in the next wouldn’t want it to end that way.” Serious
room.” Actually, never, period. now. “I can’t imagine how hard that must
“Afraid I’ve got no stamina for relation- have been for you… losing your wife.”
ships,” she said. “None at all.” Let’s not go there, I thought. I’d told

her about Linda; you can’t hold something little blue-green blobs who live on the moist
like that back, or it turns into a bombshell stone walls and ceilings. They use biolumi-
later. But I didn’t see a need to talk about nescence to lure flying insects, which are
it any further. then caught in sticky threads that dangle
“I don’t know if I could handle that,” down a few inches.
she went on. “Mortality’s such a hard thing “Gross,” Tamara whispered to me, and
to face. But you seem like you’ve made then after a second, “But kind of clever.”
your peace with it.” Duly briefed, we were sorted into
Had I? Mortality, maybe. Separation, groups of twelve. Tamara and I and our ten
no. I hadn’t made my peace with Linda not companions followed a guide outside, then
being around. along a stream and through a narrow open-
We got to Te Anau late, but Tamara ing in the hillside. We were in a long slop-
was insistent that we skip dinner so we ing rock-walled chamber, lit by hanging elec-
could catch the last boat for the Glow tric lanterns. A good-sized creek, the water
Worm Caves. When I suggested that a steak so clear it was almost invisible, flowed down
and a toward us through elaborately carved
beer seemed more important than an over- stone—pools, waterfalls, cascades; fins and
hyped tourist trap, she gave me her death pillars and smooth slabs of light orangey
stare. rock. We followed it up, the passageway
“No,” she said. “Have you not been lis- narrowing and steepening.
tening to me? This is what we’re here for.” Our guide put all twelve of us into a
Biggish boat, fast so lots of wind, a hun- metal box of a boat floating behind a weir;
dred passengers or so. The lake is long and beyond that was still, dark water. I noticed
narrow, with low hills on the east and the a rope fixed to the ceiling of the cave. The
big ridges of Fiordland on the west . A guide introduced himself as Nicholas and
long arm stretched off toward the last bril- welcomed us to the Glow Worm Caves.
liant blue of twilight, stark against a black “It’s a better experience with a bit less
horizon. light,” he said, and hit a switch somewhere.
A bit farther up, the boat pulled in to a Total darkness. Total. Gasps, a bit of
dock on the wooded west shore and we laughter. Tamara grabbed my hand.
filed off into a lodge where they gave us I felt the boat rock as Nicholas clam-
watery hot chocolate and sat us down for a bered past us to the front. We started to
slide show. The caves, we were told, had move—presumably he was using the rope on
been thought for a long time to be a Maori the ceiling to pull us along through the
legend, but a persistent white man had darkness. Every now and then we’d bump
finally located them. They’re formed by the rock walls—on one occasion, so sharply
water seeping down through limestone from that water splashed me, and Tamara let go
lakes up in the hills. The glow worms are of my hand for a moment.

On into the dark, dripping cave, the “Something wrong, mate?” He was
roar of the water over the weir eventually young, curly hair and short beard, muscular
receding, and we started seeing the glow arms.
worms above us, little blue-green dots seem- “Where’s Tamara?” was the best I could
ingly hovering in space. Ones and twos at manage.
first, then clusters, then big dense constella- “Your girlfriend? Headed down to the
tions of them. It was very like being in a lodge.”
spaceship cruising past galaxies of blue- “That wasn’t her.”
green stars—eerie, beautiful, mystical. Some “Well…” Frowning. “That’s who you
were bright, some dim as if farther away, came aboard with.”
but none lit anything other than them- “I don’t know who that is. That’s not
selves. When you looked ahead or behind, Tamara.”
they seemed to blur into luminous clouds “Sorry, mate, I can’t remember every
moving slowly through space. No one pretty face. Head count’s right. No one fell
spoke aloud, but I heard whispers, mur- out, I promise you that. So she’s got to be
murs, hushed gasps of amazement. in the group.”
Finally the glow worms thinned out “What the hell,” I said, wondering if
again, the sound of falling water returned, I’d gotten it wrong, knowing I hadn’t.
and we were back at the weir. The light “If you’re so sure that gal wasn’t yours,
came on. People started talking, a gabble of maybe she just missed the boat. Waiting
exclamations, superlatives, laughter. I let go down at the lodge, probably.”
of Tamara’s hand as I started to climb out “Makes no sense,” I muttered, but he
of the boat, glanced at her to share impres- just stood there with his arms crossed. I
sions, blinked. It wasn’t Tamara. turned and hurried down the passageway.
“Sorry,” she said brightly, patting my There was almost no one in the lodge:
hand. “I panicked there for a second.” She a few tourists flipping through brochures, a
was Tamara’s age, maybe, wearing a green teenager in overalls sweeping, a manager
dress like Tamara, but with longer, darker behind a counter communing with a com-
hair, a narrower face, and without the puter terminal. No Tamara. The manager
gaudy eyes. hadn’t seen her.
I looked past her, trying to find Tamara Nicholas came in behind me.
in the crowd of people clambering out of “Gentleman’s lost track of his lady friend,”
the boat—somehow our seats had gotten he said to the manager. “Don’t suppose
switched?—and the woman was gone, down there’s anyone in the WC?”
the passageway toward the lodge. The other “Just locked it up.”
passengers filed after her. When Nicholas “Look, I don’t know what’s going on,” I
saw me lingering behind, he tilted his head said. “She was with me when we got in the
quizzically. boat and you turned out the lights.” But I

was struggling to bring back the precise finally: no Tamara, and no Jocelyn.
image, the last time I’d looked at her and *
registered, Here’s Tamara. Here we are. My rental car was a silver Corolla hatch-
“Never mind, I’ll just try and call her.” I back. There were three of them parked in
reached for my phone. various places along the waterfront in Te
They looked at each other. I thought I Anau, near where we’d gotten on the boat
saw the trace of a smirk on Nicholas’s face. for the caves, but none of them was mine.
“Not much chance of that working,” Before we left Wanaka, Tamara had turned
the manager said. “There’s fuck-all in the in her own rental and I’d gotten her a set of
way of cell service here. All around the keys for the Corolla. It had been my idea—
lake, really.” much more convenient, I figured.
I shook my head. *
“Just curious,” the manager said. “Did We’d booked a room at a hotel north
I see Jocelyn in the group?” of town, on a bluff overlooking the lake.
Nicholas half-nodded, half made a face. They sent a taxi for me, and the night clerk
The manager spread his hands in a checked me in without remarking on the
voila gesture, as if everything suddenly fact that I was alone. I didn’t get much
made sense. sleep, and I didn’t get any less confused. At
“Who’s Jocelyn?” 3 a.m., sweating and twitching, my sinuses
Neither of them seemed to want to aching, I remembered a shred of Tamara’s
answer my question, but finally the manag- rambling during the drive to Te Anau.
er said: “She used to work here. We’ve “Do you know about the disappear-
had some problems. If you’ve gotten your- ances?” she’d asked suddenly, after a long
self mixed up with her, no surprise it’s got- silence.
ten strange.” “Disappearances?”
“Fine, but I don’t care about Jocelyn. “Around the lake. There were quite a
She’s not the person I came here with.” few in the early days. People thought the
They traded another look. “Well, who- lake was haunted.”
ever she is, your girl’s likely on the boat for “Always interested in a good haunting.”
Te Anau. Nowhere else for her to be.” “I knew I could count on you.” She
“Then let’s look there,” I said. smiled, sat up straight, faced me as I drove.
Which we did, the three of us sweeping “1892. Quintin McKinnon, one of the real
the big boat deck by deck. We looked on pioneer settlers. They found his boat sunk
the bridge, in the engine room, the bath- in Lake Te Anau, in water six feet deep. No
rooms, the storerooms. The captain made a sign of him. 1920—Miss Jessie Reid.
PA announcement. A few people remem- Disappeared from the Milford Track.
bered seeing a young woman in a green 1888—Professor Mainwaring Brown. Went
dress at various points in the trip. But out for a stroll near Lake Manapouri, no

trace ever found.” The boat was more than half empty;
“Nothing more recent?” easy enough to check all three decks and be
“Oh, lots. There’s a local historian who sure she wasn’t already aboard. The rain
keeps a database. Here’s the weird thing, paused. Fresh snow on Mitre Peak blazed
though. Probably half of these cases involve white as the sun came out for a moment.
two people going missing, and only one Out at the mouth of the Sound, jade-col-
body being found.” ored hills of water tossed the boat up and
I didn’t really have a theory to cover down. Through the chop and the foam the
that one. “Better disappeared than dead, I Tasman Sea horizon lay under a mass of
guess.” clouds.
“Exactly,” she said, and pointed a finger Ours wasn’t the only tour boat on the
at me as though she’d just won an argu- Sound—as we nosed out further onto the
ment. margin of the open ocean, one was coming
* in on our right, a hundred yards away. A
Morning. A view across a cove, a family was on the foredeck, the children
houseboat anchored in the middle. waving in our direction. Behind them, a
Nothing on my phone—no service, anyhow. woman in a green raincoat pulled a hood
Cereal, toast, coffee by myself in the hotel’s over her dark hair. I got one brief look at
tiny breakfast room. We’d been planning her before she slipped back into the cabin.
to go to Milford Sound, had reservations Jocelyn.
for a cruise. I could write her off, assume *
that it was normal for something that had There were two hotels not far from the
started so inexplicably to end inexplicably. dock. One was full up; the other only had
But if I was still looking for her—and all dorm rooms left—five double bunks, shared
right, I was—Milford Sound was one of the bathroom. But it was raining again, twist-
few places I had any reason to think she’d ing windblown showers edged with sleet,
go. and dark was coming on. The long drive
It rained all the way there, and when I back to Te Anau didn’t appeal. I settled for
came out of the tunnel into the gorge above an upper bunk, and fortunately only two
the Sound, dozens of waterfalls were pour- others were taken.
ing off the forested cliffs, filling the valley I might have slept right through until
with mist. I’d always imagined there was a first light had not something warm and
town of Milford, but apparently not; just a smooth slithered in next to me— a shoulder,
parking lot by the water and a dock where long hair, a breast, a smooth thigh. For a
the tour boats came and left. Likewise moment I was back seven years, backpack-
while I’d probably been half hoping to find ing with Linda in the Yosemite high coun-
Tamara waiting for me at the ticket window, try, hearing a soft insistent whisper from
she wasn’t. her as I didn’t move fast enough to let her

in out of the cold. at me, so I gathered we hadn’t been as quiet
“It’s me,” Tamara said when we were as I’d thought. I checked at the hotel desk
thoroughly entangled. “Hope this is OK.” to see if she was registered as a guest, but
I didn’t say anything. There were too they wouldn’t tell me anything.
many questions to ask any particular one. In the restaurant, sitting alone with tea
“You said her name.” and a few apple slices in front of her, was
“Whose name?” But I knew who she Jocelyn. I sat down without asking permis-
meant—Linda—and I knew I probably had. . sion. She nodded faintly, then seemed
“Sorry if this is rude… do I remind you of almost to smile as I ordered a meat pie,
Linda?” muesli, a fruit bowl, and a flat white.
“Some ways yes.” “Sorry about the other day, I suppose,”
“Most ways no?” Her voice went up. I she said.
touched her lips to remind her there were “That makes one of you.” I stared at
other people in the room. Luckily they her, because I needed to be sure beyond any
were at the far end and snoring. “Ah well.” doubt that she was in fact a different per-
“What was the point?” I wanted to ask son than Tamara. It was obvious enough—
about the mechanics of it, when she’d got- an elegant face, but leaner, almost gaunt.
ten out of the boat and Jocelyn had gotten “Is she still here in the hotel?”
in, whether Nicholas had been involved— “Long gone, I’m afraid.” The voice,
surely yes—but first things first. I didn’t too, was distinctly different, almost mono-
know how many answers I’d get out of her. tone, much more of a Kiwi accent. “You
“You remember we talked about disap- could have joined us on the Sound yester-
pearances?” day if you’d gotten here a bit earlier.”
I nodded. “And what was the point supposed to
“I was curious. If you’d look for me if I be? What’s the point of any of it?”
disappeared.” “Ask Tamara.”
“Well, I did.” “If I ever see her again.”
“Yes. Not very effectively, but you did.” “Oh, I think you will.” She made no
“Still, that was kind of messed up. move to leave; still there was a wariness
Don’t you think?” about her. “She’ll leave you a clue where
She kissed me again, and then bit my she’s gone. Or she’ll just turn up. After all
lip. Not hard, but hard enough. these years I know the form.”
“We’ve got two choices,” she said. “We “I thought she didn’t have old friends.”
can talk, or we can fuck. Take your pick.” “Just a few of us. She can be very loyal,
* you know.”
I woke up at seven to find her already “Can be.”
gone. My roommates, two burly Scotsmen “Point taken.” She looked down at her
saddling up for the Milford Track, smirked hands. “But she and I go way back. She

was with us when my husband died.” was lying and Tamara was still there. But I
It may have been pointless for me to felt I was only going to find her if she want-
offer condolences to somebody I didn’t ed me to, and if she did, she’d make it hap-
know for something that had happened a pen. Since we met in Wanaka we’d been
long time ago, but I did. I was starting to following the route I’d planned before I
have a good feeling about Jocelyn. It came to New Zealand, so she knew what
seemed as though the two of us were the came next—Dunedin, Akaroa, and back to
sane ones, calmly discussing Tamara’s mad Christchurch for my flight home. It star-
wanderings. Then again, I wasn’t so sure tled me to realize that my return flight was
we were sane either. “It certainly seems like in only three days. Regardless, she knew
you’re loyal to her.” where to find me, and for that matter, she
I needn’t have bothered trying to be knew where San Francisco was. Really the
subtle. She went right on as though I had- question was just whether she wanted to
n’t spoken: “It was on a rafting trip. In find me again. In theory I wasn’t sure I
your Northwest. Washington state. There wanted to be found, but in practice I did.
was an accident and he drowned. All of us *
nearly did. You can see how that might cre- When I got back in the car, I noticed
ate a bond.” something I’d somehow not seen before: a
“Sure,” I said. “Enough to help her dis- book on the floor of the back seat, half hid-
appear. And reappear. And disappear den under my rain jacket: a worn hardcov-
again.” er edition of Raymond Chandler’s The Big
“It’s not that hard once you’ve got the Sleep. I couldn’t remember Tamara having
knack.” it, but whose else could it have been?
“But why?” I leafed through. A cocktail napkin
“Because she likes it?” Laughing at me marked—or didn’t mark, maybe it was just
a little now. there—the scene where Marlowe interviews
“And then… Leaving you behind to a bookstore owner who he says would make
talk to me about it?” a good cop. “South Seas Hotel: Stewart
“No, that wasn’t her idea. That was Island NZ” was printed in a 50s-style font
me. I was curious to get a sense of you.” on the napkin.
“And?” I flipped to the front. The price—
“My impression is that you’re actually $3.50—was penciled in, then a few seeming-
serious about her.” She pushed back her ly random characters—M0614LT. Used
chair and stood up. “It’s really kind of wor- bookstores, old school ones anyhow, use
risome.” codes like that to track their inventory.
* Don’t ask me how the system works. All I
I could have stayed at Milford Sound, know is that Linda’s store used something
on the not unlikely proposition that Jocelyn of the kind. And LT were her initials. And

June 2014 was when she died. the day. My phone had no signal but the
“Tamara, no,” I muttered. woman at the front desk let me use their
We’d actually had this discussion: had land line. Easy enough to book a passage
she ever been to Linda’s store? When she for the morning. Not so easy to find out if
lived in the States she’d been to San Tamara had done the same. They had no
Francisco any number of times. And of listing for a Tamara Smith. There was one
course she’d been to some of the City’s for a T. Smith, which seemed promising,
bookstores: City Lights in North Beach, but then the agent told me that on an aver-
Green Apple out by Golden Gate Park, age day they carried five Smiths to Stewart
some hole-in-the-wall on Market… Was Island.
Linda’s shop on a hill? (Yes.) Near the *
Marina? (No.) Was there a cat? (Two cats.) Oban, the only town on the island,
I couldn’t tell whether she really had this with a decaying pier, wide streets almost
vague memory, she was fooling herself that empty, and rainforest peeping over the sur-
she did, or she was flat-out manufacturing rounding hills as if to reclaim the site, had
it. But if it was the latter, she could have the hushed air of an abandoned imperial
just gone on the internet and gotten all the outpost. The South Seas Hotel was a wide,
details she needed, right down to the names single-story building with a veranda facing
of the cats (Bovary and Karenina). the beach.
Jocelyn: She’ll leave you a clue… I forced my way through a crowded hall-
There was something odd about the way, bouncing off a woman in an All Blacks
cocktail napkin/bookmark: it had a rum- jersey, and emerged in the 21st century’s
pled feel, and a ghost of dark striations, a answer to a Somerset Maugham scene. Low
discoloration underneath the neat curlicues ceiling, dim lights, a pool table, framed
of the printed name. When I unfolded it I black and white pictures of the town in
saw that someone had written Saturday 6 more prosperous times— throngs of boats in
o’clock. Southernmost bar! On one of the the harbor, older editions of the hotel, an
inside sheets. enormous shark hoisted above the pier.
Stewart Island is a good-sized chunk of The denizens of the barroom itself, packed
temperate rainforest off the tip of New in around varnished tables or just wander-
Zealand’s South Island, so the last bit made ing around in the interstices, were an infor-
sense, kind of. Not on my itinerary—no mal bunch. Shredded jeans, tank tops,
lakes, no mountains—at least not until now, dirty T-shirts, leather jackets; dreads, long
but I knew there was a ferry across the tangled manes, goatees; shoulders, backs,
Foveaux Strait. Tamara and her boat arms, thighs, cleavages patterned in ink;
rides… pierced ears, noses, eyebrows, chins, lips.
It was Friday afternoon, no chance of But no Tamara.
getting to the ferry before it shut down for I wedged myself into the bar and

ordered a Speight’s. It was only 5:30. about “Juden.” One of the Irish girls, on
When I ordered the second beer I held my hearing I was from San Francisco, asked me
phone out to the bartender. if I had any shrooms to sell.
“Hmm, seen her before…” He squinted I figured I’d come back when I needed
at the picture. “What’s her name?” to sleep. I decided to check my email and
“Tamara.” take a shower. Showers were free, internet
“Doesn’t sound right. Wasn’t that the access was not—which seemed sad, that peo-
friend?” ple were more willing to pay for the Web
“Friend?” than for cleanliness. Nonetheless I checked
“Feel like she comes in with another the email first.
girl. Not lately, though.” I suppose it’s safe to say I was hoping
“Jocelyn?” Tamara might have responded to the emails
“Could be.” He shrugged. “Dunno.” I’d sent her from Te Anau after we went to
Didn’t mean anything, I told myself. I the Glow Worm Caves or from Milford
looked at the napkin under my beer. Same after I’d talked to Jocelyn. But she hadn’t,
as the one I’d found, minus the message. It just like she hadn’t responded to any of my
was five to six now. I didn’t know what I attempts to text or call her.
was expecting. That struck me as odd, sud- I’d also emailed to Toni and Ron, my
denly. That I had no idea what I wanted to friends in San Francisco, to let them know
say to her, or what I wanted her to say to my itinerary was changing and why. Not
me. We were here—well, I was here—and the full why, but apparently enough to let
the next step was totally up in the air. them know that things had gotten seriously
And then it was six o’clock, and then weird. Toni, who has an academic back-
five after, and then a quarter after. And of ground and thus knows a lot of the dustier
course, I realized, the cocktail napkin in the corners of the web, replied with a one-sen-
copy of The Big Sleep didn’t have to be the tence email—
clue Jocelyn had predicted, there didn’t “Would this be the same person?” and an
have to be a clue at all. Surely at some level attachment:
I’d known that all along. The seconds kept
piling up and she still didn’t appear, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, August 15, 2000
At seven o’clock I finished my fifth beer
and walked none too steadily up the street New Zealand Man Killed, Oregon Woman
to my hostel. I’d checked in before I went Missing in Rafting Accident
to the hotel, but even that early a bunk in a DRYDEN, Wash. - A man who died
dorm room was all they’d had. My room- Wednesday afternoon in a rafting accident
mates were three loud Austrian guys and on the Wenatchee River has been identified
two Irish couples. The Austrians wondered as a visitor from New Zealand. One of his
aloud to each other in German—something

companions, an Oregon woman, remains I’d lain out in the sun for a few hours. I
missing. could feel the blood banging away at the
insides of my body.
Michael Stillman, 32, of Queenstown,
New Zealand, died after a 12-foot raft Did they ever find her? I typed onto the
flipped, ejecting him and three others into screen and just stared at it. Toni, seldom
the cold waters of the river, said Chief Don far from her I-phone, answered almost at
Howell of the Chelan County Sheriff’s once:
Office.
Not as far as I can tell. Still working on it.
Not fair, really. It was one of those
Two of the four were able to climb back
bombshells you should defuse early in a
onto the raft, but Stillman and the woman,
relationship. Honey, I’m divorced. Honey,
Tamara Smith, 22, of Hood River, Oregon,
I’m a Jehovah’s Witness. Honey, I drowned
could not.

Rescue personnel from The Wenatchee fifteen years ago.
Ranger District recovered Stillman from the You OK? Sorry to drop this on you.
river and performed CPR for approximate- No, I needed to know. Appreciate it. And
ly 30 minutes but failed to revive him. I’m fine. Almost true. I would be fine. I’d
had bigger shocks. Though maybe only the
Rescuers were unable to locate Smith, one.
and the search was postponed due to dark- You didn’t cancel your return flight, did
ness. Both Stillman and Smith were wear- you?
ing wet suits and life vests. I hadn’t. I thought about that on my
Rangers returned with the two rescued way to the shower. Even catching the earli-
rafters to the Wenatchee River campsite est ferry Monday, I couldn’t make it to
Wednesday evening. They were identified Christchurch in time for my late afternoon
as Nicholas Collins, 24, and Jocelyn flight. So I’d have to leave tomorrow. It
Stillman, 22, both from Queenstown, New felt too soon. And yet.
Zealand. *
The shower was dismal—an outside
An autopsy is planned to officially con- door that wouldn’t latch properly, a tiny
firm Michael Stillman’s cause and manner concrete-floored vestibule with a plastic
of death. The search for Tamara Smith is bench, an even tinier shower stall with a
set to resume Thursday morning. weak flow of warmish water. I’d just man-
aged to dampen most of my body when I
heard knocking on the outside door.
I had to read it five times before I could “Occupied,” I shouted.
really process it. My face was hot as though More knocking. Banging, really.

“Go away!” belongings, but she had one now, a seem-
“It’s me!” A faint voice, more banging. ingly new green one that slept two. Her
I stepped out of the shower stall, sleeping bag was spread out in the center,
reached for my towel. The outer door flew her backpack off in a corner, stuffed full,
open, and Tamara came into the vestibule, with odd bits of outdoor gear piled next to
closed the door behind her. She was in her it.
green dress again, or another one like it. “Going somewhere?” I asked.
Green eyeshadow, green lipstick. “I hope so,” she said.
“Any room in here for a little glow We sat down cross-legged on the sleep-
worm?” She pressed up against me, darken- ing bag, facing each other. I showed her
ing her dress with the runoff from my body. the printout of Toni’s email
“Tamara—“ “Ah.” She nodded, glanced at it, set it
She kissed me. Sticky. down on the sleeping bag. Green finger-
“Who the fuck are you?” nails.
The question didn’t seem to faze her. “Well?”
“Literally or figuratively?” “Well, what? This is from the day after
“Both.” it happened. They found me that after-
“Literally, Tamara. Figuratively… noon. Nicholas did, rather. The rangers
hmm.” She took my hand and put it on were a bunch of screw-ups.”
her hip. “You spent twenty-four hours in the
I shook my head, pulled my hand back. river?”
“You know the deal. We can talk, or “Not in the river. On an island.
we—“ Anyway, I had a wetsuit and a life vest.
“So we’ll talk,” I said. And it was August. I washed up three miles
“You have a room?” down from where we flipped. They were
“Not really.” looking for me much closer.”
“That’s OK.” She handed me my towel “OK. So Nicholas found you. My
and sat down on the plastic bench. “I’ve friend who dug this up couldn’t find a
got a tent.” record of that.”
* “No, I don’t think there was one.”
The hostel, like most of them do, had a Long pause. “We didn’t exactly… we just
little square of lawn for camping. As we came back to New Zealand.”
headed there I looked up and saw towering “What do you mean?”
masses of cloud sailing in from the west, “I think that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?
from the Tasman Sea. The other campers, Nicholas took me to a motel, and we spent
not a lot of them, were tightening guy a day or two resting up. Then we got on a
ropes, adjusting flies and groundsheets. plane and went home. You’ve got to remem-
I hadn’t ever seen a tent in Tamara’s ber, this was before 9/11. Airlines weren’t

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