Page 57 of The White Octopus Hotel
“I just saw a horse by the plunge pool,” she said.
“Ah. The horse.”
“Did you see it too?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. The others used to speak of it, though. Back in 1918. There were twelve of us and everyone said they saw the horse in the steam baths at one point or another. Except me.”
“It looked like a war horse,” Eve said. “It had wire cutters, and a gas mask, and other things tied to its saddle.”
“Yes,” Max replied. “That’s the one. Eleven men don’t all imagine the same thing at different times, so I suppose it’s a ghost.”
“Why would a war horse haunt the steam baths?”
He shrugged. “Why would an eavesdropper haunt the Palm Bar,or an octopus haunt the sixth floor? The White Octopus is not like other hotels.”
They began to retrace their steps through the heated chambers until they were back in the vast frigidarium. As before, there were several guests enjoying the Wellness Area, reclining on the benches, or reading newspapers. A sense of calm tranquillity filled the space. Until the sound of hooves echoed upon the tiles.
Chapter 38
Max—The White Octopus Hotel, 1935
The frigidarium filled with gasps and whispered exclamations. Eve turned to look at the horse, but Max remained staring straight ahead at the door leading to the changing rooms, his ears ringing with theclip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.Horses had been ever present at the Western Front. There had been supply horses, and ammunition horses, ambulance drivers and cavalry chargers. And then there had been the officers’ mounts. Max had had several because—one way or another—horses didn’t last long in a war.
But he knew somehow, before he even turned around, which horse this was. He couldn’t have saidhowhe knew. There was nothing especially distinctive about the sound of one horse’s hoofbeats over another’s. But, still, he knew.
People were exclaiming and muttering as the horse stopped, right behind Max. He felt the huff of its warm breath in his hair, the affectionate nudge of his shoulder.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Hello, Stranger.”
He turned, bracing himself in case the horse looked the way it had when he’d last seen it. But, no, the grey stallion was dirty yet unharmed. Stranger’s coat was the exact colour of storm clouds, and his dark eyes were gentle and noble. The most impossiblymajestic creature. Max had believed that there was a horse—a horse that, for some reason, chose never to appear to him even when it showed itself to all the others—but he had never dreamt that it would behishorse. So much more than a mount. A friend. A comrade.
He trembled as he raised a hand to place gently upon the horse’s muzzle. It had been too long since he had touched a horse, and he felt a deep rush of gladness, remembering anew how the presence of a horse at the front helped raise the morale of all who came into contact with it. They were magical beasts, and for a moment, the frigidarium and all the people inside it ceased to exist. It was only Max and the horse, staring at each other, and Thomas’s voice echoing down through the years.
That’s how many times I’ve been over the top. Four times already. This’ll be the last, I think….
Max had the exact same sense of clarity now. He looked at his horse and he knew, deep in his bones, that he wasn’t going to check out of the White Octopus Hotel. Not this time. Anna was right. It was a cold feeling, but somehow not as terrifying as he’d expected it to be. Stranger leaned into his touch, huffing out his breath again, before brushing past him towards the door.
Wait,Max wanted to call.Don’t go.
But the horse had not been a part of the world for a very long time now. It headed swiftly for the exit and as it passed beneath the archway, an object fell from one of its saddlebags. Max walked over to pick it up. It was a trench watch—something between a pocket watch and a wristwatch—of the kind that had been worn by many officers during the war. It was broken, the hands on its face were all still, but when he slid the watch from the wide leather strap and turned it over, he saw a familiar inscription engraved upon the back.
For Max. Love, Mother.
“Is it yours?” Eve asked quietly at his side.
He nodded. “I lost it. Back in the trenches.”
A couple of guests were coming over, eager to see what had fallen from the horse’s bag.
“It’s nothing,” he said in response to the questions. “Only a timepiece that no longer works.”
The guests wandered off, disappointed, but right at that moment, the watch suddenly started ticking again in his hand, the thin second hand moving rapidly around the face once more.
“Huh.” Max stared down at it. “Maybe it wasn’t broken at all. Perhaps it just couldn’t operate in the trenches.” He glanced at Eve. “We always used to say that time didn’t work in the same way there. Some nights it seemed to stop working altogether. You almost couldn’t call it time, it was…it was something else.”
“Why would a horse bring this back to you now?” Eve asked, narrowing her eyes at it. “What does it mean?”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, but he knew well enough what it meant. His time was finally up.
