by Silk, Avril
FOUR MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
It’s here somewhere, she thought determinedly, fully alert. As she looked around, searching for the pillbox she noticed what passed for a shop in Bayne. A rough painted sign said ‘Quinn’s Trading Post,’ and a display of rags and tatters – little more than garbage – was all that was on offer.
THREE MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
Then, with a sob of relief Jo saw the pillbox. She nearly missed it because right in front there was a gigantic bronze statue of Lethe, and unbelievably, Jo’s father, Paul. Lethe posed with her arms outstretched in welcome; Paul struck a manly pose of disciplined authority. Around the base, ornate calligraphy proclaimed
LOVING MOTHER AND FATHER
OF A GRATEFUL NATION
Jo nearly stumbled in astonishment, her mind reeling at the sight before her, but she managed to check herself. She noticed that the people around her touched the statue reverently as they passed, then bowed their heads, so she followed suit.
TWO MINUTES TO CLOCK-IN
The klaxon was still wailing its eerie drone. It had become a part of everything now, something felt but no longer heard. The pillbox itself was almost unrecognisable. The gleaming white brickwork she remembered was now a dingy grey, as drab as the rest of the landscape, covered with ragged posters of grim-faced men and women, and a notice stating:
IT IS FORBIDDEN
TO HARBOUR THESE DISSENTERS,
TERRORISTS AND RELIGIOUS FANATICS.
THEY AND THEIR ACCOMPLICES
WILL BE EXECUTED ON SIGHT
Among the photographs Jo recognised a face; the young priest she had tried to help. She saw his name; Benjamin Bradley. He was described as an outlaw; accused of fomenting discontent, instigating rebellion and promoting religion.
ONE MINUTE TO CLOCK-IN
Jo made sure the nearest camera was pointing away from her and followed the curve of the wall, grateful for the dark shadow cast by the ludicrous statue. There was the huge metal door she remembered. Her heart sank, though, when she saw the enormous padlock. Hoping against hope that it might not be locked she reached for it.
‘In your dreams, kid.’
The voice made Jo jump. She wheeled round but a savage kick to her shins took her legs from under her, and a dark, scratchy bag shoved over her head made it impossible to see, and difficult to hear or breathe but she did make out one final announcement as the klaxon slowly wound down.
CLOCK-IN NOW.
COMMENCE PRODUCTIVITY
OR FACE SUMMARY DISCIPLINE.
CO-OPERATION WILL BE REWARDED
Jo fought against the rising panic. She heard the metallic sound of the key grating in the padlock, and as the door opened she was dragged along the ground and roughly pushed inside.
She had stopped struggling. The heavy sack over her head had come first and then her hands had been bound behind her, her arms strapped to her sides and a leash attached to her belt.
‘Now move. I’ll break your arm if I have to.’
I know that voice, Jo thought, with absolutely no enthusiasm, but before she had time to connect the dots she heard someone else speaking and this time her heart leapt as she recognised Smokey’s voice.
‘Despicable Darren, as I live and breathe.’
‘Ashe-arse,’ came the sneered reply. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘You know the Righteous don’t allow kidnapping. Let her go.’ Although Jo rejoiced to hear his words, there was no warmth in his voice.
‘Kidnapping? Me? I’m just helping this young lady find her way to a new and better life as a dancer for the discerning gentleman.’
Smokey snorted with derision. ‘Then why is she tied up?’ Jo could track the voices as the duo slowly circled each other, Darren staying close by her at all times. The tension was thick in the air. Darren made no reply, so Smokey continued.
‘You’ve been warned before about abducting Overgrounders. Anyway, she’s a redhead. Your sweet old granny only wants blondes for her dancing dolls.’
‘How can you possibly tell she’s a ginger nut?’ scoffed Darren. ‘What with the sack over her head and all.’
‘I’ve been watching her on the street. Covered in freckles and plain as a pikestaff. She’s one for Zebo. Let her go.’
‘Or what?’ Jo felt Darren spring into action as he lunged for Smokey. She heard him curse. ‘Where are you?’ he roared. ‘Lurking in the shadows, as usual.’
‘I’m right here,’ came the reply. Smokey had positioned himself between Darren and Jo. The next sound was a sickening thud and a gruesome crunch, then the noise of a body crumpling to the ground.
Moments later the hood was lifted and Jo’s hands untied. Smokey looked completely at home in this cold, grey world. He wore body armour over a thick woollen uniform of urban camouflage greys, broken only by a red handkerchief tied around his arm. Grenades lined his chest; he had a holstered pistol on each hip and boot knife strapped to one leg.
‘Well, Your Highness, what the hell are you doing here?
‘I could ask you the same question. And why are you calling me Your Highness?’
Smokey stared at her in disbelief.
‘Because I know who you are, even dressed like that. You’re lucky that Darren is too thick to recognise Princess Jocasta when he sees her. I can hand you right back to him if you like.’
Jo’s mind somersaulted to hear the name Jocasta again. Her cruel aunt Lethe had forced the name upon her once before, when she had erased Jo’s memories. What did this even mean?
‘I’m not Jocasta! My name is Johanna!’
Smokey looked at her with obvious scorn.
‘And I’m the Czar of Cuba. Drop the act, Princess, and tell me what you were doing pretending to be a Bayne drone.’
‘I am not this Princess Jocasta! Why are you pretending you don’t know me? We’ve known each other for ages!’
He laughed. ‘You must be insane. You and I have never met. Now get moving, before that little shit comes round. Unless you’d prefer to go with him?’
He grabbed Jo’s arm, propelling her down an interminable spiral staircase, heading, as she very well knew, for the disused Deep Level Shelter.
She struggled to get free of Smokey’s grip. ‘I can walk by myself.’
‘Suit yourself. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to help you!’
‘You called me plain,’ muttered Jo. ‘How does that help me?’
‘I was trying to make Darren lose interest in you. Obviously.’
‘So you don’t really think I’m plain?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘And I am not covered in freckles.’
‘Like it matters. I saw you trying to help Ben back there. What were you doing? I could have sworn I saw a white flower – but there’s been no flowers here since the war. What was it?’
‘It’s the healing lotus. You’ve seen it before, Smokey. After you shot Lethe.’
Smokey looked dumbfounded. ‘What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never heard of any healing lotus and I’ve certainly never shot our beloved leader, worse luck. That’s crazy talk. Are you high?’
‘No.’
‘Right. Let me get this straight. Apart from being the utterly deranged heir to the Empire, you’re also a healer. Is that right?’
‘I am not the heir to the Empire. And as for being a healer, well, it comes and goes,’ answered Jo warily. ‘I’m still learning.’
‘OK. Well, a trainee healer’s better than a rogue paramedic who’s either fast asleep or high as a kite, which is all we’ve got now.’ Smokey thought for a moment, then pounced. ‘Apart from all that, how come you know my name?’
‘Like I said. I know you. Anyway, Darren said it.’
‘No, he did not. As it happens, he thinks it wildly amusing to call me Ashe-arse, moron that he is. I know for a fact I have never met you before today. So what’s your game, Princess?’
Jo snapped. ‘I’m not the bloody Princess! My name is Jo!
Short for Johanna, not Jocasta! I don’t know why or how but this is not the same world I was in when I went to sleep last night! Everything is different; it’s like I’m trapped in a living nightmare!’
This time Smokey eyed her critically for a long time. When he finally spoke Jo could barely make him out. ‘You know something? I’m half inclined to believe you – but I have absolutely no idea why.’
Jo spoke decisively. ‘Take me to Reg, and I’ll explain everything.’
Smokey sighed with exasperation. ‘Where do you think I’m taking you?’ He steered her along yet another tunnel.
‘To Zebo,’ muttered Jo mulishly. ‘That’s what you told Darren.’
Smokey laughed dismissively. ‘As if. I don’t think you’d like Zebo’s college for crooks. Anyway, there’s no shortage of pick-pockets in this delightful corner of Hell. So take my advice and ditch that necklace of yours. Keep it out of sight if you don’t want some light-fingered little tyke to nick it.’
Jo’s hand flew to her neck and she touched the precious heart-shaped silver locket that had belonged to her great-grandmother. She tucked it under her T- shirt.
‘Truth be told, we could use someone like you, Prin…’ Smokey faltered for a moment but quickly continued, ‘I mean Jo. Thieves are ten a penny, but a healer is something else, even a rubbish one.’
‘I didn’t say I was rubbish. I said I was still learning.’
‘Whatever. Don’t get your knickers in a knot. Reg will be very keen to meet you. But he wouldn’t be the only one. If Darren and his evil old granny realise that there’s a Princess Jocasta look-alike on the loose they’ll be running to tell Queen Bitch and King Dick all about you before you can blink. For a fee.’ Smokey paused, then he added, ’And if you’re really their precious Princess, running around with the riff-raff, well, the fee would skyrocket. The Traitor Locator wouldn’t want his little girl playing with the rough kids.’
‘Who’s the Traitor Locator?’ asked Jo.
Jo looked at her in disbelief. ‘What are you on? He’s only the poxy King! Paul Lakota used to work with Reg years ago. He was the best scout Reg had, but like everyone else, he lost almost all his special powers when the red rain fell. Next thing he’s sniffing round Lethe and he crossed over to her side. They were married the year I was born, then started breeding. Princess Jocasta and Prince Hawk. Darren and his granny keep well in with them, running their little errands.’
‘So Mirabel is still around,’ mused Jo.
Smokey didn’t miss much. ‘You know Mirabel?’
Jo nodded. ‘I certainly do, more’s the pity. In my world she’s as wicked as they come. Although the way she keeps Titus going is actually quite moving.’
Smokey was incredulous.
‘WHAT?! Are you talking about Doctor Stigmurus? The Poison Rainmaker? That man is a power-crazed maniac!’
Jo cursed herself for not thinking. ‘In my time, he’s turned over a new leaf.’ It was not easy for her to even admit. ‘So was the red rain something he did?’
‘Red rain, purple rain, yellow rain. All the colours of the bloody rainbow. And all deadly, one way or another. The red rain was the worst, though. They say the Queen is searching for an antidote, but hasn’t found one yet. Pity. It would be awesome to have special powers.’
‘Where I come from, you’re well-nigh invisible, when you want to be.’
‘I wish. What about their Majesties’? Do you know them?’
‘Yes.’ Jo decided not to mention any more about the ways her world differed from this one.
‘So you must know the Queen’s sister?’
‘Yes. Ali.’ Jo was longing to add, ‘She’s my mother,’ but held her tongue.
‘So you know where she is,’ stated Smokey.
Now it was Jo’s turn to look baffled. ‘What do you mean? Where is she?’ Just for a moment she felt great fear, as if bony fingers were clutching at her heart. As if on cue a ghastly shriek echoed all around them.
‘Don’t mind old Em,’ laughed Smokey with no hint of amusement. ‘She keeps us on our guard.’
Again the hideous howl, this time followed by a crazed gibbering that descended into a piteous whimper.
‘Where is she?’ repeated Jo urgently.
Smokey had come to a decision. He was beginning to regret having softened slightly towards this crazy girl. Once again his face was a mask of mistrust. ‘You ask a lot of questions. Maybe you’re telling me the truth, but maybe you’re a spy. Or the Princess. Or both. Whatever you are, you know a lot about us and we know nothing about you. I’m not saying another word until we meet Reg. And just in case you are a spy…’ Despite her protests, he dragged the bag back over Jo’s head, and pushed her ahead of him.
The journey was interminable. Jo felt dreadful. Her headache was vicious and she was burning up. She tried to keep her bearings, but she was pretty sure that Smokey was doubling back at times, and going down dead ends and round in circles in order to ensure she would never be able to find her way back alone. She would have done the same.
Chapter Eight - Prove It.
Normally when Jo was deep underground, her powers were magnified. Now it wasn’t so clear cut. The headache didn’t help. There did seem to be people down here with rudimentary emping ability – Jo kept on picking up fragments from a myriad of minds - but none of the connections were completed. Her attempts at sending messages seemed to run into a blitz of static. She remembered how, during previous adventures, quartz crystals had blocked emping completely. This felt similar, although there was no quartz to be seen. She remembered what Smokey had said about the red rain, but trying to think just made her head feel worse, so she stopped trying.
Ahead of them Jo heard people talking and moving about, but each time they turned a corner, however close the voices had been, there was no-one to be seen. She sensed shadowy figures disappearing round corners and doors closing quietly.
The further they descended, she grew ever more aware of a pervading apathy and misery, rooted in loss and suffering so profound that she had to fight to maintain any shred of hope. Like a fog rolling in from the sea, desolation threatened to engulf her, creeping into her consciousness like a thief in the night. Crazy Em’s sporadic shrieks did nothing to help. Jo stumbled and nearly fell, dragging her feet, her legs as heavy as lead. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other. She just wanted to sink to the ground and cry herself to sleep, but Smokey forced her ever onward.
It is better to light a candle than to rage against the dark.
Jo felt the words rather than heard them, so had no idea if the messenger was male or female, young or old.
Who are you?
There was no reply. Jo was profoundly disappointed. She was in the grip of a deep sadness, and she felt helpless in the face of it. As far as her mind’s eye could see, the vista was bleak and barren. The sense that this was her fault; a result of altering the past to try and change the future, plunged her further into despair. Could she really have caused so much death and destruction? Was she responsible for changing the world so drastically? The tortured voices of a million murdered souls called her name. She thought of her mother, trapped in a coma. Even if Jo managed to get back to her own time, there was no guarantee that Ali would ever recover.
Jo could picture Ali, so pale and still, lying in the hospital bed, like a frame from an old black and white silent movie. The memory brought tears to Jo’s eyes, but as she wept, the image started to alter.
Where there had been stillness, now there was motion. Colour gradually crept into the picture, and music and laughter replaced the silence.
Ali opened her eyes. She sat up in bed and smiled directly at her daughter. The colours grew ever more intense, until a white aura surrounded Ali, her red-gold curls turning to silver and pearl, gleaming softly like the petals of the healing lotus. As the light grew more dazzling, and the music more wild and haunting, Jo thought she would faint with joy. She stretched out her arms towards her mother.
&nb
sp; Then, as the music reached an exquisite note of crystal purity, there was an explosion of stars, softly cascading down, swirling like snowflakes. Sadness clutched at Jo’s heart as the vision faded and the shadows slowly returned, but now a small candle glowed steadily in the heart of the darkness.
From a long way away a voice said, ‘Looks like she’s coming round.’ Someone gave Jo sips of water to drink. Someone else was holding her, helping her to sit up. As she opened her eyes, she could see she was in a small, cramped candle-lit storeroom, with boxes of food – mainly porridge - and household goods crammed on shelves reaching from the floor to the ceiling.
She could just about make out half a dozen dimly lit figures surrounding her. Smokey was there, more shadowy and insubstantial than the others. He was talking urgently to Reg.
‘It’s a possibility,’ said Reg. ‘Only one way to find out. Crank up the generator and turn on the news channel.’ There was a dilapidated television set in one corner of the room. Everyone crowded round the screen and Jo couldn’t see what they were looking at.
Smokey swore. ‘Sound’s packed up again.’
‘Watch the headlines roll,’ said Reg. Everyone was silent. Jo wished her head would clear so she could work out what it was they were looking for, and what they suspected, but her thoughts kept slipping and sliding. She tried to focus on what was happening, but one minute she was freezing cold and shivering, the next she was boiling hot. Fragments of conversation came to her, but most of what was said seemed to come from a long way off, and made no sense.
Eventually Reg turned off the television. ‘Can’t be that,’ he said. ‘It would be all over the news if everyone’s favourite Princess had gone missing.’
Smokey was disappointed. ‘Pity. A hostage like that would be very, very useful… Or a double agent…’ His words trailed off as an idea slowly took shape in his mind.
As the group moved away from the television Jo realised with a shock that there was someone else she knew. Someone she thought she would never see again. Jo gasped when she saw him. He had a livid scar across his cheek and forehead, partly hidden by an eye patch, but nevertheless it was him. Quinn.