The Cracks in the Kingdom

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Keira’s eyes widened: “It means they’ve got the frequency she used. They can figure out the location of her unit.”

  “Right.”

  “You are talking of your father, Elliot? You have good news of your father?” Samuel reached out and shook Elliot’s hand vigorously. “Call yourself my congratulations!”

  “They narrowed it down to two possibilities, and they’re pretty sure which it is. They’re going to start negotiations to get him back.”

  Down the corridor, two further doors opened. The Princess and her stable boy stepped out of facing rooms, caught each other’s eye, and right away began a synchronized dance, in time with the pervasive drumbeat, toward the others.

  Both were dressed in the Edgian style, and they danced as if they were locals. Just as they slid to a stop, there was a rippling of chimes. The waterfall slid open like curtains.

  “Lucky timing,” enthused Samuel.

  “Slow.” Elliot countered. He and Keira had been standing there almost ten minutes.

  “Neither,” Keira said. “It was waiting until we all got here.”

  They stepped through the gap into a diamond-shaped space, Elliot looking sideways at Keira. The elevator paused for a fraction, then flew upward.

  * * *

  By the time they reached the doorway to Conference Room 3Q, they all knew about Elliot’s father, and his magic-circumventing listening device, and they all wanted to try it.

  Although, as Keira pointed out, there was no loose magic in Jagged Edge, so there was nothing for it to circumvent.

  “So you don’t want to try it?” Elliot asked.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  The conference room had a vaguely circular shape, but its walls were composed of protruding spikes. The effect was like a child’s enthusiastic drawing of the sun.

  The security agents had placed themselves inside one of the smaller spikes. They were somewhat squashed in there, and off center from the room, but their expressions, as they gazed toward the opposite side of the spike, were as solemn as ever. Each member of the Royal Youth Alliance — apart from Princess Ko, who strode directly to the conference table — paused to stare at the agents, and reflect on notions of dignity.

  After a beat, though, each carried on into the room, all talking at once about the listening device, and how to test it.

  One of the larger protruding spikes turned out to be a kitchen nook (“a refreshment point,” Keira corrected), so they placed the paper clip on the sink in there, then took turns murmuring beside it while the others ran up and down the corridors of the Palace wearing the ear phone.

  Eventually, when they had all agreed that the sound quality was superb, and Sergio was offering to take the paper clip into an Edgian fixed wing, place it on the cockpit floor, then lean out the window and whisper — for who could tell when one’s enemy might be galloping across the plains? And what use was a listening device unless it could operate above the sounds of rushing wind and pounding hooves? Such sounds could be duplicated by the rushing wind outside the fixed wing!

  At this point, Agent Nettles stepped out from the small spike.

  “Princess!” She gave a slight bow, which might have been a gesture of respect or an assertion of authority. “Apologies for the interruption, but could I remind you that this meeting is scheduled to conclude in exactly one hour? And that we need another list of royal activities from you as a matter of urgency? Certainly by the morning.”

  The Princess paused. A sigh seemed to wash across her face.

  “Of course,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Agent Nettles stepped back.

  “A list of royal activities?” Samuel queried.

  “Remind me to have a brainstorming session before you all leave,” Princess Ko said. “I need to invent things that my family are doing — regular, unremarkable things like opening hospital wings or attending charitable galas — so we can feed them to the press.” She stepped toward the table. “It gets tiresome.”

  She waited until Elliot had retrieved his paper clip from the refreshment point, and taken his seat.

  “As delighted as we are that Elliot’s father is on the verge of being recovered,” she said, “we need to pursue the recovery of my family now. I wish never to have to make another list of royal activities. I need reports from all of you. Keira, you have already informed me that your documents contain soil analyses from the dusky regions of Nature Strip. In other words: useless. We will say no more about that. Samuel, I understand you have compiled another set of accounts of journeys between Cello and the World. Hand these to Elliot, in case they are of use. Sergio, you will begin our meeting by informing us of your news from the WSU. And Elliot.” She turned to Elliot and spoke in a strange monotone, not quite meeting his eye. “I am saving for last. I assume you now have responses from my family. I assume you have opened the crack. In you, Elliot, I place all my hope.”

  2.

  Princess Ko’s mood had flattened, but so had the chairs.

  In fact, they would not stay still. Immediately after the Princess’s speech, the chairs folded upward so that their occupants were forced into standing positions. A moment later, they flattened themselves into almost-beds.

  “What the —” Elliot swung to his feet.

  Samuel’s chair began to move again and he toppled to the floor.

  Sergio laughed aloud.

  “It’s to stimulate creativity,” Keira explained, riding along with her chair’s movements calmly. “All conference-room chairs do this. You think best when you’re upright, but you’re most imaginative lying prostrate. So they rotate positions.”

  “I’m not sitting on that thing,” Elliot said. Samuel murmured his agreement.

  “Sit on the chairs,” commanded Princes Ko.

  Samuel obeyed. His chair swiveled, and he thumped back onto the floor.

  Sergio laughed again. Elliot put a knee on his seat to hold it still, then went to sit. The chair moved and he swore and stood up again. Sergio’s laughter rippled. A smile was forming on Keira’s face. Samuel whimpered from the carpet.

  “Oh, very well!” The Princess pressed a button, and the chairs adjusted themselves into regular chair position and stayed that way.

  Elliot sat down. The table was clear except for several tall glasses of celery sticks. Now that the room had grown still, things felt strangely close and intimate.

  “All right, Sergio,” said Princess Ko. “Any news on the detector?”

  Sergio launched into a long description of the improvements he had made to the internal communications system at the WSU. He realized that some might think his improvements were “the trivial,” even “the unnecessary.” To him, however, the changes had the beauty of the whinny of a Southern Clime Highlander compared to, say, the bray of a Spotted Saddle Horse.

  There were murmurs of congratulations around the table, and a long, slow sigh from Princess Ko.

  “Please,” she said.

  Sergio handed out a chart showing the “beautiful complications” in the structure of the WSU.

  They studied the chart.

  “As you will see,” Sergio said, “there are the many departments and many twists and turns. This reports to that, and then your eyes go sideways and, ho! It is the Classification department! The Policy, the Detection, the Censorship, and see the big and beautiful rectangle? The Enforcement!”

  “How is this helpful?” Princess Ko asked.

  “It is not,” said Sergio. “But interesting, no?”

  “Well, Sergio, I assume you’re no closer to getting the detector.”

  “Ah.” Sergio breathed in deeply. “If I were only allowed the access! But, alas, I am not.” He paused, then spoke carefully: “I am thinking I should say this, that I have now seen myself some people from Enforcement. In the coffee room.”

  “And what, they’re all superheroes?” Keira interrupted. “They extend their limbs around corners and spit ice cubes from their toes into their espressos?�
��

  Sergio regarded her. “For what would they want ice in their coffee?”

  Keira spoke impatiently: “We know they’re tough guys with degrees in sharpshooting who can kill twenty men by blowing their noses. You keep giving them this supernatural aura, but how is that helpful to Elliot?”

  Elliot smiled. Her support was surprising and sweet, but no longer necessary. The WSU had stopped scaring him. He was back to indifference — contempt even.

  He played with the paper clip, tossing it on the palm of his hand, spinning it between his fingertips. His father had made this. His father was a genius. His father was coming home.

  Therefore — and a part of him knew this didn’t make sense, but here it was anyway, a beautiful truth — therefore, he was indestructible. No way was the WSU coming for him. If they did? He could take them. Compared to the huge and wondrous news about his dad, the WSU were dust mites.

  “It is more than their superpowers,” Sergio addressed Keira, glancing toward Elliot as he did. “There is a look in their eyes. I have seen horses with such eyes.”

  “Of course you have,” Keira said mildly.

  “A piece of these people, it is lost. In the stead, there is a passion, and the passion, it has hooves. I see two types of passion. One is about disorder. These people, they hate the mess or the untidy or the things that are broken. A crack, to them, is something broken. So. It must be fixed.”

  The others were silent, considering this.

  “And the other type?”

  “The other is this word, xenophobic. They fear what the cracks might let in.”

  “You have seen horses with xenophobic eyes?” marveled Samuel.

  Sergio ignored him. “I am not just meaning that the cracks might let in the plague again — and so lead to war with other Kingdoms, especially Aldhibah — no. These people have a bigger fear — it is the fear of anything strange or different or outside.”

  “Ah,” said Elliot recklessly — and irrelevantly — “we’re always fighting with Aldhibah over one thing or another.”

  “Which is why,” snapped the Princess, “we need to get my father back before the Namesaking Ceremony. It’s a month away!”

  She tapped her fingernails on the table, then fixed her eyes on Sergio.

  “You’re in human resources. Couldn’t you use blackmail, or let’s say, bribery to get a detector? Threaten to fire people. Offer them holidays — sick leave, pay leave — I don’t know the terminology … or am I wrong? Isn’t this what human resources is about?”

  Sergio smiled. “It is, yes! More or less. Beautiful strategy, Princess! But impossible. I am thinking that my clearance level is not quite … that high.”

  The Princess’s face fell into a scowl of frustration. She took a deep breath and turned to Elliot.

  “I need better news from you,” she said. “News of my family. Now.”

  3.

  Elliot couldn’t see a way around this.

  It would have to be the truth: Madeleine had not heard back from a single member of the family.

  The Princess blinked rapidly.

  “None?”

  “None.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  Elliot considered this a moment. Then he nodded. “Got no reason not to.

  “The postal system might be slow,” he said next, “but I’m thinking — if Samuel is right about the amnesia thing — well, no offense but they probably just think you’re a crackpot.”

  Princess Ko stared.

  “As to a coffee bean in sneakers,” Samuel murmured, “I’m afraid that I am right about the amnesia thing.”

  The Princess shook her head, pursing her lips. “Then we need to trigger their memories. Quick!” She snapped her fingers. “What brings back memories?”

  “Smells,” said Sergio at once. “No matter where I am if I smell the leather, the jasmine, and the bacon, I am thinking of saddling Kafka, a purebred Highlander stallion. He was stabled alongside a jasmine bush. And he loved the breakfast.”

  “How often do you smell that combination, Sergio?”

  “Shush,” said Princess Ko. “No jokes, Keira. Tell me a memory trigger.”

  “Wasn’t joking. But okay. Music.”

  The Princess nodded.

  “If I reread a novel,” Samuel offered, “it sometimes takes me back to the place where I was when I first read it, as to a —”

  The Princess gave a half nod and turned to Elliot, who thought a moment.

  “Little things that my dad used to use,” he said, “bring back whole memories of him. Like we’ve got this pepper grinder in the shape of a panda bear — you turn the bear’s head and pepper comes out. Every time I see it, I remember Dad sitting at the kitchen table arguing with my mother about some school meeting they were supposed to go to, while he ground pepper onto slices of tomato.”

  “Very well. I will prepare further letters for my family — in these letters I will include techniques to make them remember. You will have your Madeleine mail them, Elliot.”

  “Make sure they’re small enough to fit through the crack,” Elliot reminded her.

  “So you have not yet opened the crack?”

  Elliot held her gaze.

  “We’re trying,” he said. “We keep getting glimpses of each other, but we can’t work out a pattern.”

  “Were the accounts of historic crossovers not useful?”

  “Well.” Elliot looked across at Samuel. “See, the thing is — no. There’s not a single word in them about cracks, or about how those people got across.”

  Samuel frowned. “Of course not,” he said. “Did you expect such a thing?”

  There was a confused shuffling.

  “Uh?” said Keira eventually.

  “Those parts of the accounts have been removed! Call yourselves my apologies if you did not know this! I bethought me everyone knew! Surely you know that the WSU is rigorous in ensuring that nothing about the mechanics of cracks is available to the public? Long ago they took to the accounts with heavy black markers! The archives of the Harmony Institute — why, they are a veritable cheese. I mean, by this, that they are filled with holes.”

  “This makes sense,” Sergio nodded. “I wondered what the Censorship Department did with their hours, besides the arguing about deftball scores. Their department is coming first in the Deftball Sweepstakes.” He smiled suddenly. “At picnic day, Censorship provided the cheese platter!” He glanced at their confusion. “I am thinking of Samuel’s cheese reference — it is the bad joke — of course.”

  “Of course,” echoed Princess Ko, crestfallen. “I should have known this.”

  “Do not blame your royal self!” Samuel cried. “It has been so for centuries, and thus I suppose none bothers mentioning it afresh. Only those with particular interest in World Studies — such as classroom teachers of the subject — would know. There are regulations upon the syllabus, a single authorized textbook, so they must know — and me, of course — I know.” Samuel reached for a celery stick. “Even with all the censorship, it is impossible even to gain access to the World-Cello archives. They’re kept behind a locked gate at Brellidge University Library. Only those certified by the WSU may enter.”

  The Princess leaned forward.

  “Samuel,” she said, studying him. “How do you gain access?”

  Samuel crunched his celery stick. The room grew still around the crunching.

  He swallowed, and wiped his mouth.

  “As to a swan in an icebox,” he began, and then stopped and started again. “Each Saturday morning, I arise at dawn and take the mail cart on the two-hour journey to Brellidge. It is comfortable enough — I am given blankets on wintry days, and the ricketting and shaking only bothers me when I have a headache.

  “I am known to the librarians as a member of the Royal Youth Alliance, and have betold them that my task, for the Alliance, is to complete a thorough history of the royal family. Hence, the assistant head librarian — a bright-eyed elderly woman, w
ith mischief in her smile and rigor to the shoulders of her smartly tailored suits — usually, these suits are ash gray or midnight blue, as to a sausage in a — yes, Princess. You are right. Forgive me. At any rate, when I arrive, she leads me down, down, down into the dungeons — do not alarm yourselves, friends! ‘Dungeon’ is merely the nickname given to the underground floors of the library. At any rate, she unlocks the Royal Archives for me, ensures I am wearing the white gloves that all who handle antique manuscripts must wear, and checks that I have naught with me but pencil and paper.”

  Samuel looked sideways, aware that the security agents had turned their heads, and were watching him, listening. He blushed, self-conscious.

  “Once she has left me to myself, I slip across to the locked World-Cello archives, which are in the next wing along, and I unlock the gate myself. I have acquired me a secret key, as to which you must not concern yourselves. At any rate, I slip in there, take what I can from the archives, and bring it back to my original desk. I work until late Saturday night, at which point I simply sleep on the library floor. The librarians have come to accept this — in fact, the junior assistant librarian once kindly slipped me a hand-stitched cushion for my head. By the midnight clock, I return the archives I’ve been copying — and the next day, I call myself a farewell to the librarians, and take the milk wagon home.”

  There was another silence.

  Eventually, Keira spoke. “How do your parents feel about you spending your weekends sleeping in the Brellidge University Library?” she said.

  Samuel reached for another celery stick, then looked around fretfully. “Why only celery?” he demanded. “I could not fathom the strange foods in the welcome reception, and now my hunger is as to a steam train in a chimney.”

  “It’s usually just celery or carrots at meetings,” Keira explained. “In Jagged Edge, we believe in crunch foods — that’s why all the apples in the corridors — they’re the foods that vigorate and reflexate.”

  Elliot swung around to look at her. “What language are you speaking?” he said. “Crunch foods? Vigorate? Reflexate?”