The Cracks in the Kingdom

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  That felt good. Irrefutable.

  But Keira was still shaking her head.

  “They wanted it to look like your dad and Mischka ran away together,” she said. “And that your uncle was taken by a Purple. So there’d be no suspicions. So other Hostiles could come in undercover and find where your dad had hidden the technologies they were working on. But then Central Intelligence figured out that Hostiles were involved — that Mischka Tegan had been a Hostile operative — so the Hostiles changed the story. They led them to believe they were holding your dad prisoner.”

  Elliot maintained his calm. “I trust the agents,” he said. “They’ve heard my dad’s voice. They wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “The agents are not lying,” Keira said. “They don’t know the truth. They believe they’re speaking to your father, and that his release is all lined up. They’re being played. The Hostiles will find some other excuse — make one more demand, get one more Hostile prisoner released in exchange for your dad’s release. It’ll keep being postponed until your agents figure out the truth. But I can’t stand you believing in this lie anymore.”

  At the edge of his mind, Elliot heard a car in the driveway.

  An engine cutting.

  “It’s not true,” he said, firmly. “Tovey and Kim are smart. If what you’re saying was true, they’d have figured it out by now. My dad is coming home today. See ya.”

  He pressed the side of the ring.

  Keira’s image faded.

  Outside, the car doors opened and slammed.

  He pulled off his ring, and dropped it onto the floor.

  He opened his bedroom door.

  He ran down the stairs.

  There were footsteps on the gravel. He stopped.

  His mother was in the hallway. She glanced up at him, their eyes caught.

  They both waited, formal. Elliot, on the stairs, held the bannister and angled himself so he could see the door.

  Footsteps on the porch.

  A firm knock.

  His mother paused. She reached for the handle. She opened the door.

  Agents Tovey and Kim: two shapes, one big, one small.

  Elliot looked beyond their shoulders, looking for a third man, his father, then looked back.

  He saw it in their faces.

  No light. No light at all.

  His mother caught this. Elliot saw her face reflecting it at once: that total absence of light.

  Then a sound came from her, a form of scream, and it came to Elliot, simple and precise: That’s how you crack open a world.

  The agents reached out their arms to her.

  Princess Ko was in the upper-level boardroom of the White Palace.

  Her spine was straight, but she kept dipping and raising her head like a swan searching for pondweed.

  The Social Secretary drew his hands out of his pockets.

  “Have you an issue with your neck, Highness?”

  Princess Ko paused, and looked at him. His shirt was bright mint green.

  “That’s a moot point,” she said.

  The Social Secretary twinkled. “You don’t know what that expression means, do you?”

  She twinkled back. “That, too, is a moot point!”

  Then she lowered her head again, pressing her fingers into the back of her neck.

  “Tension in the muscles!” pounced the Social Secretary. “I knew it! I will alert the Royal Masseuse at once. You, my dear Highness, have concerns that your father will not be back from the Narraburra in time for the Namesaking Ceremony this weekend! Admit it!”

  The Princess straightened again and beamed at him.

  “Does a starspin whirl in sunshine?” she exclaimed. “No! It does not! Because I’m totally nonplussed about that issue. My dad will be rocking Aldhibah this weekend, and the whole event will be a total minefield of perfection!”

  The Social Secretary returned his hands to his pockets.

  “Look, I don’t blame you for worrying. Between you and me, the entire Palace is buzzing with how fine he’s cutting it. What if a storm comes up before they make port? Issues with the mainsail or the hoist or the jib or whatever they call the various bits that go on sailing ships? Not to mention delays with the Royal Jet once he does let the anchor down, or come into the dockyards, or whatever it is that ships do once they’ve completed their — sailing.”

  “That,” said the Princess, nodding wisely, “is a deal breaker.”

  The Social Secretary drew his hands out and drummed them lightly, one on top of the other. “You don’t know what that expression means either, do you?”

  The Princess smiled faintly, but she was twisting the ring on her finger, a frown falling into her smile.

  “Are we done here?” she said. “I mean, my eyes are alight with the fire of everything you’ve said about upcoming events and banquets and so forth, so maybe we could call this meeting quits, and I’ll fan the flames in my eyeballs until I’m ready to extinguish them and get on with my life?”

  “Of course! Until next time.”

  “Stay total!”

  “Hope so!”

  The Social Secretary jived toward the door, turning once to wink at her.

  “And can you ask the Commissioner for Education to give me ten minutes?” she called. “I know she’s waiting out there.”

  The Social Secretary winked again and closed the door behind him.

  Princess Ko glanced back at her security agents. They blinked at her, silent.

  She touched the side of the ring.

  A haze formed just above the boardroom table, crackling faintly, and then resolved itself into a shadowy head and shoulders. It was Sergio. A miniature circular tower of gold seemed to be growing from his shoulder.

  “Sergio,” Princess Ko said. “I’m in meetings.”

  There was a faint buzz and crackle from the static that was Sergio.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “I know.” Sergio’s voice hissed into the room, just above a whisper. “I’m in the stationery cupboard. I’m trying to speak softly.”

  “Very well,” said Princess Ko. “What are you doing in the stationery cupboard? Is there a crack detector in there? If so, grab it and get out.”

  She was distracted by the miniature tower.

  “It’s not about that,” whispered Sergio. “I cannot get through to Elliot. I have been trying but he does not answer his ring.”

  “Why do you need Elliot?”

  There was a pause, the image blurring further.

  “Apologies,” Sergio said. “I heard footsteps at the door — but …”

  Another pause, and then Sergio’s whisper changed to a low, urgent murmur.

  “Ko,” he said. “There’s a WSU unit on its way to Bonfire. Someone has reported Elliot. They know he’s been communicating with the World. He’s been classified as a Flagrant Offender.”

  The Princess’s hands shook. She steadied them.

  “But who would have reported him?”

  Sergio shrugged. “Did you hear me? They’re on their way now, and he’s a Flagrant Offender.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Sergio whispered, “the orders are to Identify and Dispatch.”

  “And what does that mean?” the Princess almost shouted.

  “Hush,” whispered Sergio, his head swinging around in the darkness. “It means they shoot to kill. Execute on sight.”

  The Princess touched her mouth.

  “What else do you know?” she said.

  “Only that they’re flying there now.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Sergio,” said the Princess. “What is growing out of your shoulder?”

  Sergio moved. The tower separated.

  “It is tape,” he said. “It is a pile of tape. I am in the stationery closet. Remember?”

  The Princess nodded.

  “Get out of the closet,” she murmured. “Get the detector. Get out of that place, and take the next plane here
to the Palace. I’ll take care of Elliot.”

  Sergio’s face relaxed.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, and his image paled and vanished.

  The Princess looked across the boardroom at the open fireplace. Logs crackling. She looked through the window. A wolf crossing the snow.

  “Princess,” said a voice behind her, and she turned.

  It was Agent Ramsay. His eyes were narrowed slightly, questioningly.

  “You know,” he said, “that there’s nothing you can do for Elliot?”

  “I know,” she agreed.

  “We warned him about this,” Agent Nettles put in, leaning forward, intense.

  “I know,” she repeated, her voice threaded with irritation. She looked at the pile of files on the table before her, the Royal Stamp beside it, glinting in the snow-glare.

  “You have to cut him loose,” Agent Ramsay said with his most soulful, sorrowful expression.

  Across the room, an ornate telephone sat on the sideboard.

  “Does that telephone work?” the Princess asked.

  The agents exchanged glances and cleared throats.

  “To the extent that any telephones work in this province,” Agent Ramsay said, and shrugged. “Which means, sometimes yes, mostly no. But there’s nobody to call, Princess. You have no authority over the WSU.”

  “Not planning on calling the WSU,” she said, still gazing at the phone.

  “Well, whatever you’re planning, don’t,” Agent Nettles said briskly. “The call could be intercepted. If a member of the royal family was exposed interfering with the WSU? It would bring down the monarchy. You understand that, of course.”

  “Bring me the phone,” said Princess Ko.

  The agents stood motionless.

  “Bring it to the table,” she repeated.

  “Let him go,” Agent Nettles said. “He knew the risks.”

  “I doubt the cord on that phone would reach this far,” Agent Ramsay mused, “even if we were to bring it over.”

  “Very well,” the Princess said. “I’ll get it myself.” She pushed back her chair.

  1.

  At the Bonfire Sheriff’s Station, Hector Samuels, County Sheriff, was smoothing out his Road Safety posters. His annual visit to the Bonfire Grade School was scheduled for this afternoon: Next, he’d check his collection of antique firearms, and he’d bake a batch of cookies for the kids.

  Jimmy was standing on a chair, hanging photographs. The station made a good gallery space for Jimmy’s exhibitions, and he’d taken a series of shots of the mulberry trees around town. Some depicted just a single tree, sun behind the leaves; others showed rows of trees swarming with kids and townsfolk.

  This one he liked in particular: It was Clover Mackie, town seamstress. You just about never saw Clover anywhere but sitting on her porch in the square, but here she was, high in a tree, waving a berry-stained hand.

  Which is why it startled Jimmy so much when the door jangled open, and there she was, Clover Mackie herself. Walking into the station. He looked back and forth between the photo and the person for some seconds before he stepped down.

  Hector let go of the poster he was smoothing. It curled itself back up.

  “Clover Mackie!” he exclaimed. “Well, if it isn’t a pleasure to —”

  “No time for chitchat, boys.” Clover stood in the middle of the room. “I’ve just had a call, and I’ll thank you not to ask who the caller was, but to trust me when I say that the source was reliable, and I have news.”

  Hector and Jimmy waited, impressed.

  “The news is urgent,” Clover said. “First up, Elliot Baranski has been communicating with the World.”

  “Well, now —” Hector began, and, “That can’t be —” Jimmy shook his head, but Clover was waving a brisk hand at them.

  “That part I know to be true. He has got a contact in the World. Writes letters to her. The next part of the news is what counts. Seems Elliot’s been reported. The WSU are on their way here now.”

  Hector gave her a look. “Come on, now,” he said. “You’re having us on.”

  “Well, no. Like I said, my source is reliable. Of course, she was talking fast, and in secret code, and the line kept cutting out. Still, I’m pretty sure that’s what she said. Naturally enough, I am not informing the local Sheriff that the WSU are on their way, and the local Sheriff is not going to get word to Elliot, and get him the heck out of town and into hiding. I’m not even here.” She looked up at Jimmy on his chair, and at the wall beyond his shoulder. “Well, except in that photo. There I am.”

  Hector and Jimmy stared from the photo to Clover and back, as if that coincidence were the real issue.

  “So,” Clover continued. “I’m just here to discuss taking up Jimmy’s trousers for him, but how about that, they look to be exactly the right length!” Hector and Jimmy glanced at Jimmy’s trouser cuffs, and felt faint surprise that in fact they were the right length. “And now I’ll head on home. Nice to see you, boys.”

  She pressed both hands against the station door, then turned, and spoke again.

  “Seems they’ve classified him as a Flagrant Offender,” she said. “So whatever you don’t do, you’d better not do it fast.” She paused. “Might have got my negatives in a tangle just then,” she said, and grinned. The grin turned fierce as they watched. “You take care of Elliot,” she said, and there was another jangle.

  * * *

  Hector and Jimmy watched the door close behind her, then faced each other.

  “It can’t be right,” Hector said.

  “But Clover Mackie,” Jimmy pointed out.

  Hector nodded. He was thinking.

  “Let’s say Elliot did find a crack through to the World,” he mused, speaking slowly. “You think he’d use it? You think he’d be more keen on the adventure of the World, than worried about getting himself arrested?”

  As he spoke, something shifted in them both.

  This was Elliot Baranski.

  Jimmy lunged for the phone.

  “Dumb kid,” Hector said, grabbing his jacket. “Who you calling? He’d be over at school right now. Let’s head —”

  Jimmy held up a hand.

  “Hey there, Patty,” he said. “Jimmy here. Wondering if you might track down Isabella for me?”

  Ah. The Sheriff nodded. Patty was the school secretary. Jimmy must be planning to have Isabella get Elliot out of class in some innocent-seeming way. That was smarter than storming over there themselves.

  “She didn’t?” Jimmy said. “Well, now, that’s surprising. I guess she’s not feeling so good. Can I trouble you to call Elliot Baranski out of class for me, then? I want to have a quick word with him about the deftball — I know, I know, we take it way too seriously — and yes, that’s the truth, his education must come — but it’s just the — oh, now. He’s not either? I guess there might be some bug going around. Thanks for your help, Patty, see you soon.”

  He hung up.

  “Isabella didn’t show at school today,” he said. “I guess she’s sick. And Elliot’s not there either.”

  Hector took the car keys from the hook.

  “We should have thought of that,” he said. “His dad’s due back sometime today — he probably stayed home to wait for him.”

  Jimmy nodded, and they tried to saunter to the car, but ran the last few steps.

  “How long do you reckon it’ll take the WSU to get here?” Jimmy asked as they turned onto Broad Street.

  Hector changed gear, and braked a little. The streets were still wet from last night’s rain. He waved at Norma Lisle, town vet, who was washing her shop-front window. A couple of kids who probably should have been at school ducked behind a trash can.

  “Who can tell?” Hector said eventually. “Fact is, if they catch us helping Elliot, we’ll both end up behind bars. You okay with the risk? I won’t blame you if not. You can hop on out right now — we’re only a block from Isabella’s now, you could run down there and check on her.”


  Jimmy was silent. He seemed to notice the seat belt, pulled it across his waist, and clicked it in.

  “The fact that you could even ask me that,” he began, “that you could even —”

  “All right, all right.” Hector turned onto Acres Road. They were heading away from downtown now, houses were getting farther apart, giving way to meadows, fields, barns. “It’s okay for me, I’m on my own, but I doubt your Isabella would ever forgive me if I got you locked up.”

  Jimmy smiled. “Well, that’s true enough,” he said.

  Hector gave the car some more gas.

  “The sculpture,” Jimmy said abruptly.

  Hector glanced sideways. The car swerved a little as he did, and he turned back, clutching the wheel with both hands, but not slowing down.

  “The sculpture in the schoolyard,” Jimmy repeated. “The one Elliot’s always hanging around late at night. You think that could be …”

  Hector was shaking his head slowly. The car bumped twice, skidded a little, and settled down again. He pressed his foot harder on the accelerator.

  “It’d explain why he’s there so much,” Hector said. “Always thought he just needed some alone time — wanted to be close to the old TV that his dad once worked on — and he was writing a journal or something — but a crack, now that would be a much more likely explanation.”

  “Elliot Baranski.” Jimmy was shaking his head now. “Sitting out there plain as day, writing messages to the World. You’ve gotta admire him.”

  “I want to throttle him.”

  “That too,” Jimmy agreed.

  They were almost at the Baranski farm now.

  A new thought occurred to Hector. “We’ve got to get that sculpture out of the schoolyard,” he said. “If it is where the crack is, might be something there could implicate Elliot. The only hope is to get him into hiding now, before they get here, then clear his name somehow.”

  Jimmy put his hand onto the dashboard, to steady himself. The car was racing, mud splattering up against the fenders. “I’ll ask Isabella to get rid of it. She’s surely not too sick to make that happen — matter of fact, I’ve mentioned Elliot’s regular visits with the sculpture to her, and I remember now she said she thought that thing was dangerous. Exposed wires in the middle of a schoolyard. I’ll tell her to make its removal an urgent safety issue.”