by HR Moore
‘It’s crazy isn’t it?’ she said, instead of answering the question. ‘That we’re somehow in the same place in my mind. That we can talk to each other in here and nobody outside can see us or hear what we’re saying.’
‘Yep. Pretty weird,’ said Cleo, taking one last look out to sea before turning purposefully back to Anita. ‘So, what now? How do we find new locations?’
‘I’m not sure really, but when Alexander and I were first exploring, we generally found things that linked one location to another, a bit like a door. So from my centre, a piece of leather led us to a stable containing a horse, some canvas there led us to the boat and so on.’
‘So I should look for Mind related stuff that might link us somewhere else?’
‘I think that’s the best thing to do. Alexander and I tried to do the same thing here, but we didn’t get very far.’
Cleo had already stopped listening. She was rootling around, looking for anything that might be Mind related. She descended into the cabin where she focused on the navigation equipment. She came back up on deck with a sextant and some dividers. ‘These are the most Mind orientated things I could find down there,’ she said, handing them over.
Anita took the objects and turned them over in her hands. She cleared her mind and focused on the cold metal in front of her, willing the instruments to take her somewhere new. She closed her eyes and pushed her mind into the objects, forcing as much energy towards them as she could muster, but still nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked up at Cleo, shaking her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. We just have to keep looking,’ said Cleo, never one to be deterred by a minor setback.
Cleo spent the next half an hour searching every inch of the boat, working methodically through the cabins from front to back. They tried a number of objects, from a bottle opener, to a kettle, to a pair of binoculars, but all to no avail. They made their way back up on deck, where they turned their attention to various cleats, ropes and even fenders to see if they would have any better luck with those, but again, nothing. They sat, forlorn, on the bow, legs dangling over the side, hugging the safety rail, out of ideas as to where they could look next. Anita was silently beating herself up, chastising herself for not being able to find something as seemingly simple as another location in her mind. Cleo was irritated, running through everything they had looked at and desperately trying to work out what they had missed. She turned to Anita, putting her left hand down to support her weight, about to console her friend, when she realised her hand was resting on a cold, heavy, tarnished chain.
A shot of excitement flooded through her, and Anita turned as she felt the reaction. ‘What is it?’ she asked, before following Cleo’s gaze down at the deck. ‘The anchor,’ Cleo said, brimming with enthusiasm. ‘It’s got to be the anchor.’ Anita reached forward and traced the chain over the front of the bow to where the anchor was hanging just out of sight. As her fingers reached the cool, wet metal, a strange tension filled the air and the environment shifted from a breezy, salt filled freshness, to an oppressive, flat, warmth.
‘We did it,’ yelped Cleo, who had been transported from the deck of a boat, to a grand, dark, throne room, filled with burning torches and an enormous open fire, flames roaring angrily upwards in the hearth. The walls and floors were adorned with heavy throws, rugs and tapestries, covering every inch of bare stone below, numerous columns supporting a balcony above that hid the sides of the hall in darkness. At the far end of the room were two ornate thrones, but instead of shimmering gold or silver, they were a dull greyish tone, the seat bare metal, not a cushion in sight, contrasting in stark fashion with the illustrious comfort of the fabric all around. In between the thrones sat a small, plain table made of gnarled wood that looked like it had no natural place here. On top sat a wooden box, its brass latch shimmering oddly in the torch light.
Anita made her way towards the box, a feeling of dread filling her, knowing if it contained the cylinder they both could be in danger. She walked slowly over the soft, plush rugs, her feet seeming to be sucked into the piles so it was an effort to take each step. She reached the thrones and paused to look up at the box, steeling herself for the three steps that were all that now stood between them. Cleo looked on from the other end of the room, nervous apprehension filling her as she waited to see what Anita would do next. She too understood the predicament they were in; Alexander had after all gone to lengths to explain the potential dangers in some detail.
Anita took the steps one at a time, the air around her growing denser as she inched closer to her target, like the molecules were somehow crammed closer together, trying to protect the box that was her goal. She reached out and touched the nondescript, brown object, exhaling sharply when she found that nothing untoward resulted from her touch. She lifted it from the table and turned to look at Cleo, who now stood at the base of the steps, looking expectantly up at Anita, willing her to carry on.
Anita flipped the latch open and swung the lid back on its hinges to reveal a glimmering brass cylinder inside, lying unceremoniously on a bed of out of place hay. She walked down the steps, carrying the box with extreme caution, not wanting to give the cylinder a second chance to escape. She sat on the bottom step, Cleo joining her. ‘What should we do now?’ asked Anita, at a loss. ‘Open it and take the risk?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Cleo, now filled with fear. ‘If what Alexander has been saying is right, it could kill us both if you open it.’
‘But if I never open it, we never find out what’s inside.’
‘True. And time is of the essence.’
‘But you’re right, it could kill us both, and if it does that, then we die by the river bank with no explanation as to what happened and nobody knows we found the cylinder.’ She paused, considering their options, before visibly making up her mind, a determination settling across her shoulders. ‘We’ll leave it here and come back when we’ve told the others.’
‘Okay,’ said Cleo, reluctantly. A large part of her was desperate to open it right away, but she had to admit Anita’s logic wasn’t flawed.
Anita closed the box and placed it back where she’d found it before pulling them out of the meditation. They woke to find Thorn dragging a branch roughly six times his own length towards them and laughed as they stood up, Anita calling to Thorn, who grudgingly put down his prize and trotted after them. ‘So,’ said Anita, meaningfully, as they started on the walk back to Empire, ‘I think you’ve got some stuff to fill me in on...something about you and someone we know called Henry?’ she said, obtusely. Cleo laughed openly, shoving her friend. ‘Tell me everything.’
*****
Anita and Cleo met Bas and Anderson on Temple Mews, the sun hanging low in the sky, its rays making the cobbled street shine but the hanging baskets of summer gone, festoons of autumnal fairy lights hanging in their place. The cold hadn’t yet fully set in, but the air had a notable and new found crispness that made them not want to linger too long outside, only the promise of the winter festivities to come taking the edge off the chill. They entered Anita’s favourite café, Mungo and Meg, but as she was about to step over the threshold, she felt a cold hand close around her wrist and a force tug her vigorously backwards. She spun around, her energy hostile, ready to fight whatever threat this was, but found herself looking up into a pair of familiar, now smug, electric blue eyes.
‘It’s rude to sneak up on people you know,’ Anita parried flirtatiously, placing a hand on his chest, her eyes alight, energy rapidly rising.
‘And I thought you’d be pleased to see me,’ he countered, a look of mock affront across his face.
‘What gave you that impression?’ she asked obliquely, as he leaned down and gave her an excitable peck on the lips. She pushed him playfully away before turning back into the café, ‘come on,’ she said scornfully, ‘I thought you told me I was supposed to be keeping a low profile.’
They entered the café, reaching the table
the others had chosen, to find a conversation already in full swing about the meeting in Kingdom and subsequent action to be taken. Alexander and Anita sat on opposite sides of the table at the only two remaining chairs, their eyes meeting involuntarily whenever the most minor of opportunities arose. Cleo rolled her eyes, causing Anita’s cheeks to blush a deep red, which only spurned Alexander on further.
Mungo and Meg looked insignificant from the outside, with a tiny frontage; a sign, a door, and two small windows crammed full of ever more adventurous treats the only clues of its presence. However, inside, guests were greeted with a space that unambiguously contradicted the inconspicuous and cottagey impression of the exterior. It was enormous, a cavernous room filled with mismatched sofas, chairs and tables, home grown plants in terracotta pots siting on the centre of each. The back of the building had been extended; an enormous, glass, double height, orangery occupying the space where you would expect there to be an ordinary stone wall, and as such, the cafe was always flooded with light. The wooden frame of the towering glass wall had been painted sage green, smoothing the transition through the large French doors that led out onto a secluded and plant surrounded patio. In the summer, it was always crowded full of people drinking a colourful range of exotic smoothies and eating whatever salads were on offer that day.
It was Anita’s favourite for many reasons; that what was on offer was always changing, that it was large enough to allow for privacy, but also that it was unexpected; something different on the inside from what it seemed to be. She and Cleo came here a lot, so the waitress simply asked ‘usual?’ when she approached.
‘Yes please,’ said Anita and Cleo together, the boys sending questioning looks at them, silently asking what exactly the ‘usual’ meant.
‘We have the soup of the day and selection of salads from the counter,’ said Cleo, by way of explanation, pointing to a bar by the door full of platters piled high with a range of bright and interesting looking foods. From broccoli and chilli salad, to vegetable quinoa, to palm hearts with cherry tomatoes and avocado, to olive and feta, and a range of others besides. The selection looked diverse and inviting, so the boys agreed. The waitress nodded efficiently and left with the order.
‘So,’ said Anita, ‘what happened?’
The others all looked at Alexander expectantly, so he took the reins and started the recount. ‘The main meeting was yesterday, but when we arrived, we immediately knew something was wrong. There had been a series of smaller, less consequential updates and meetings during the two proceeding days, and with each one, an ever greater number of protestors sat outside the Temples, chanting about how food prices were being manipulated for the Descendants’ and Councillors’ gain. By yesterday, there were so many of them, we all had to be escorted into and out of the building, each of us Descendants using members of our own staff, the Councillors relying on the Law Enforcement Agency to protect them.
Anyway, we entered the Council chamber and there was a tangible atmosphere the moment we walked in. It was tense, like they were all holding their breath, like they were in on something about to go down. The energy of the Mind and Body Councillors was different to normal; most of the Minds were excited, most of the Bodies nervous and apprehensive, and some even openly angry, but we entered, took our places, and waited to see what was going on.
A number of updates were given, all pedestrian enough; reports from the Wild Lands about what’s happening, crop yields, trading volumes, all the kind of stuff we normally get. The numbers were down on what we’d usually see, but those giving the reports seemed to be tempering the truth, the tone from every single one of them inappropriately upbeat. It was obvious that someone, presumably Austin, had prepped those presenting to deliver as positive an outlook as they dared, so the actual situation must be dire. Anyway, all tempered their reports, that is, apart from Bas, who told the pure, unadulterated truth. As you well know, the energy remains at unprecedentedly low levels, and somehow it’s still dropping further. Bas linked this once again to the negative reports we’ve been receiving from all over the world, and pointed to the protestors outside as proof the situation has got bad enough to necessitate action.
From there on in it descended into chaos. The Mind Councillors started throwing all manner of questions and accusations at Bas, accusing him of inciting riot, associating with the Institution, stirring up the masses for his own gain, and calling for him to be struck off. Then the Body Councillors started. They were less offensive, but still pretty bad. They asked questions about how Bas could prove beyond doubt the current situation is linked to the drop in energy, asked if he was sure the reading equipment wasn’t malfunctioning, and even suggested it’s his research findings that are causing the ever downward spiral of the energy levels.’
‘Wow, that must have been fun,’ said Anita, sarcastically.
‘What about Austin? Presumably he was front and centre, throwing abuse?’ asked Cleo.
‘Austin stayed unusually quiet, he just sat there and let it all unfold, Peter doing the same.’
‘Hardly unusual behaviour for him though,’ Bas sniped.
‘So what happened next?’ asked Anita, ‘don’t tell me it descended into a full on brawl?’
‘Oh no, do tell us that!’ interjected Cleo, salaciously, ‘the impervious Councillors resorting to out and out fisticuffs is too good a scandal not to wish it to be true!’
‘Alas, no, not quite anyway,’ laughed Alexander. ‘I stood up and went to Bas’ side, throwing my support behind him, the Spirit Councillors broadly following my lead and supporting us too. Some of the Body Councillors came around as well, when they saw others willing to support what Bas was saying. That’s when Austin stood up; even he could feel the shift in the room. The emphasis had changed, people concerned less with calling for Bas’ blood, instead starting to shift their attention to what should happen next. Nobody could deny the protestors outside, nor that they were becoming increasingly militant, so Austin took charge before he lost control completely. He launched into a speech about riding it out and not doing anything rash and the notion that things should stay broadly as they are struck a chord with the majority of the room, as ever, change of any description too terrifying a prospect for them to consider. The room was swaying back to Austin’s command and recognising his advantage, Austin pushed for more. He suggested Bas should be forced to step aside, seeing as, in his view, it was clear the responsibility of running the Observatory was beyond his capability.’
‘What?’ spat Anita. ‘Surely the others didn’t go along with that? Bas is the most qualified person we have.’
‘I don’t think qualifications are top of Austin’s version of the job description,’ said Bas cynically. ‘I have a feeling he’s more concerned with the sheep like qualities and lack of professional backbone exhibited by his Councillors.’
‘So did he manage to remove you?’ asked Cleo, impatiently, eager to hear the rest of the story.
‘Austin was about to put it to a vote when the protestors managed to reach the doors to the Council chamber. They tried to gain entry, shots were fired, and we were shepherded out through the back tunnels. Each Descendant’s body guards ushered them to their respective Temple chambers and the Councillors were taken out through various different routes to safety. Nobody inside was hurt, but reports are starting to filter through that indicate the protestors were fired on, some even going so far as to suggest it was Amber who instigated the whole thing.’
‘Do you think it was her?’ asked Cleo.
‘I honestly don’t know, but if it was, she didn’t get her timing quite right, Austin not quite having managed to get rid of Bas. But the protestors have now taken up residence in the Council chamber and it’s only a matter of time until they discover the tunnels, so it’s not safe for any of us to go back there. It was agreed we would reconvene in Empire, as the protests here are yet to reach quite such a fever pitch.’
‘Until Amber or the Institution stir up the bad feeling here too,
’ said Cleo sceptically.
‘Why do you think the Institution had anything to do with this?’ asked Anderson defensively, his only contribution to the conversation so far.
Obviously more dedicated to the cause than we realised, thought Anita, changing the subject before they got into a passive aggressive conversation about the merits, or lack thereof, of the Institution. ‘But it must have been Austin who caused the scene in the Council Chamber by telling the other Councillors to give Bas a hard time?’
‘Although likely, we don’t know that,’ said Bas, matter of factly. ‘All we know is that something was already going on before we got to the Council Chamber; the Body and Mind Councillors already knew something was coming.’
‘Who’s sending the reports Amber was the one who stirred up the protestors?’ asked Cleo. ‘And why would Austin want to cause riots which only serve to contradict his view that nothing is wrong?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ said Alexander, ‘but chaos has always been Austin’s friend. Maybe he’s planning to make a case to rule alone. Maybe he’ll tell the protestors he’s the only one with the power to help them. Maybe this all has nothing to do with him at all. But if Amber already has a foothold with the protestors, then he would be well positioned to try and use them to his advantage, whatever that is, and if the prophecy is over, then there’s no longer any reason to continue as we are.’
‘Yes, but all of this is nothing but speculation,’ said Anderson pointedly, the waitress arriving with their food.
‘Yep, and maybe the Institution has a stronger hold over the protestors, so maybe they would end up on top anyway,’ said Bas, provocatively.
Anderson frowned. ‘We just don’t know at this point. Who knows what they’re all really up to and what they really want, but we need to stop Austin from removing Bas from the Observatory, not when we’re getting so close to a breakthrough.’