The Real

by Masha du Toit

  What does Argent need a shade for? Maybe it’s all just a way to intimidate us. The young man’s blank-faced silence was unnerving.

  “Good morning Veraart.” Argent leaned slightly to the side and looked beyond Elke.

  Checking that Meisje’s staying outside. As if she can’t follow a simple order. Elke wondered if she should ask what Yelland had wanted, then decided to leave it.

  “Take a seat, Veraart.” Argent sat back, stretching his legs forward beneath the desk. “I have something rather serious to discuss with you.”

  Now what? Argent had a small pile of ledgers stacked up in front of him, as well as a notebook he’d been writing in. Elke dragged one of the folding chairs closer.

  “I’ve been doing a little bit of a—shall we call it an investigation?” Argent touched the pile of ledgers. “Facts, Veraart! I have been dealing in facts. There is no space for sentiment in our line of work.”

  He seemed to expect a response but Elke, genuinely puzzled, just looked at him. Argent turned a page in his notebook, and pointed to an item on the page.

  “Complaint!” he said. “Brutal force. Intimidation. By the gardag.” He moved his finger down. “Another one. This one includes the mention of a bite wound that broke the skin.” He turned the page. “Another one. Unnecessary force. Again, the gardag is implicated.”

  Elke stared at him in disbelief.

  “Another, another and another,” Argent said, and closed the ledger. “Six cases so far, and that’s just the ones that are noted in here!” He patted the ledger.

  Elke found that she was holding the sides of the chair hard enough to hurt her hands, and relaxed her grip. “You’ve checked the context of each of those?” She kept her voice carefully professional. “Each of them was—”

  “The context is not relevant.”

  This took Elke’s breath away.

  “The context, Herr-eid,” she said coldly, “is that each of those cases was reviewed by the Stolik. In every case, Meisje was acting lawfully and under my control, at my orders, not attacking out of—”

  “The Stolik is clearly not aware of the scope of the problem.” Argent closed the ledger with a snap. “They reviewed each case in isolation. I’ve been talking to some of the individuals concerned.”

  Individuals like Yelland. Elke’s teeth came together and she felt her face heat with anger. “Yelland is a—”

  But Argent held up his hand and turned his face away. “That is enough.” Then his eyes widened. “Veraart! Control yourself. Sit down!”

  Elke realised that she was on her feet, hands gripping the edge of the desk, leaning over him. She straightened up and saw that the shade was watching her. For the first time she saw an answering spark of intelligence in his brown eyes.

  With an effort she sat back down, but her heart sank at the look on Argent’s face. He’s afraid of me, and he knows I know it. He’s lost face and he’ll never forgive me for it.

  “I have been looking into our records, Veraart,” Argent’s hands shook as he straightened his ledgers. “I am aware of what you are. You need not try to intimidate me.”

  Elke simply stared at him. Let him accuse me of something if he’s got anything on me. And he’s got nothing on me.

  Argent straightened his jacket and wiped a hand back over his hair. “Now. I’m sure you have some work to be getting on with.” He shot her an angry look. “But don’t think you can forget about this. I’ll be taking all of this under advisement. Something will have to be done about that dog.”

  ¤¤¤

  Elke took her lunch up to Gardens, to a bench where she had a view over Zero level. The walk up the stairs with Meisje at her heels had calmed her and she felt able to eat. She unwrapped her sandwiches and bit into them hungrily. If Dolly’s hearing goes on for too long, I’m going to end up strangling Argent.

  Her morning had been spent refiling forms under Argent’s watchful eye. He had a way of telling her to do something just as she was about to do it which left her seething with irritation.

  “Oh, girl.” Elke dug her fingers into the long fur around Meisje’s neck. “What are we going to do?”

  She took another bite of her sandwich.

  The garden down on Zero level was progressing nicely and for a while she forgot her frustrations, absorbed in watching the gardeners at work. One of them was paving a pathway, overlapping each flat stone like scales. The woman she’d noticed before, the one in charge, was walking about, her stride a bit too long for her elegant silk skirt. She seemed uncomfortable in her formal clothes and, as Elke watched, hitched up her skirt and knelt down in the mud to help with the paving, wiping each stone clean of soil and handing it to him.

  “Hello,” said somebody behind her. It was Otto.

  “Hey. You on lunch?” She patted the bench, and Otto slid down next to her.

  Meisje greeted him too, lowering her ears and wagging her tail vigorously.

  “Hello, Meisje.” Otto patted her awkwardly on the head. Otto believed that dogs liked to be patted on the head and no argument or evidence to the contrary could convince him otherwise.

  “What are you doing up here?” he said.

  “Enjoying the view,” said Elke. “That garden is coming on so quickly.”

  “It is.” Otto looked down at the garden. “That’s Diesel’s mother, you know. That woman there.”

  “Really?” Now that she was looking for it Elke thought she could see the resemblance. Diesel had inherited her wide-shouldered build from her mother. From this distance it was impossible to see the woman’s tattoos clearly, but if Otto was correct, they would be the same delicate, rainbow-hued feathery lines as Diesel’s.

  “Yes. Frau-eid Jinan Meer. Diesel didn’t mention it to you? That her mom was in the Eye?”

  “She did, but she didn’t tell me what she was doing.”

  “That’s so like Diesel.” Otto was unpacking his own lunch which consisted of many items, all individually wrapped and packed in a flat plastic container with multiple compartments.

  “I know her father doesn’t approve of the work she does.” Elke brushed sandwich crumbs from her lap, causing Meisje to snuffle for them on the ground. “She told me about that.”

  Now that he’d unwrapped and unpacked his lunch, Otto didn’t seem in any hurry to eat it.

  “That’s true. Very true. Um.” He licked his lips. “Ah. So. Well.”

  Elke waited. It was never a good idea to hurry Otto when he was like this.

  “Um.” He brought a fist up and bumped his knuckles repeatedly against his mouth. “I’ve decided to tell you. I’m sure it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Okay.” Elke kept her voice casual. “What do you need to tell me?”

  “You know my work? I do codebreaking. Codebreaking is when—”

  Elke touched his hand gently. “I know about your work. What’s that got to do with me, Otto?”

  He relaxed a little and looked at her directly for the first time since he greeted her. “You remember all those cases we had, with the people who were sending messages into the Real via their bank accounts?”

  “Yes.” Elke nodded. “I remember.”

  Otto didn’t seem to notice her answer. “They used a code,” he said earnestly, “that was based on depositing and withdrawing small amounts of money. That way somebody from the Real could send a message to somebody in the Eye without us noticing. A certain amount would mean that a job could go ahead, or it might signal the date or time—”

  “I remember.” Elke smiled. “You guys cracked it, and we arrested a whole bunch of people for smuggling stuff. Is that still going on?”

  Otto nodded. “Yes. It is. I got a new bunch of numbers to crack a few days ago. And it’s the same code.”

  Even if she hadn’t heard the incredulity in his voice, Elke knew that this was odd. “They must know we cracked that code. Why would they carry on using it?”

  “Exactly,” said Otto. “But that’s not the thing that’s so odd. The
thing is—” He glanced back over his shoulder. His nervous manner was infectious and Elke found herself checking whether anyone was watching them.

  “When they give me the numbers for a bank account,” said Otto, whispering now, “They always mask it. I mean, they don’t let me know whose account it is, right?”

  Elke nodded.

  “But I couldn’t help it. I recognised some of the amounts.” He nodded to himself. “I always remember numbers. And because of everything being so odd about it, with the same code and everything, when we know they must have switched to a different method by now, I checked whose account it was.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Well, not officially, no.” Otto looked at his hands. “My supervisor doesn’t— I’m not supposed—”

  “It’s okay. I understand. You had to check. But why are you telling me this?”

  Otto looked at her again. “Because it’s your account, Elke. That’s why I recognised it. I know how much you get paid and I remembered when you got money from that bet with Diesel, and—anyway. That’s how I knew.”

  Elke stared at him. Her stomach felt hollow. “So I’m guessing,” she said at last, “That you don’t think I’m part of some dastardly underground double cross plot, otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me—”

  “No!” Otto looked shocked. “Of course I know you don’t have anything to do with it. Somebody’s trying to frame you, Elke. That’s the only explanation.”

  “And they’re not doing a very good job of it.” Elke blew out a breath. “Dolly would never believe—” Then she stopped and a prickle of apprehension stole down her spine.

  “That’s exactly it,” said Otto. “It’s so clumsy—using an out-of-date code—Dolly would know what’s going on, but Dolly’s out of contact, closed up with that commission thing. You’ve got that Herr-eid Argent instead, and Diesel told me he’s already causing trouble for you. That’s why I came looking for you. I’m about to finish my report, and I have to give it to my superiors tomorrow morning. Argent will definitely get a copy.” Otto was twitching again, stroking his palms over his thighs in an effort to calm himself. “The worst of it is, I don’t know why they made me look at your account in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why examine your account at all? There are thousands of accounts. Why that one?”

  Elke thought about that for a moment. “Must be an informer. Or some kind of tipoff. That’s how it works right? Somebody drops a name of a potential mole, and then they sic you guys onto it.”

  “That’s right. Somebody informed on you, but I don’t know who. And I don’t know how to find out.”

  “Don’t.” Elke squeezed his arm. “I mean it, Otto. Don’t try. You’ll only get in trouble. You did more than enough already, figuring this out and telling me about it.”

  “You’re sure?” He looked at her, his face pale with strain.

  “I’m sure.”

  ¤¤¤

  “There they are.” Ndlela helped Isabeau up onto the dike. “Look. They’ve levelled out that whole bit already.”

  Isabeau shaded her eyes from the morning sun.

  “Hello!” Ndlela waved to the team of people who stood gathered around the digging machine at the foot of the dike. “Goedenmorgen!”

  Some of them waved in return but most were too busy to notice the approaching children.

  Ndlela and Isabeau made their way down the steep side of the dike, sometimes sitting down and sliding to save themselves from falling.

  “Hallo!”

  This was Wim, a tall man with short, white-blond hair. “Goedenmorgen!” He turned to one of his companions. “Leendert, you got a job for the kids this morning?”

  Leendert, a heavy-set, swarthy young man who always looked like he needed a shave, turned from the digger. “Ja, sure. No problem.” He waved an arm. “We got a whole lot of bags in yesterday. Wim, show them where to start. Just stay away from the digger, hey? Or you’ll end up squashed.”

  Ndlela and Isabeau took as many of the woven plastic bags as they could carry and dragged them to where Wim indicated. They filled the bags with sand and rubble and dragged them into place, setting each bag firmly before starting on the next.

  They were soon joined by two more workers. The gangly, red-haired Gijs and Cilla, a tiny, nut-brown woman with clouds of frizzy black hair. These two did everything much faster and more efficiently than the children, but they seemed to enjoy their company, chatting as they worked.

  In a way, Ndlela thought as he heaved at a bag, sliding it over a rocky section, the chat was as much a payment for the work as the food Leendert gave them. They had learned many things from the dike workers.

  For example, Gijs had taught him how the dikes were constructed and how the wind pumps drained the land beyond the dikes. Cilla had told them of the coming settlement, the people who would move into the land that the dikes protected.

  “Kaapstadt is growing,” she had said. “People want to come back and live here again. Not so long now and you’ll have a whole lot of new neighbours.”

  They’d learnt that the dikes would only protect a smaller, inland part of the Muara. “Better to let the land itself protect us,” Gijs had explained. “We always leave a sort of apron of land to the sea side. By the time the storm reaches the dikes, most of the energy is worked out already.”

  Ndlela had been relieved to hear that. Much as he liked helping the team, he didn’t want to see the Muara drained and built over again.

  Placing sandbags wasn’t Ndlela’s favourite work. He preferred to help with the wind pumps. These were massive metal-and-bamboo puzzles that needed ingenuity to piece together. He loved figuring out where each piece went and hearing the way the pumps creaked once they were up and running.

  While he worked, he kept an eye on Isabeau, who was unusually silent this morning. She’d been quiet ever since they got home last night from their disastrous outing. Noor had been awake to greet them, startled out of sleep by the gunshots. They’d tried to explain where they had been but Noor, once she was sure they were unhurt, had been more interested in getting them into bed and returning to hers.

  “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” she’d said, but this morning both Ndlela and Isabeau had overslept, and Noor had been gone when they woke.

  “Lunch break!” Cilla pointed to where somebody stood on the dike, waving. She said something to Gijs in Dutch, and with a friendly “Come on,” to the children, she headed up the slope.

  Lunch with the dike workers was good, as it always was. Thick slices of bread with ham and cheese, and a flask of hot tea to wash it down. They all shared the cup, passing it from hand to hand.

  “Want another one?” said Wim to Isabeau, holding up a sandwich.

  She nodded, and he handed it to her.

  “So, we had some news about your favourite gardag,” he said, watching her bite into the sandwich.

  Isabeau’s eyes went wide, but she finished chewing before she spoke. “The gardag? Really? What did you hear?”

  A few weeks ago Isabeau had amused Wim by asking to borrow his copy of Gardag, the book. She’d finished it in a matter of days and started rereading it as soon as she got to the end. Then she’d peppered the dike team with questions. She’d even made Ndlela help her construct armour for Robby out of some cardboard boxes the team had discarded. The result had been less than impressive.

  “Well,” Wim took a long swallow of tea and passed the cup on to Cilla, “Old Xun’s been in the papers. That fire up in the mountain has driven a lot of animals down into the city, and one of them, apparently, was an armoured dog.”

  Isabeau drank this in, hardly aware of the sandwich she was eating. She turned large eyes to Ndlela. “You see? I told you she was still alive.”

  “Are they sure it’s the same dog?” said Ndlela.

  Wim shrugged. “That’s what they say. There’s a photo of her. Security camera. Just a bunch of smudges but it could be her.
”

  “Xun,” whispered Isabeau. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing. I wonder if she’s got her puppies with her?”

  “They’d be grown-up dogs by now,” said Ndlela. “If that part of the story was even true.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be true?” Isabeau looked indignant. “It was in the book!”

  Ndlela knew better than to argue with that, but he was glad that Isabeau was talking again.

  “Okay, guys and dolls,” said Leendert, slapping his hands on his thighs. “Let’s get back to work.”

  ¤¤¤

  That evening at supper Noor made Ndlela tell her the whole story of their night-time visit to the Circus. She listened calmly, concentrating on her food but nodding to show that she was listening. When he finished, she continued eating in silence for a while. At last she put down her cutlery and pushed away the plate.

  “You realise that what you did was beyond stupid, right?”

  “It was,” said Ndlela.

  “Going up to complete strangers like that.” Noor turned her gaze on Isabeau, who was toying with her food. “Right, Isabeau?”

  Isabeau wrinkled her nose, but didn’t answer.

  “Right, Isabeau?” Noor’s voice was tired and Ndlela wondered how angry she really was.

  Isabeau closed her eyes. “Right!” she said in a fake cheerful voice. She rolled her eyes. “But we didn’t know they were strangers. We thought—”

  “I know what you thought, Issy, but you knew you were doing wrong.” Noor shot a glance at Ndlela. “Both of you knew. Otherwise you would have told me instead of sneaking off after I’d gone to bed.”

  Isabeau frowned down at the table and pulled abstractedly at her lower lip. “That’s true.” She looked up at her sister. “You’re right. I knew you wouldn’t want us to go. I guess I should have thought more about that.”

  Noor gave faint smile. “Maybe you should have.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “I just hope you learnt your lesson, Issy.” Noor started gathering up the empty plates. “Actually, I asked around a bit at work today. To see if anyone knew anything about where the circus people are. Or who might be using their buildings.”

  “You did?” Ndlela sat up.