by Laure Eve
Before Rue could make anything of this, she was pulled into the Jump.
When she came through to the other side, she thought it had gone wrong. Her nightmares about being stuck mid-Jump came back to her; trapped in an in-between place with no light, no sound, no heat and no life. A nothing that would go on forever. Lost and alone in the middle of it, on and on, and on. Until she died.
The darkness here was not absolute, though. As her nausea passed and her aching chest eased, the panic faded with it. Gradually, she made out differences in the black all around her; varying shades of shadow. The silver-eyed boy’s hand squeezed her own. She was grateful for his comfort.
‘Stay close,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘We’ll need to walk a little. Don’t be alarmed – we are somewhere real.’
They started to walk. The ground was solid and flat as if paved, but seamless, unlike the city cobbles she knew. It was not that dark, once you became accustomed to it. She could see enough now to know that they stood in a tunnel, though they were somewhere in the middle of it, for the light was the same whichever way she looked.
‘Which country are we in?’ she whispered. They seemed to be alone, but the air carried sound and their footsteps echoed alarmingly. The ceiling was high, too high to feel unnaturally close.
‘An old one,’ said the silver-eyed boy. ‘This is one of a vast series of tunnels and halls built underneath a great city. They seem to go on forever, though they don’t. They were built a long time ago as a place of protection for the people above ground, in times of war.’
‘We’re underground?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry. There’s more light the further in we go, and I have light with me.’
‘Put it on, then,’ said Rue, attempting to be casual.
‘Not yet. These tunnels were built by very clever men in great secrecy. There was a time when this country was threatened by everyone around it. It was small, insignificant. Its neighbouring countries had built weapons, Rue, weapons that with one blast could destroy an entire city, kill everyone in it, and burn it to the ground.’
His voice had become stronger and echoed forcefully, expanding out from them in invisible clouds of sound. Rue was silent. Such a weapon was so ridiculous, she couldn’t even conceive of it. He had shown her things she could accept, even as she marvelled at their existence. This she could not. Who would build such a thing? Someone who could destroy whole cities would be a god. They would also be the most reviled and feared person who ever lived. Why?
‘These tunnels,’ came his voice again, ‘were built so that should such a threat occur, the people of the city could escape the horror above and live here in relative safety until the danger had passed. As they had no real defences of their own against such weapons, it was the only way they could think of to survive.’
‘They would stay here? In the dark?’
‘Well, and so the tunnels all used to be lit. But after such a long time, the lights don’t work very well any more. The core generators are no longer powerful enough. Closer to the centre, most basic systems are still running, though.’
Rue ignored this. Sometimes the silver-eyed boy forgot himself and spoke to her as if she were his equal, using words and concepts she had no grasp on how to begin understanding. She tried not to resent it. She should be grateful that he could sometimes mistake her for being as clever as that.
‘But you see, Rue, though this place is big, it’s designed to comfortably accommodate a small number of people. They had supplies, systems, medicines, comforts enough for only five thousand.’
‘But what about the rest of the city?’
His voice sounded triumphant. ‘So glad you asked. The five thousand chosen few were carefully selected on the basis of wealth, class and usefulness. These people were secretly tattooed with a special symbol on their heads, underneath their hair. If you had such a tattoo, when the threat came, you’d go to a specially designated entrance to the tunnels and show the gatekeepers your tattoo. Then, and only then, you’d be allowed to reach safety.’
She already knew the answer, but felt compelled to ask. ‘What about everyone else?’
‘If they knew of the tunnels’ existence and managed to find one of the gates, they would not be allowed entry. If they pressed the issue, they’d be killed.’
Rue shook her head. ‘That’s ridiculous. Everyone else would die.’
‘Of course. And there were a lot more people living in the city than there are now.’
‘But why wouldn’t they let them in?’
‘Well, the richest automatically gained entrance. After all, their money had helped pay for the tunnels’ creation in the first place. It was only fair, in their eyes. After that, it was a matter of those with the best genes. Those who came from the most aristocratic families, the purest of blood.’
‘But why? That doesn’t make sense.’
‘It did to them. If they were going to lose the vast majority of the city population, it made sense they would save only the best, to create future generations of only the best.’
‘Why are we here?’ said Rue. This country sounded awful. It was nothing like any of the incredible places he had taken her to see so far. Why show her this?
‘You should know all sides of life, Rue. You should be shown what is kept from you.’
Rue struggled to keep up with all of this. They had been walking throughout the conversation. It was late. She was tired. Her mood was turning incredibly sour.
‘Near enough,’ said the silver-eyed boy suddenly. She looked around, surprised. The light was much brighter now, but it had been growing so gradually she hadn’t noticed. ‘Let’s see how far we can get.’
He took something from his pocket that she couldn’t see. There was a short pause. Then an explosion of fierce, painful light. She screwed her eyes shut and fell. Her back scraped the floor.
When she opened her eyes, they burned and she had to squeeze them into slits. She could just make out the silver-eyed boy standing straight with light spilling from his hand like water. It moved quickly, sluicing along the floor and crawling up the tunnel walls. Whatever surface it touched glowed brightly after it had left. The whole thing was over in seconds.
Now she could see everything. The walls were neatly constructed from something like stone, but there were no lines where there would be with brick. She could see how big the tunnel really was. She could see a groove halfway up the walls, like a deep cut. It ran as far as the light reached, and beyond. And she could see that they were not alone, and had perhaps never been since they first stepped foot in this place.
There were people, as startled by the light as she had been; some of them were on the ground. The rest were shielding their eyes, tears streaming down their faces.
‘Who you?’ said one boldly. He had moved forwards while everyone else had stumbled back. ‘Who you, aye? You foreign. That why you down here?’
‘I’m just a visitor,’ the silver-eyed boy replied. His voice was pleasant, as if he were having a conversation with a friend.
‘Visitor? What you say? No one visits.’
‘Oh, your little place here is famous; in certain circles anyway. I wanted to show it to my friend.’
The man transferred his gaze to Rue, who looked away immediately, her cheeks burning. He was gaunt and his skin was a dirty yellow. His clothes were old-looking. She’d never seen the style before. He looked ill.
‘We don’t want visitors,’ he said to her. ‘If you not come to help or bring stuff, get out.’
‘Rest assured, I have “stuff”, as you put it,’ said the silver-eyed boy. ‘It’s this pen I hold. I will give you the pen, which will make the light you just saw whenever you want it. It will also dispense a supply of medicines that will keep your family going for a very long time. But please don’t think of trying to take it from me. You’ll never understand how it operates, and you know it. If I don’t authorise it, the technology will shut down and become useless to you. I am willing to authorise it
after our visit is over, and if I feel that we’ve been treated well.’
The man had listened to this in silence. His face twisted in a sneer. ‘You fucken hoity types. You fucken well bred. Worse, even, you are. You’re a foreigner dog. How do I know you tellen truth bout your pen thing? Don’t know, do I. You fucken putan. You conn.’
This was all that Rue could understand. The man reeled off a string of words she couldn’t begin to recognise, but guessed their meaning well enough. She looked at the silver-eyed boy in alarm, but he seemed calm. He waited until the litany had died down. He had put the pen away, but the light in the tunnel remained.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Do we have a deal?’
The man spat. Rue watched this in horror. Then he turned around and walked off. The others followed him. The few behind Rue and the silver-eyed boy lingered, waiting for them to move. She got up from the ground, her back flashing with pain.
‘Stay close,’ he said to her in a low voice. ‘Don’t worry. He wants the pen too badly.’
‘Maybe we should go,’ said Rue, praying her voice sounded steady. ‘I don’t want to upset anyone.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll protect you. And I haven’t told you the story I promised I would.’
‘Did you tell him the truth? About the pen?’
‘Of course. I never lie. The truth is always more interesting.’
They started to walk.
‘These people living down here are outcasts,’ he said, in a low tone. ‘Somehow they’re different, broke the law, rebelled in some way, or generally made someone important angry. A lot of them are basically just poor, facing charges for unpaid debts, or homeless. Instead of prison or banishment, they choose to run. Some of them eventually find their way down here. They aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms, but it’s shelter, and protection, of a sort.’
Rue pressed close to him. Criminals. It made sense. It didn’t make much sense why she had to visit them, though, instead of simply being told about them.
‘Hello, dear,’ he was saying. At first Rue thought he was talking to her, but then she realised he had turned his head and was addressing a woman behind them. ‘Come up and walk beside me.’
She did, to Rue’s everlasting horror. She was a scrawny thing, her lank hair twisted into rat-tails. She looked at Rue with the kind of gaze that would be considered rude anywhere else.
‘Why are you down here?’ the silver-eyed boy asked her.
‘Prostitute. Law caught me. Said I could stay and be executed or leave and find somewhere else to live. Left, dint I?’
‘Bravo. A logical choice. Who here is an atheist?’
Silence as they trudged along. Eventually, grudgingly, one man spoke from the rear. ‘Me. What you gonna say about it?’
‘Nothing at all,’ said the silver-eyed boy cheerfully. ‘Where I live, atheists are commonplace. It’s the religious that’s in the minority.’
Rue couldn’t help herself. She turned around to look at the man who had spoken. He glared at her. She’d been hoping to see something of Fernie in him, the only other atheist she had ever met. But he was nothing like her.
‘I know an atheist,’ she said. ‘She said gods were pointless and no one should believe in ’em. It’s not spoken of, as such, but there’s nothing wrong with it, I don’t think. People should believe what they want.’
There was a sardonic amusement in the atheist’s voice. ‘She ever get stones thrown at her in the street? Ever get her door kicked in and her stuff broken? Her family threatened?’
‘No,’ said Rue, feeling ashamed. ‘It’s better, where I’m from.’
‘Where you’re from?’ he said with a sneer. ‘You Angle Tar, ain’t you?’
Rue swelled with pride. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said. ‘You know it?’
Someone walking just behind her laughed, and she flinched. The atheist sounded even more disdainful, if it was possible, than before.
‘Something wrong with you? Where d’you think I’m from?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rue, trying to placate him. ‘I don’t know where we are.’
‘Rue, my dear,’ said the silver-eyed boy. He sounded sad, and she turned to look at him. ‘We’re in Angle Tar.’
‘What?’ she said, and laughed.
‘We’re still in Angle Tar. We never left. Why do you think you can understand what they’re saying? No one can speak Angle Tarain outside of Angle Tar. We’re still here.’
Rue’s stomach rolled over in fright. ‘Are you playing?’ she said.
‘No, I’m not. These tunnels are right underneath Capital City. They’ve always been here, but no one knows about them, with a few exceptions. The city guard knows they exist, which is why our friend the ex-prostitute here was given the generous choice of leaving to find them, if she could. Better than death.’
‘Not much,’ said the woman, and a few amongst them cackled.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Rue. ‘Stop, wait a minute. Stop walking, I don’t understand.’
‘Rue,’ said the silver-eyed boy. ‘Listen to me. There are things you don’t know about Angle Tar. Things they keep from you. You might think that because you’re special and Talented, and because you’re taught things that are taught to no one else, that they tell you everything. They tell you only what you need to hear in order to be loyal. They know, without doubt, that sweet souls like yourself would never pledge to work for a country that lies to its own people.’
Rue shook her head. ‘Maybe there are good reasons. Maybe I don’t need to know.’
He put a hand out to stop her. ‘To your left.’
There was a door beside them, an ordinary-looking thing. On it was a small plaque with a series of numbers.
‘The location,’ said the silver-eyed boy. ‘All the doors look alike. It can get very confusing, so of course they’ve all been given a location number. This one is plain-looking because it’s the artisan’s area. The people they had to keep.’
The door was opened by someone from the inside.
‘People they had to keep?’ said Rue. She did not want to go through the door.
‘Indispensables. Builders. Tradesmen. Cooks. Other doors and areas were more lavish – inlaid with gold, that kind of thing. Now they’re not, of course. Anything valuable was pawned long ago.’
They were filing through, one at a time; the door was open only a sliver.
‘How do you know so much about this place?’ said Rue, wanting desperately to doubt him.
The silver-eyed boy smiled before he moved through the door. ‘Because I used to live here.’
Rue watched him disappear, shock freezing her. Someone behind her snorted impatiently, and she squeezed through the gap.
The room beyond was bigger than her old village. An enormous hall, divided into sections with walls, metal railings and curtains. So many people milling about. The ceiling was higher than she could believe. Powerful smells. Noise. Light.
‘We’re still underground?’ she breathed.
The silver-eyed boy took her hand. ‘Come on. The pen will count for a lot. Let’s get some food.’
‘No!’ she said, horrified. She wanted to take nothing from these people.
‘Hush. They have food to offer, and now they all know I’ve brought them something more precious than a hundred meals.’
It was the worst thing she could think of. But he took her hand and led her onward. There were tables with enormous cooking pots set on them, lined up. They reached the nearest. A vast man wearing a sweaty, stained shirt eyed them.
‘I’m the man with the pen, in case you were wondering. Two bowls of your finest, please,’ said the silver-eyed boy.
The serving man sniffed, but ladled a steaming liquid out into two bowls. Rue watched his arms as he worked. She couldn’t help it; they were covered in spiky black tattoos.
The silver-eyed boy gave her a bowl and led her to a bench, pushed up against the nearest wall. They sat.
The silver-eyed boy cleared his
throat. ‘I’ve been lying to you, and for that I’m sorry. I’m not proud of it, but I have my reasons.’
The meagre soup Rue held in her hands was doing little to comfort her. The outside of the bowl was greasy and slid unpleasantly in her hands. One of the silver-eyed boy’s arms was draped over her shoulders, hugging her close as he talked.
‘My name’s Wren. Draper Wren,’ he said.
So finally, she had his name. Wren. She rolled it around in her mind. It seemed like such an ordinary name for someone so strange-looking.
‘I’m from Angle Tar, originally,’ said Wren. ‘New Nantes. You know it?’
Rue shook her head silently, afraid to speak in case he stopped spilling his secrets.
‘It’s on the east coast. A small city. I grew up knowing there was something wrong with me, probably the same way you did. Only you like your differences. I didn’t like mine. Neither did anyone else, much. My parents kept sending me to doctors, who couldn’t see what the problem was. Luckily, I was bright too. I held my ground and spent most of my teenage years begging my parents to send me to university. Of course, you have to have a lot of money, unless you’re so special they’ll take you on for free. I didn’t know about the Talent, then.
‘Anyway, this man came to our school one day. Said he was recruiting for the university from the less wealthy areas, looking for the cleverest students who couldn’t afford to get in. We could take a couple of tests, see if we were good enough. I couldn’t believe it – like a helping hand from the gods, like all my years of praying and temple-visiting had finally been answered. My parents were nice enough people, but I couldn’t be more different from them.
‘Well and so, I signed up for it. We weren’t given any indication of what they might be, so I sweated and studied for three days on any subject I could think of. When it came to it, one of the classrooms had been cleared of everything except two chairs, and the recruiting man was sat on one of them. He told me to sit on the other, and the tests began.