Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker

by Richard Harland

  Only the elite families were entitled to take holidays on Garden Deck. It was an open deck with over fifty acres of varying botanical zones. Each zone re-created a particular scene from the Old Country. By the time they arrived, the sun had sunk below the enclosing walls and the sky was a glorious wash of orange and mauve.

  Grandmother had reserved five side-by-side cottages in a zone of parkland: one for Col, one for herself, one for Orris and Quinnea, one for Gillabeth and Antrobus, and one for the twelve Menials. The parkland scenery was all rambling paths, clover-scented lawns, trees in buried pots and a central bandstand. The bandstand and cottages were built to scale, half-size.

  The first hour was spent settling in. From the outside, Col’s cottage appeared to have two storeys and many tiny rooms, but inside there was only one normal-size room, containing a normal-size bed, cupboard and chest of drawers. Col did his unpacking in his own time, without help from any Menial.

  He had just finished stowing his socks when he heard a cry of distress outside. Grandmother?

  He hurried to see. Doors opened, faces peered out from every cottage. In the dim twilight, Ebnolia stood gazing at a pale figure at her feet.

  It was Wicky Popo, face down on the grass. The twelfth Menial hovered nearby, and two other Menials watched from a distance.

  “Oh dear, oh dear!” Ebnolia prodded her favourite with the toe of her shoe. He groaned and stirred. “He should never have come to Garden Deck. Too loyal and devoted. He just can’t bear to be away from me. How could I say no?”

  “What happened?” Col asked her.

  “He fell down. No reason at all. Doesn’t it break your heart? All he ever wanted to do was serve his mistress faithfully.”

  “You mustn’t upset yourself,” said Orris.

  “Oh yes, I must! I must! He was so fine and healthy when I got him. As fine and healthy as Wassam Boy and Baba Goom ever were.”

  She was so agitated, hopping back and forth, that she seemed to have forgotten the nearby Menial.

  It was Gillabeth who gave the necessary command. “You. Lift him up. Take him back to your cottage.”

  The twelfth Menial raised Wicky Popo upright, holding him under the armpits. Still Wicky Popo sagged in every joint. His lips were drawn back from his gums and his teeth were almost transparent.

  “Oh look!” Ebnolia pointed. “He’s got dirt on his face! And a bit of grass on his little nose! If only he had the power of speech! If only he could tell us why he fell down!”

  Indeed, it did seem that Wicky Popo had a question on the tip of his tongue. He looked at Ebnolia with intense, yearning appeal.

  Ebnolia made cluck-clucking noises in the back of her throat. “I can’t stand to see him fading away like this. I’ll be heartbroken if he dies. And he’ll be so sad to leave me.” She pulled herself together and turned to the twelfth Menial. “Take him to my cottage.”

  The excitement was over. But Wicky Popo’s accident had turned the evening upside-down. Ebnolia was too distracted to make arrangements for dinner, so everyone ate snacks and sweets, then went early to bed.

  Although Col was tired and his muscles were sore from the fight, his mind refused to go to sleep. His thoughts kept shuttling from Gillabeth to Riff and back again.

  What would Riff do when she turned up at midnight and found no one there? Would she worry that he’d been beaten up so badly he’d been moved from his room? It was her turn for a full night of training, he remembered. If only he’d thought to leave her a note, since she could read simple sentences…

  It would have been so good to share his victory over the Squellingham group with her. Now he knew what it was like to share things, he experienced aloneness as never before. And the revelation about his sister’s treachery – he wished he could have told her about that. They could have talked it over together…

  His thoughts circled back around to the mystery of Gillabeth. Tossing and turning on his bed, he came to a decision during the night. He would visit his sister in her cottage tomorrow, before anyone else was up.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Fifty-Two

  “What do you want?”

  Gillabeth stood blocking the doorway, but Col pushed past. The interior of her cottage was predictably spick and span.

  “You’ve woken Antrobus,” she grumped, closing the door.

  Antrobus was sitting up in his cot bed, peering with owllike eyes through the wooden bars. He looked well awake already.

  “Why?” Col demanded. “Why did you do it?”

  “What are you talking about?” With her chin held high, Gillabeth was supremely irreproachable.

  “You plotted with the Squellingham twins.”

  Gillabeth’s mouth came open for a moment, then snapped shut.

  “You wrote those notes and put them in my desk.”

  “No.”

  “You tried to get me beaten up.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Hythe and Pugh told me themselves. You had secret meetings with them.”

  “You’ve been listening to lies.”

  “Why? Did you want to make me drop out of school? I don’t understand.”

  Gillabeth’s lower lip was trembling with suppressed fury.

  “You never understand anything.”

  “You admit it, then?”

  She shook her head. She was like a blank wall – and at the same time, a bomb primed to explode.

  “You deny it, then?”

  The bomb went off. “You’re the curse of our family!” she shouted in his face. “You, you, you!”

  “Me? I’m not the one who worked with the Squellinghams.”

  “You’re the one who fell down among the Filthies. You should’ve been disowned. You should’ve been properly punished. Instead, they all back you up and lie for you. No one else would’ve got off the way you did.”

  There was a wetness around her eyes even as she ranted and raged. She was red in the face and red down the sides of her neck. Col was amazed that his starchy sister had such violent emotions in her.

  “And now you’re getting married to the Turbot girl. Everyone will be celebrating. More success! You get it all handed to you on a plate. You never do anything to deserve it. I despise you! I hate you!”

  “What have I ever done to you?”

  “What have you done? You’ve been the son! The male! Everything centres on you. I’m the eldest but I don’t matter. Just because I’m a girl I spend half my time looking after baby brother and the other half organising Mother because she can’t organise herself. Those are my jobs, because I’m female!”

  She took a breath and returned to the attack. “And you’re the future of the Porpentines! All our hopes depend on you! Only boys can grow up to be Supreme Commanders! Always a male! No matter how stupid they are! I’m the one who’s like our grandfather! I’m the true Porpentine!”

  She thrust out her chest like their grandfather, and bellowed like him too. If words were blows, Col would have been bludgeoned to a pulp.

  “I never knew any of this,” said Col.

  “I had to fight for every tiny scrap I ever got. I had to find things out, and plan and plot. No one gave me anything but dumb piano lessons. I’m only at school to report on you. No one cares about my marks!”

  “I never knew you felt – ”

  “Because you’re a simpleton. Brought up in cotton wool. All you know is ethics, that your useless tutor taught you. You’d be the worst Supreme Commander in the world. I’d be a hundred times better.”

  “Except you can’t be.”

  “Antrobus can.”

  She bit her lip and fell silent. Col reflected on what she’d just said.

  “You mean, when he grows up and starts to speak?”

  Gillabeth held her tongue.

  “So he’d become Supreme Commander in name, but under your control? You’d give orders through him?”

  The main blast of Gillabeth’s anger had passed, leaving only small gusts of contempt. “Work
it out for yourself, if you can.”

  Col shrugged. “The Squellinghams would have got in first. You’d have had to push them aside for Antrobus.”

  “Yes, well. They’re almost as pathetic as you.” She shepherded him towards the door. “Now go and tell tales on me to Grandmother. Just get out of my cottage.”

  Col was too shell-shocked to resist. He hardly knew how it happened, but he found himself suddenly out in the open, with the door slammed shut behind him. He stood blinking in the early light of dawn.

  What most astonished him was that Gillabeth had such strong feelings about him. She had always seemed to treat him like a cuff that needed straightening or a lock of hair out of place. They were more on a level than he’d ever suspected.

  In spite of everything, there was an odd satisfaction in that discovery. He certainly didn’t intend to tell tales on her to Grandmother Ebnolia.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Fifty-Three

  The holiday week went past in a haze. Every afternoon, Ebnolia took the family on an excursion to some particular zone of Garden Deck. On Sunday, it was a flower garden with roses and hedges around a sundial; on Monday, a farm with bales of hay and sheaves of wheat; on Tuesday, a village green with a cricket pitch; and on Wednesday, a beach scene with sand, deckchairs and striped umbrellas, but no actual sea.

  Between excursions, Ebnolia fussed over Wicky Popo and Gillabeth minded Antrobus. Quinnea spent most of her time in a hammock, while Orris sat in a basket chair and drank endless cups of tea.

  Col spent his time wondering about Riff. When would he get to see her again? Would she have given up coming round to his room every night? He conducted imaginary conversations and explanations with her in his head.

  He had forgotten all about the chaperoned meeting with his bride-to-be. The meeting, like the marriage, had been arranged by other people and hardly seemed to concern him personally. He remembered on Thursday, though, when Hommelia and Sephaltina turned up with half a dozen of the Turbot family Menials.

  Hommelia wore a flower-bedecked hat and carried a fan that she waved constantly in front of her face. Her many chins cascaded in a landslide of flesh all the way down to her chest. Today, the ribbons in Sephaltina’s hair were pink.

  The Porpentine family Menials had prepared a patch of lawn in the dappled shade of Old Country elm trees. Red and white potted geraniums added colour to the scene and every insect had been removed over an area of thirty square yards. The ladies reclined in garden chairs under parasols, while the gentlemen stood. Sephaltina sat very straight, with ankles crossed and hands folded.

  Hommelia took an iced lemon drink from a Menial with a tray. She gestured for Col to stand beside Sephaltina’s chair.

  “Only three days to the big day now,” she said. “What a happy couple!”

  Ebnolia turned to Col. “What do you say to your bride-to-be, Colbert?”

  Col smiled politely. “How do you do?”

  “Oh!” Sephaltina’s eyes went wide and she blushed on and off like a beacon. Finally she recovered her composure and answered, “How do you do?”

  Hommelia nodded at her daughter as if to say, There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? When she nodded, her chins all quivered at once.

  Quinnea was already overcome by the emotion of the event. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  “What shall we talk about?” asked Sephaltina.

  Col wasn’t sure where the question was directed, but it was Grandmother Ebnolia who replied. “Something nice, dears. Something tender and true.”

  “Tell me about yourself,” Col suggested.

  “Oh no!” Sephaltina blinked very fast. “I couldn’t. I’m still too young.”

  “What do you like to do?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  There was a long silence. Ebnolia gave a signal and four Menials came forward bearing plates of sugar-coated bonbons. Sephaltina took a plate and rested it on her lap. She gazed at it wistfully, but made no move to eat.

  After another minute of silence, she turned to Col. “Did you say something?” She inclined her head and composed herself to listen.

  “Er, not yet.”

  “Are you thinking about me?”

  He fumbled for an answer. “I…er…”

  “You should, you know.”

  The petals of Sephaltina’s mouth were ever so slightly pouting. Col noticed that his grandmother was giving him a pointed look.

  “I never stop thinking about you,” he said at once. “I can hardly wait till the day we’re married.”

  A glow of satisfaction came over Sephaltina’s face. “You’ll have to, though,” she said.

  Hommelia murmured approval. “Very good, very proper.”

  Sephaltina preened. “Do you like me like this?” she asked Col.

  “Of course. Like what?”

  “With these ribbons in my hair. Everyone says they make me look pretty.”

  “They do.” Col struggled to sound convincing. “Very, very pretty.”

  “Which part of me is the prettiest?”

  “Um…All of you?”

  “What about my ears?”

  Her plaits covered her ears. Was this some kind of a test? “I can’t see them.”

  “No, because we’re not married yet. Do you think you’ll like them?”

  “I’m sure I will, yes.”

  “Shall I do a smile for you?”

  “Er…if you want.”

  Hommelia gave a warning cough.

  “Perhaps not yet,” said Sephaltina. “Perhaps I could turn my head instead.” She paused, but the cough wasn’t repeated. “Would you like to see my face from the side?”

  “I, urn…yes…no…”

  “I’m always willing to please, you know. It’s part of my appeal.”

  Col was getting desperate. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. Fortunately, Ebnolia intervened. “I think we’re ready for a little presentation.”

  She beckoned to a particular Menial, who stepped forward with a box wrapped in pink paper. “A gift from you to your bride-to-be,” she told Col.

  Sephaltina passed her plate to her mother so that she could receive the gift. Remarkably, the bonbons had gone and the plate was empty. Col thought he’d been watching her the whole time, but his attention must have wandered elsewhere for a few seconds.

  He took the box from the Menial and held it out to Sephaltina. “Please accept this token of…my feelings.”

  She took the box from him. “It matches!” she exclaimed in delight. She meant that the pink wrapping paper matched the pink of her ribbons.

  She might have opened it there and then, except for another cough from her mother. “No, Sephaltina. One doesn’t open a present in front of one’s husband-to-be. When we get home.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Ebnolia agreed. “Innocence should be maintained between young people.”

  “And now it’s time we were leaving.” Hommelia rose to her feet.

  Ebnolia also rose, with a delicate creaking of stays. “Such a pleasure,” she said.

  “Such a pleasure,” said Hommelia.

  The Porpentines watched as Hommelia glided across the lawn like a stately galleon, with her daughter one pace behind. Orris and Quinnea hadn’t said a word for themselves during the entire meeting.

  For Col, it was a disconnected interlude like a dream. He never did find out what was in the box he’d given his bride-to-be.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Fifty-Four

  The excursion on Friday afternoon was to another zone of Garden Deck, a recreated scene with a watermill. The waterwheel actually turned and real ducks paddled on a rush-fringed duckpond. The mill also served as a tea-shop.

  Grandmother led the family inside. There were doilies and fine white china on the tables, and a Menial dressed in a frilly apron like a waitress brought a teapot, scones and jam. The Porpentines’ own Menials waited outside.

  Seated directly opposite Col, Gillabeth refused
to look him in the eyes. She’d been avoiding him for days now. She had kept the door of her cottage locked and obviously didn’t want to talk to him again. But Col wanted to talk to her.

  Ebnolia took charge of the teapot while the scones passed around. Then a loud thump and clatter outside made everyone prick up their ears.

  Ebnolia tut-tutted. “Go and see what’s happened, dear,” she told Gillabeth.

  Gillabeth rose and went out. Col saw his opportunity. “I’ll go too,” he said.

  He walked around the side of the mill and found Gillabeth giving orders to the Porpentines’ Menials. Wicky Popo lay on the path, along with the Menial who had the job of supporting him. The sick Menial must have collapsed so suddenly that he’d dragged the other one down too.

  Gillabeth’s face darkened at the sight of Col. “I’m taking care of it,” she said.

  “Gillabeth, I don’t want to be your enemy.”

  “No?”

  “I didn’t tell tales on you, you know.”

  If she was thankful, she didn’t show it. “Why not?”

  “We’re similar, you and me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “We both have improper thoughts.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “No, don’t you see? You question things that nobody else does. Why do Supreme Commanders always have to be male?”

  “It’s unfair.”

  “But nobody else sees that. Where did you get the idea? It didn’t come from Grandfather or Grandmother.”

  “You’re talking nonsense,” said Gillabeth – but faintly, automatically.

  “You want to overturn male Supreme Commanders and keep the rest of the world the same. But if Supreme Commanders could be different, everything could be different.”

  Gillabeth took a backwards step, staring at him. “You’re dangerous. You ought to be reported.”

  “Not by you.”

  Of course, she couldn’t report him without having her own secret revealed.