Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker

by Richard Harland

  “Think about it,” Col went on. “All those things we grew up believing before we could even think about them – maybe we don’t have to believe them. Maybe they’re not so natural and necessary after all. I never thought a girl could want to be Supreme Commander until you said it.”

  This time, Gillabeth didn’t disagree. She pondered in silence for a while.

  “Anyway, you’re right about being Supreme Commander.” Col grinned. “You’d be a hundred times better than me.”

  Gillabeth nodded. “I’m more practical. I’ve had to learn how things work.”

  “You said it. I’ve been brought up in cotton wool.”

  “You still think people behave the way they’re supposed to behave. You always think the best of them.”

  Col shrugged – when suddenly there was an interruption. Wicky Popo swayed forward and almost knocked into them. The Menial who had the job of supporting him had managed to lift him upright but couldn’t hold him steady.

  “You.” Gillabeth pointed to a second Menial. “Take his other arm.”

  The support of the second Menial kept Wicky Popo upright, though his legs dangled rather than stood on the ground. His cheeks were cavernous and his breath came in short, shallow gasps.

  “Poor Wicky Popo,” said Col.

  “Don’t speak like that,” Gillabeth snapped. “You sound like Grandmother.”

  “Why not? I feel sorry for him being so sick.”

  “He isn’t sick.”

  “I thought – ”

  “He’s starving to death.”

  “What?”

  “Take a close look. No fever, no infection, no swellings or cough. The only thing wrong with him is not eating.”

  “Why can’t he eat?”

  “Because Grandmother doesn’t feed him.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She’s been gradually cutting back on his food for weeks. Now he only gets water.”

  “But he’s her favourite. She feels so sorry for him.”

  “She likes feeling sorry for him.”

  Col shook his head. It didn’t make sense.

  Gillabeth had a harsh grimace fixed to her face. “The more he wastes away, the more she can grieve over him. It’s her favourite feeling for her favourite Menial. She’ll have a lovely flood of tears over him when he dies. Do you remember Wassam Boy, who was last year’s favourite? Or Baba Goom the year before? They both died from mysterious sicknesses.”

  “Starved to death?”

  “Yes. Just the same. Being Grandmother’s favourite is a death sentence.”

  Col struggled to believe it. His sweet old grandmother, with her smell of kindness and strawberry perfume?

  “That’s horrible,” he said. “Why doesn’t someone tell Sir Mormus?”

  “He already knows. He probably thinks it’s a harmless little hobby. There are always plenty more Menials.”

  Col felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach. Gillabeth was observing him closely.

  “Welcome to the real world,” she said. “Now you see what it’s like, knowing what goes on.”

  She turned away and retraced her steps to the tea-shop. As Col watched her go, echoes of his grandmother’s voice came back to him.

  I just love his cute little nose…

  Look at his poor thin arms and legs…

  Not eating properly at all…

  Doesn’t it break your heart…

  So adorable…

  So sweet…

  So fine and healthy when I got him…

  Col hurried towards the duckpond, thinking he was going to throw up. He didn’t – but he stood for a long while among the green rushes, watching a flotilla of ducks that paddled around on the calm water.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Fifty-Five

  Early the next day, the family returned to Forty-Second Deck, while the Menials stayed behind to clean up and pack. The holiday was over, the wedding ceremony was the day after tomorrow.

  Col still hadn’t worked out how to save Wicky Popo. He had to find a way to feed the poor Menial – but how? The sick feeling over his grandmother’s monstrous behaviour had driven even the thought of Riff from his mind. The thought of his bride-to-be was a million miles away.

  He stayed all morning in his room, brooding over the problem. He hardly heard the light tap-tap on his door. In the next moment, a lumpy figure in a grey uniform entered. She turned to close the door, turned again – and the dull face of a Menial transformed into Riffs familiar features.

  Col jumped up. The sight of Riff raised his spirits instantly.

  “Where’ve you been?” she demanded. “I saw you all coming back this morning.”

  “Family holiday on Garden Deck. I – ”

  “So what happened?”

  Col didn’t understand. “What?”

  “You and the gang at school. Did you fight them?”

  “Yes.” Col grinned. “I beat them! Ten against one, and I beat them!”

  “Yay!” She sprang forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  He couldn’t believe how good it felt. To have her pressed against him, her arms tightening around him, to squeeze her in return. He burst out laughing.

  She laughed too, and he felt her warm breath in his ear. It lasted – he had no idea how long it lasted. He could have gone on hugging and laughing for an eternity.

  But she drew back a little, her face alive and dancing. “Tell me about it.”

  “I fought the way you taught me. I didn’t even have to think what to do.”

  “I always told you not to think too much.”

  “My body took over from my head.”

  She nodded. “That’s how you were at the start of our last training session. Until you lost it, remember?”

  Col remembered. He wished she didn’t.

  “After you tried to kiss me,” she added.

  He felt suddenly awkward to be standing so close. A hot blush rose to his face. She looked at him curiously.

  “No harm tryin’,” she said, and leaned forward suddenly to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “No!” he jerked away. “You can’t!”

  “I just did.”

  “I mean, you mustn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “What would Padder say?”

  “Padder? He’d disapprove. He’d tell me off.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “He’s over-protective, is all.”

  “Over-protective?”

  “Big brothers are like that.”

  The world stood still a moment for Col.

  “Brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Padder’s your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “‘Course I’m sure. How dumb a question is that?”

  Col could have burst into song. He just gazed and gazed at her.

  She had to wave a hand in front of his face. “Hello? You still there?”

  Col couldn’t trust himself to speak. He was beaming like a fool from ear to ear.

  “What did you think? Did you think me and him was partnered?”

  “No…yes.”

  “Ah, right. Glad that’s sorted.” She sat down on the bed and patted the bedspread beside her. “Now tell me everything about the fight.”

  Sitting close beside her, he described the battle blow by blow. He could see her clenching her fists and going through the actions in her mind. It was almost as good as hugging, to share it with her.

  At the end, he arrived at the revelation about Gillabeth.

  Riff whistled. “Yer own sister! Is she mad or what?”

  Col had temporarily forgotten about Wicky Popo, but now the sick feeling came flooding back. He told Riff about his two confrontations with Gillabeth, and how his grandmother was starving her favourite Menial to death.

  Riffs lips compressed to a thin line. “So what are you goin’ to do?”

  “I don’t know. Fe
ed him somehow. What would you do?”

  “Join the revolution, of course.”

  Col shook his head.

  “It’s not just yer grandmother,” Riff insisted. “It’s the whole Upper Decks.”

  Col reflected. “My grandfather knows,” he murmured, more to himself than Riff.

  “If they don’t starve us to death, they steam us to death. They’re out of their heads. It’s all the same cruelty.”

  Col shook his head, though he half-suspected she was right.

  “Listen.” Her tone grew more intense. “You’re almost on our side already. You already let me up here to prepare and make plans for the revolution.”

  “I never meant – ”

  “Oh, you knew all right. I been workin’ out our strategy. Places to capture first. Passages to block and staircases to hold.” She tapped the side of her head. “It’s all in here. What d’yer think about that?”

  Col was breathing fast, with a kind of excitement and a kind of horror.

  “All we need is for you to open that door and lower a rope,” she went on. “Or not even go through the door. Just unlock it and walk away.”

  Col’s ethical education with Professor Twillip wouldn’t allow him such easy excuses. “There’s no difference.”

  They argued it back and forth and round and round. Riff had a hundred arguments, but her strongest persuasion was when she placed her hand over his on the side of the bed. He went hot and cold and hot again.

  Still, he couldn’t quite accept the idea of betraying his own people and his own family. In spite of what Riff said, they weren’t all bad and wrong…not his father, nor his mother, and certainly not Professor Twillip. He continued to shake his head.

  In the end, she released his hand and rose to her feet.

  “I won’t let up, you know. I’m gonna keep on and on about this.”

  Col didn’t mind how long she kept on, so long as she kept holding and squeezing his hand at the same time. But now she was leaving.

  “This Wicky Popo.” She stopped with her hand on the door handle. “How do I recognise him?”

  “He’s as thin as a skeleton. He can hardly stand upright. Why?”

  “I’ll feed him.”

  “You?”

  “You’ll never do it.”

  “I…thank you.”

  Riff shrugged, opened the door and looked out into the corridor.

  “When will I see you again?” he asked.

  But Riff was already closing the door behind her.

  Only afterwards did he realise he hadn’t even mentioned his forthcoming marriage.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Fifty-Six

  In the afternoon, preparations for the ceremony speeded up. Col was escorted down to Thirty-Eighth Deck where a barber cut his hair; then to a manicurist on Thirty-Seventh Deck. In the evening, normal dinner was replaced by a buffet in the Somerset Room.

  When Col turned up, the Somerset Room was filled with people and buzzing with conversation. The members of the Sir Mormus branch of the family were all present, along with assorted uncles and aunts from other branches. Col took a cup of tea from a Menial and helped himself to cold chicken and potato salad from the buffet table.

  On all sides, the only topic of conversation was tomorrow’s great event. He kept his head down and concentrated on his food, but he couldn’t help overhearing.

  “Over four hundred guests. Can you believe it?’ ‘No expense spared’. ‘And not only the elite families’. ‘No indeed, the better middle-class levels too’. ‘But all the elite families are coming?’ ‘Oh yes. They wouldn’t dare stay away’. ‘Not now Sir Mormus has the Queen’s favour again’. ‘We’re back in our proper place. First family.” Keeping his head down, Col didn’t notice Gillabeth until he was right in front of her. She rolled her eyes significantly, directing his attention to a particular corner of the room. There on a chair sat Wicky Popo.

  Col swung back to question her, but she was already moving off. He threaded his way through the crowd to Wicky Popo’s corner.

  Close up, the change was plain to see. Wicky Popo had regained a spark of life in his eyes and a faint shade of colour in his cheeks. He remained as thin as ever, but there was no doubt about it. Riff must have managed to feed him.

  How had she done it? So soon! Not for the first time, her powers seemed almost supernatural.

  He was still gazing at Wicky Popo when his grandmother passed by. She stopped, a tiny frown forming between her delicately arched eyebrows.

  “Ah, you’re pitying my poor, sad Wicky Popo. He won’t be with us much longer, I fear.”

  “He looks better today.”

  “Hmm. Temporary recoveries, misleading appearances. We must hope for the poor dear, but we mustn’t expect too much. He’ll probably go downhill again shortly.”

  She sounded puzzled and a little vexed. Suddenly the sweetness of her strawberry-scented perfume made Col want to gag.

  Then there was an announcement from the other side of the room. Sharp as a bird, Ebnolia switched her attention and nodded her head.

  “At last. The Honourable Hommelia Turbot has arrived. Put down your plate and come with me, Colbert.”

  Col did as he was told. Hommelia was advancing into the room with her daughter a pace behind. As soon as she saw Ebnolia, her chins quivered and she gushed over with delight.

  “Dearest Lady Porpentine. And the handsome groom. Our future son-in-law. So pleased to see you. Aren’t we, Sephaltina?”

  How do you dos were exchanged all round, followed by a few minutes of Smalltalk between Hommelia and Ebnolia. Then Hommelia cast an almost roguish eye towards Col and asked, “Have you told him what will happen at the ceremony, Lady Porpentine?”

  “Not yet.”

  “May I have the honour?”

  “Please do.”

  “Well, Colbert.” Hommelia’s face was wreathed in smiles. “You enter the Imperial Chapel first with the groom’s party. You stand beside your grandfather facing the Queen. Pretend I’m the Queen and stand…just so, just so. You wait until Sephaltina enters with the bride’s party and stands next to you.”

  She motioned her daughter into position. “Hold up your head, Sephaltina. Enough sweets for now.”

  She waved away a Menial who was hovering nearby with a plate of sweets. The round bulges in Sephaltina’s cheeks disappeared as if they had never existed.

  “Then the Queen will speak about the duties of holy matrimony. You should both keep your eyes slightly lowered. Then she will ask, Do you, Colbert Porpentine, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife? And you reply, I do.”

  “I do,” Col repeated.

  “Then, Do you, Sephaltina Turbot, take this man, and the same reply. Finally, the exchange of rings. Do you know which is the finger for the marriage ring?”

  Col shook his head. Sephaltina nodded and extended the third finger of her left hand.

  “Very good. So, Colbert, when your grandfather hands you the ring, that is the finger you put it on. Very tenderly and lovingly, please. And Sephaltina…what’s that in your mouth?”

  Sephaltina’s cheeks bulged with new bulges and her rosebud mouth was in constant sucking motion.

  “I said, enough of those!” Hommelia stamped her foot at the Menial who had reappeared behind Sephaltina’s shoulder with a plate of sweets. “Go awayl”

  Sephaltina swallowed. Tears sprang to her eyes, and for a moment she appeared to have stopped breathing.

  “So, Colbert, you hold out the same finger and my daughter puts her ring on it.” The beatific expression was back on Hommelia’s face. “And then it’s all done. Husband and wife bonded forever.” She turned to Ebnolia. “And the Porpentines and Turbots bonded forever too. Won’t the Squellinghams hate that!”

  Hommelia and Ebnolia began a conversation about ranking and precedence. Hommelia was in a hurry to displace the Squellinghams as Worldshaker’s second family; Ebnolia advised caution. Sephaltina made painful gulping noises over
a lump in her throat.

  Col’s role was finished. He backed away, step by step, merging in with the crowd. Six steps away, he bumped into someone and spun round with an apology on his lips.

  It was only a female Menial…in fact, it was the same Menial with the plate of sweets. Before, she had been a Menial like any other Menial and he hadn’t registered her face.

  But it registered now. As she continued to stand right in front of him, the dull, mindless features transformed into Riffs features. Her eyes flashed with emotion – with anger.

  “Outside,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth. “Talk. Now.”

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Fifty-Seven

  Outside in the corridor, she shuffled away from the Somerset Room and Col followed. She turned left into an intersecting passage, then left again into a short cul-de-sac. No one was likely to see them here.

  “You must be mad,” he said.

  She looked mad. She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I do,” she mimicked. “Oh, I do. Tenderly and lovingly.”

  “Why take such a risk?” he demanded. “In front of all my family.”

  “I went to feed that starving Menial. For your sake.”

  “Oh, right. Wicky Popo. I could see he’d been fed.”

  “Don’t change the subject. I know what it means about lawful wedded wife. It means gettin’ partnered.”

  “Yes, but – ”

  “You and her. You and that pretty-pretty doll. That’s what you like, is it?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “No? Then why did you try and hide it from me?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Yes. This morning. You never said a thing.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Forgot!” Riff sneered. “You wanted to forget, more like.”

  Col opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn’t deny a twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had wanted to forget.

  “One of yer own kind. So refined! Phh! Stuffin’ sweets like a little girl.”

  “She’s a year older than me. Three years older than you.”

  “Don’t you compare me and her. Don’t you dare.”