Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker

by Richard Harland

  “Colbert, Colbert!” His smile widened as Col came up. “Felicitations! I am so happy for you.”

  “I’m really pleased you were invited.”

  “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? Fancy someone thinking of me.”

  “Is Septimus here?”

  “I don’t think so. I haven’t seen him.”

  Col had hardly expected otherwise. The Trant family ranked several levels below Professor Twillip on the social scale.

  “We’ve been continuing our researches into the Age of Imperialism.” Professor Twillip nodded his fleecy white head. “For example, the coaling stations. Did you know that the countries of Europe once had colonies in every continent?”

  “Colonies?” Col didn’t even know the word.

  “They took control and ruled over the natives. But the Fifty Years War focused everyone’s attention on Europe and the colonies were left to wither away. The natives regained control and drove the colonists back into a few defended outposts. You see?”

  “What?”

  “Those are the coaling stations. Hong Kong, Botany Bay, Kingston, and so on. Small independent territories that survive by servicing the great juggernauts. If you ask me – ”

  Col cut him off with a warning cough. Sephaltina was approaching through the crowd with a petulant expression on her face.

  “There you are!” She spoke to Col as though Professor Twillip didn’t exist. “I was looking for you.”

  “I thought you were enjoying the dancing.”

  “Felicitations, Miss Turbot.” Professor Twillip performed a little bow. “Or as I should now say, Mrs Porpentine.”

  Sephaltina ignored him. “I stopped enjoying it ten minutes ago. There’s a girl attracting everyone’s attention. I’m the bride, I ought to be the centre of attention. And you ought to want to dance with me.”

  “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “That’s not the point. What’s the use of a husband who doesn’t attend to his wife?”

  Professor Twillip blinked and looked bemused. Col decided it was time for introductions.

  “This is Professor Twillip, my old tutor. And this is – ”

  “Yes,” said Sephaltina. “And now I’d like something to eat, please.”

  Since Professor Twillip seemed unaware of the snub, Col decided against making a scene. “What would you like?”

  Sephaltina pouted. “Something sweet.”

  With an apologetic smile to Professor Twillip, Col turned away and threaded a route to the tables at the side of the hall. A vast array of desserts was on display: shortbread and cupcakes, rice pudding and trifle, jelly and blancmange. In the end, he pointed to a parfait glass of yellow jelly, and a Menial handed it to him with a spoon.

  Sephaltina had already abandoned Professor Twillip’s company. Scouting about for her, Col passed a cluster of Fefferley family members clustered around Lord Fefferley. They were wagging their heads over some kind of trouble on the dance floor. Col paused to listen.

  “It’s not right.”

  “Not respectable.”

  “Millamie came back unescorted.”

  “The Dollimonds’ daughter too. She didn’t like the music.”

  “The young men keep encouraging the band to play faster.”

  So Sephaltina wasn’t the only one to leave the dance floor. Col hadn’t noticed before, but it was true, the music had speeded up.

  “I hope our son isn’t there.”

  “She’s a bad influence.”

  “Having a bad effect.”

  “If she were my daughter…”

  “Does anyone know whose daughter she is?”

  Col had a sense of foreboding, though he didn’t know why. He headed to the dance floor to see for himself.

  He had to push through a ring of young men, packed shoulder to shoulder. There were half a dozen couples still dancing, but all eyes were upon one particular pair. It was Haugh from Col’s class and a girl with long blonde ringlets.

  Haugh had a glazed grin and his quiff drooped over his forehead, damp with sweat. The girl wore a long cream dress and silver earrings. She looked every inch an Upper Decks lady, but she wasn’t. Col’s very worst fears came true when he saw her face and recognised Riff.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Sixty-One

  Col watched, in horror. It was madness. Yet she wore the long dress as though she’d been wearing such clothes all her life. He shuddered to think where she’d stolen it – and the blonde wig and earrings.

  Her dancing was faultless too. She must have picked up the steps just by watching others on the dance floor, yet she carried it off as if she’d had years of practice. Incredible.

  He heard the young men talking nearby.

  “I’m going to ask her for a dance.”

  “You’d never dare.”

  “Why not? She dances with anyone.”

  “There are three ahead of you.”

  “I’ll get the band to play the next dance really fast.”

  They had no suspicions, of course. They couldn’t even begin to conceive of a Filthy in their midst, even if they knew what a Filthy looked like. Presumably they thought she was from some family outside the circle normally invited to elite social functions. Yet they all sensed she was somehow different.

  Col looked at the other dancers on the floor. Earlier on, when the music was slow and stately, Riff would have been dancing exactly like everyone else. But now the music was faster, the others revealed their limitations. Whereas they were awkward and struggled to keep in time, Riff flowed to the rhythm as effortlessly as ever.

  She wasn’t aware that she was giving herself away. The flaw in her imitation was that she was too good, too perfect. And the more the band speeded up, the more she would stand out like a peacock among pigeons.

  It was near the end of the dance when their eyes met. She went through the final steps with redoubled vitality and finished off with an impromptu twirl that wasn’t in the steps at all. There was a gasp of indrawn breath from the onlookers, and a smattering of applause. They were obviously in a state of rapt adoration.

  Col felt a pang of what might have been jealousy – except that a much greater pang of fear drowned it out. She didn’t realise how easily the mood of her admirers could change. He had to warn her.

  The young men swarmed around her the moment the music stopped. However, she rose on her toes to look out beyond them.

  “Why, Colbert Porpentine.” She spoke in her reading voice, imitating Upper Decks pronunciation. “I wondered when I would see you again.”

  The young men fell back a little, eyeing Col enviously. Pugh Squellingham and Lumbridge were among them.

  “The married man,” she said. “Congratulations.”

  Col stood before her, but couldn’t speak with everyone watching. He willed a silent message through his eyes. Why are you doing this?

  She only smiled. “You must be so happy with your beautiful new bride.”

  Obscurely, he sensed that she was getting back at him. His frowns had no effect on her. She was flaunting her success in his face.

  “Isn’t the dancing fun?” Her smile grew more brilliant again. “I’m enjoying it so much.”

  Still he had to warn her, he had to speak to her alone. “May I have the honour of the next dance?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not. I’ve already promised somebody else.”

  “Me,” said a young man at her elbow.

  “Then me,” said another young man.

  “Then me after that,” growled Lumbridge.

  “So you see, you’ll have to wait quite a while,” she said.

  Urgent, urgent, urgent! Col willed through his eyes. But she was enjoying her triumph too much to stop. The band struck up for the next dance and she began tapping her foot in time. The rhythm was impossibly fast!

  He was desperate. “I have the right to go first because it’s my wedding.”

  It was a bluff, but Riff didn’t know the rules of Upper Decks eti
quette. An uncertain crease appeared on her forehead.

  “What about your bride?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be dancing with her?”

  “Yes,” said Pugh Squellingham. “Dance with Sephaltina.”

  “Here she comes now,” said Lumbridge.

  The crowd parted and Sephaltina advanced. She planted herself in front of Col, her whole body an expression of pouting indignation.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Talking to her. You were meant to fetch me something sweet.”

  Col looked down and realised he was still holding the parfait glass and spoon.

  “Here it is,” he said, and put it into her hands.

  Sephaltina was not mollified. The glass shook in her hand and so did the yellow jelly.

  Riff stared at it. “What’s that stuff?” she asked.

  Obviously, she hadn’t noticed the jelly before. Now that she’d noticed it, she was entranced. Her promised partner was trying to lead her away for the next dance, but she brushed him aside.

  The other young men were all eagerness to explain. “It’s a dessert.”

  “Jelly.”

  “You eat it.”

  Col’s heart was in his mouth. Anyone from anywhere on the Upper Decks ought to know about jelly. How much longer before they worked her out?

  Forgetting her manners, she leaned forward for a closer inspection. The jelly quivered in the glass.

  “May I?” she asked Sephaltina. “Do you mind?”

  Her language was polite, but her behaviour wasn’t. She plucked the spoon from Sephaltina’s fingers, steadied the glass with a hand over Sephaltina’s hand, then scooped up a big blob of jelly.

  “So wibbly-wobbly!” she laughed.

  It was the wrong sort of laugh, coarse and vulgar. Col was in the grip of a nightmare. He foresaw disaster, but didn’t know how to make it stop.

  She opened her mouth wide and carried the spoon towards it. She was going cross-eyed as she followed the precariously balanced blob.

  Sephaltina could take no more. With a quiet “Oh!” she rolled up her eyes and fell backwards in a faint.

  Riff lost concentration. An inch from her mouth, the jelly slipped from the spoon, bounced on her chin and vanished down the front of her dress.

  There was a thump as Sephaltina hit the floor, then a crash as the parfait glass shattered on the floor. Then a sort of tremulous giggle from Riff.

  “It tickles!” she gasped. “I’ll have to wriggle it down.”

  No, don’t! Col screamed in the silence of his mind.

  But she did. She began to shimmy in time to the dance music. She was breathless with laughter, tickled out of control.

  “Hah-ah! Ooo-ah!”

  She seemed to have forgotten the surrounding crowd. Her focus was all upon the jelly slithering its way down under her dress.

  “Whee-hee! It’s a comin’!”

  If she had been graceful before, now she undulated like a snake. It was blatant and shocking. Faster and faster, she jiggled and joggled. Everyone could hear the change in her voice as she went back to her own natural accent.

  “I got it! Hoo! Nearly there! Ah! Ah! Ah! Whoopsie!”

  She lifted the hem of her dress and stepped away. Where she had been standing, a small blob of yellow jelly lay on the floor. She brushed tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.

  “Done it!” she pointed.

  But a sudden space had opened up all around. She focused on Col with a look of appeal…

  “What’s going on here?” boomed a familiar voice.

  The young men made way as Sir Mormus strode forward. He glared at Sephaltina, still flat on the floor, then directed his attention to Riff.

  Riff had recovered her composure and her Upper Decks accent. “A tiny accident. I do apologise.”

  “That’s not her real voice,” said one of the young men.

  “She’s different,” said Pugh.

  Sir Mormus’s expression was like a thunderstorm about to break. But he held himself in.

  “Go back to your dancing, everyone.” He gestured towards Sephaltina. “Someone look after her. And someone call the security officers. As for you – ” he rounded on Riff, “I’ll talk to you in private.”

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Sixty-Two

  Sir Mormus marched Riff off the dance floor away from the crowd. He stopped her in a quiet area between a row of white pillars and a row of aspidistras in huge brass urns. Pugh, Haugh and Lumbridge followed, and so did Col, by a parallel route. He watched proceedings from the aspidistra side, while they watched from the pillars.

  “Well?” Sir Mormus growled at Riff. “Your name?”

  “Um.” Riffs body language was modest and submissive. “Riffaltina, sir.”

  “Riffaltina?” Sir Mormus rumbled. “What sort of a name is that? What’s your family?”

  “Er. Por…bert…ing…ton.”

  “Porbertington?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Never heard of them. What does your father do?”

  Riff was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Ebnolia. Gillabeth came up a moment later, towing Antrobus. She must have scented a scandal.

  “The security officers are on their way.” Ebnolia bobbed to a halt before her husband. “Some disturbance, dear?”

  “Indeed. Did you invite a family by the name of Porbertington?”

  “No, not on my guest list. Nor Hommelia’s, I’m sure.”

  Sir Mormus turned on Riff. “So nobody’s heard of you. Nobody knows who you are.”

  “He does!” Pugh Squellingham called out. His finger was raised and pointing at Col.

  He stepped out from the pillars, with Haugh and Lumbridge on his heels. Reluctantly, Col emerged from the shelter of the urns and aspidistras.

  “What’s this?” Sir Mormus rumbled ominously. “Come here, Colbert. Come here, all of you.”

  They lined up in front of him.

  “She knew his name,” said Pugh. “She said, I wondered when I would see you again.”

  On the spur of the moment, Col could only think to deny it. “You’re a liar.”

  “I heard her too,” said Haugh.

  “He was desperate to dance with her,” added Lumbridge.

  “Colbert, did you meet this girl before?” Sir Mormus demanded.

  Col found himself looking straight into Riffs eyes. But what choice did he have?

  “Never. Not until just now, when she made poor Sephaltina faint.”

  Riff gave him a stare that cut right through him. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were a thin white line.

  Sir Mormus swung back to her with a snort. “You, girl, did you ever meet this boy before?”

  Col was in a state of funk. He was sure she was going to expose him. He would have to shout her down, abuse her, anything to stop her going into details.

  “No.” Riff shrugged. “They’re all liars. I only knew his name because I knew Colbert Porpentine was the one who’d got married.”

  “Why would they make it up?”

  “I don’t know. Jealousy?” She gestured towards Haugh.

  “I did have a dance with that boy.” Then Lumbridge. “And that one had asked me to do him the honour.”

  Haugh spluttered and went red with embarrassment. Lumbridge looked down at his feet.

  Sir Mormus dismissed them all. “Get out of my sight. Go.”

  Haugh, Pugh and Lumbridge were happy to take off and avoid further interrogation. Col withdrew, then looped back around. He took up a position behind Gillabeth just as the security officers arrived.

  There were ten of them, strong burly men with red armbands. They isolated the disturbance by forming a ring around Riff, Sir Mormus and Ebnolia.

  Riff had sized up the situation. She addressed Sir Mormus in a sheepish, apologetic tone. “I have a small confession, sir. I did come here without an invitation. I was never on anyone’s guest list. So why don’t I just go quietly now? Shall I? No scene, no fuss.”
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  “Not so fast,” said Ebnolia. She had been looking Riff up and down for a while. “What is it about your hair?”

  She reached up and snatched hold of Riffs ringlets. Too late, Riff tried to knock her hand away. The wig came loose and tumbled off – revealing the wild black-and-blonde mass of Riffs own hair.

  Sir Mormus and the security officers were still goggling when Riff exploded into action. She raised her fists and launched forward to break through the ring. But the unfamiliar heels of her Upper Decks shoes betrayed her. She overbalanced and went down, crashing headfirst into one officer’s shins.

  She swivelled on the floor, kicked off her shoes and sprang up in another direction. But the moment she’d lost had been enough for Sir Mormus to stamp down on the hem of her long cream dress. As she sprang forward, the dress jerked her to a halt and she went sprawling a second time.

  “Stamp on her!” Sir Mormus bellowed.

  At once, the security officers stamped down on other parts of Riffs dress. She struggled to fight free, with loud sounds of ripping fabric, but there were too many of them. One officer caught her hands behind her back and clipped iron handcuffs onto her wrists. Another did the same for her ankles. In vain, she bucked and arched and twisted.

  Sir Mormus raised his foot and stepped away. “No one to approach,” he ordered. “I don’t want our guests to see this.”

  He joined Ebnolia, who had already dropped back, not far from Col and Gillabeth. Though they spoke in lowered voices, Col could hear enough to guess the rest.

  “You know what she is?” Ebnolia whispered.

  “I do. She must have…”

  “The scandal will ruin us.”

  “I can keep the officers quiet.”

  “…still need to get her out of here unnoticed.”

  “There’ll be talk if I’m seen leaving the reception.”

  “Why don’t I look after it?”

  “Good…usual place?”

  “I’ll have her taken there immediately.”

  Sir Mormus nodded. Ebnolia cleared her throat and gave instructions to the officers in her normal voice. “Lift her up. Take her to the Changing Room.”

  It took Col a second to register what he’d heard. So there was a Changing Room! And Riff was being taken to it! The place she most dreaded!