by James Roy
But he was still confused.
‘I won’t do it,’ Ben said, with an emphatic shake of his head. ‘I thought I made it clear that I didn’t think you were doing the right thing anyway. And maybe now Richard has talked some sense into you.’
Edsel heaved a sigh. ‘Please? Just this one last time? I have to know.’
Ben turned his head slightly, as if he were glancing towards the kids playing basketball nearby, and lowered his voice. ‘Look, even if I approved, I can’t do it. They know now, and they’ll be watching me.’
‘Oh, come on, Ben,’ Jacq pleaded. ‘Robert’s just had this huge bomb dropped on him. Don’t you think he deserves to know?’
‘It’s not just for me,’ Edsel replied. ‘If I’ve got all this stuff keeping me here, there must be others as well. Other kids who want to go back but are afraid that they can only have one thing or the other. Imagine if you could be part of … of something big! Something huge! Something that Verdada’s never seen before!’
‘A mutiny, you mean? What about the balance thing? It’s all right there in the last section of the Charter!’
‘Listen, Ben, I’m not asking you to change anything in the file. I just want you to look. I just want to know. I have to know.’
‘And what are you going to do with that information once you get it? If you get it.’
Edsel shrugged, forgetting for a moment that Ben couldn’t see him. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘We could get in so much trouble. They’ll know.’
‘If they don’t know yet, they won’t know later. And if they do know already, then looking again isn’t going to make things any worse. Besides, what do they do to people who do the wrong thing?’
‘I don’t actually know,’ Ben admitted. Then he shook his head. ‘But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not doing it.’ ‘Ben, what makes you sadder than anything?’ Edsel asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You told me before that your Desire was revenge, and that’s what you got. Doesn’t that make you sad, that you wasted a huge opportunity on something like that?’
‘You know it does.’
‘Then this is your chance to do something good, to make things just a tiny bit better, don’t you think?’
Ben shook his head once more. ‘I can’t …’
‘It would be a brave thing to do,’ Jacq said. ‘And wouldn’t you love to do something brave?’
Ben took a deep breath, and sighed. His mouth opened, then closed again. Then, at last, he took another deep breath and said, ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but all right. Meet me in my room in ten minutes.’
When they arrived, Ben’s computer screen was already shimmering with the wispy images.
‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘And let’s try to be quick. Now Robert – I mean Edsel – what’s your last name?’
‘My real one, or … the other one?’
‘Your birth name.’
‘Robert Henry Armandine. A-R-M-A-N-D-I-N-E.’
‘Got it. All right, hold on, I’m nearly there. Yes, there it is.’ Tap-tap. ‘Hang on, it’s …’ Tap-tap-tap. ‘Right, here it is. You sure you want me to read it to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, here we go. “At sixteen years of age, Robyn gave birth to a healthy baby boy, whom she named Robert Henry. Due to the absence of the child’s father, and an unsupportive family, Robyn felt the need to hand the baby over—” ’
‘I already know all that,’ Edsel interrupted. ‘Can you skip to the next bit?’
‘You want the most recent stuff? Okay, then I’ll just …’ Tap-tap. ‘Okay, here it is. I’ll just skip over all the stuff about your brother dying—’
‘Hang on – what?’ Edsel said, going hot and cold all at once. ‘I don’t have a brother.’
‘No, because he died. It says so right here. “David Grizzler died when he was seven days old, due to birth complications.” Surely you already knew this. It also says that your mother couldn’t have any more kids.’
Edsel shook his head. ‘No, you must have the wrong Grizzler family. I don’t have a brother. I’ve never had a brother. My parents have never even mentioned another baby.’
‘Are your parents’ names Barry and Tilda?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Who live in Bland Street, West Malaise?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Edsel, they definitely had a baby. A son. Your brother. David.’
‘What? No, that’s not … No. No.’
Jacq rested her hand on Edsel’s arm. ‘Are you okay?’
He shook her hand away and stood up. ‘No, I’m not! I found out I was adopted and that’s all fine – I can live with that. My mum didn’t want me, or couldn’t look after me, or whatever, and that’s fine too. I understand. But why haven’t my parents ever told me about … about him? This so-called brother.’
‘There’s a file on him, if you want me to go in there,’ Ben said.
‘On David? It can’t be a very big file.’
‘Shh.’ Ben pressed a couple of keys, then tilted his head while he listened to the change in the swirling image. ‘I can’t get in,’ he said after a while.
‘Why not? It should just say that he died, and that’s that. He wasn’t even big enough to lose his dummy, was he?’
‘I can’t get in because it’s under a different system. It’s under the … the Infant Reallocation Program.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m not sure – I’ve never even heard of it. I guess it’s the one that sorts out this whole balance and equilibrium thing. I guess they left that bit out of the Charter. But I can’t get into that system anyway. Sorry.’
‘So he might not be dead?’
‘Oh no, it says that he died. And that’s why when your parents got you, they were—’
For a moment, Edsel thought that he might throw up. ‘Don’t say it,’ he said.
Jacq was looking back and forth between Edsel and Ben, confusion creasing her face. ‘Don’t say what?’
‘No!’ Edsel put his head in his hands and groaned. ‘I’m such a … Oh, I’m such a bad, bad person!’
‘Why would you say that?’ Jacq asked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Jacq, I didn’t lose anything. It was me that was lost. Again. Twice! I was there, but I wasn’t really there. It didn’t matter what they did, or what they tried to do for me, I wouldn’t let them in. They lost me. I was lost to them. They wanted a son, and I … I wasn’t. Everything they did to try to protect me was just because of their baby who died. They wanted to keep me safe, and all I did was get angry, and push them away, and … and hurt them.’
Jacq looked at the floor. ‘Edsel, I’m so sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Ben. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to go back. Before, when I said I wanted to go back, it was because I was angry about being tricked. But this time I need to get back. I’m going to make it right.’
‘How?’ Ben asked.
‘You’re going to help me,’ he said. ‘You have to get into whatever system I’d have to use to reallocate myself. I have to send myself home.’
‘I can’t,’ Ben replied. ‘I can’t get you in. It’s not that simple.’
‘There must be a way.’
‘There’s not. Seriously, I can’t do it. I don’t know how.’
‘Maybe you can’t help him, but I think I can,’ Jacq said. A strange, solemn look had come to her face and, for the first time since he’d met her, Edsel watched her remove her helmet. ‘It’s not going to be easy, but I think it can be done.’
Richard leaned back and pressed the tips of his fingers together, looking back and forth between Edsel and Jacq, while Man stood impassively behind him. ‘This is very unusual,’ he said. ‘You’re quite sure about this?’
‘I am,’ Jacq replied. ‘We know it can be done.’
Richard’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘How do you know?’
<
br /> ‘It just makes sense,’ said Edsel. ‘When they die, children go somewhere else – somewhere that isn’t here. You told me that, and the Charter says so as well. You said that there is being lost in spirit, and being lost in life. But no one in Verdada has been lost in life. Those people go somewhere else. That’s what you said.’
‘That’s true.’ Richard continued to regard Edsel and Jacq thoughtfully. ‘So tell me what you’re thinking. I’m listening.’
‘While I’m here, I’m still back there, aren’t I?’ Jacq began. ‘Back home, I mean, lying there unable to communicate with anyone. And the rules of this place mean that my Desire – to communicate with my family again – can’t ever happen because I have to stay here.’
‘If you say so.’
‘It’s not if I say so – it’s what you’ve told us all along. If I stay in Verdada, I get my Heart’s Greatest Desire, but I can’t ever experience it, because I have to stay here. So I want to give up my place.’
Richard frowned. ‘Here? You want to give up your place in Verdada?’
‘And my place back there. For Edsel. Or Robert … or whatever you want to call him.’
Richard looked out the window at the clear sky, and the fun-filled world beneath it. ‘You want to give up this? This place of Forever Fun? Your chance of Forever Young?’ His gaze returned to Jacq. ‘You want to do it by … by dying?’
‘If it means Edsel can go back. He needs to make things right.’
‘But Jacqueline, you know nothing of the place you’d be going to. What makes you think that you leaving here would make it possible for Robert to go back?’
Edsel spoke up then. ‘Balance. Equilibrium. One leaves, one goes back. It’s all there in the Charter.’
‘Hmm.’ Richard placed his hands together, his fingertips under his pursed lips. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke. ‘You’ll wait here.’ He got up and left the room, leaving Jacq and Edsel sitting side by side while Man stood like a statue opposite them.
‘How long do you think he’ll be?’ said Edsel.
Jacq shrugged.
‘What do you think he’s doing?’ he asked. ‘Do you think he’s asking the Mira now?’
Jacq’s face was still pale, and her voice was tense. ‘I don’t know, all right?’
They jumped as the door suddenly opened. Richard sat back down and cleared his throat. ‘You have twenty-four hours,’ he said. ‘Then you can plead your case before the Mira. But I should warn you, this is a very unique situation. Not only does no one ever go back once their Desire has been stated, but the Mira never meet before Arbiters. In general, the Charter of Verdada is immutable. It can’t be changed.’
‘So why have they decided to let us speak to them?’ Jacq asked.
Richard smiled. ‘Sometimes mysteries emerge, appear, beg to be answered.’ Then he leaned forward, as if he was about to tell a great secret. ‘But you have twenty-four hours to prepare, so I don’t think that now is the time to ponder on this particular mystery, do you?’
Edsel swallowed. ‘No.’ He stood up, and Jacq followed his lead. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I needn’t remind you that this event isn’t general news. Am I clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Edsel replied.
‘Have you found anything?’ Edsel asked.
Jacq shook her head. ‘Nothing that we can use. Nothing that we can read them that will make them go, “Oh, well in that case we’ll let you do it”.’ She closed the Charter. ‘We’ll just have to say what we have to say, and hope that they’re in a good mood.’
Man stood in the doorway of Edsel’s room, waiting while Edsel straightened his tie in the mirror. Meanwhile Toby sat on the edge of his bed, holding Bob, saying nothing, staring into space, as the figure in the silver suit stood straight and tall in the hallway.
‘All right, I’m ready,’ Edsel said at last, and he picked up his copy of the Charter. ‘See you, Toby. Wish me luck.’
Toby suddenly focused, and turned his head to look at Edsel. ‘Luck? What for?’
‘What we talked about.’
Toby shook his head. ‘What did we talk about?’
‘Nothing. It was nothing.’
‘Graves, comma, Jacqueline is waiting for us downstairs,’ Man announced.
‘Okay. So let’s go.’
As they came around the corner into the main Common Room, Edsel hesitated. For such a secret, word seemed to have spread very quickly; every kid in Verdada must have been there. They parted silently as Edsel and Man crossed the room.
‘Good luck,’ he heard someone say, in a voice hardly louder than a sigh.
Jacq was waiting at the main door, her helmet in place. Edsel had always found her quietly spoken and perhaps a little sad, but now her eyes were wide and her face was pale.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked her as Man opened the door and stood back to let them pass through.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she said, but the way she was biting the inside of her bottom lip gave her away.
Man led them across the lawns towards the Hub. Perhaps it was his imagination, but looking at the sky, Edsel felt sure that its colour seemed more artificial than usual. Or was it just the same as always, but with his new-found knowledge tinting the lenses of his eyes?
Jacq was glancing back, and seeing this, Edsel turned as well. The children from within the Domus were coming out of the front door, not pouring out but oozing, and standing there to watch Edsel and Jacq follow Man towards the Hub. And strangely, seeing them there made Edsel feel more befriended than he’d ever felt before, and caused a tiny, questioning doubt to itch in his mind.
They entered the foyer of the Hub, but rather than going to the door which led into the turret, Man took them left, and along the corridor which curved around the corner and out of sight. As they moved further along the corridor, Edsel felt suddenly cold, as if he’d walked under an airconditioning duct, and at that moment he had a strangely comforting recollection of his mother warning him about remembering to pack a jacket.
They reached a heavy door, which had the Verdada logo carved deep into it, and Man stopped, knocked twice, pulled the door open and gestured for them to enter.
It was a dark, windowless space, about the size of a classroom, and it took a moment for Edsel’s eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw that the floor, which was shiny and hard, like polished slate, sloped up towards a long table, which spanned the entire width of the room. It was similar to a judge’s bench, with several figures silhouetted against the deep blue of a velvet backdrop. Standing in an island of light to the left of the room was Richard, with his hands folded in front of him, his charcoal-grey suit crisp against the white of his shirt and his plum-red silk tie, and when he turned his head to look at them, there was no welcoming smile. There was no reaction at all.
‘Stand here,’ Man said, showing them their own islands of light in which to stand. It was the first thing he’d said since they’d left the Domus, and his voice sounded dull and flat, as if the room was absorbing the sound.
A moment later, Edsel looked back, and Man had already gone, as if he’d disappeared into the air. He glanced at Jacq. She was still chewing on her lip, and when her eyes met his, she flashed a quick, nervous smile, and slid the helmet from her head, letting it hang by its strap.
Edsel counted twelve figures behind the bench. Twelve dark, silent figures, none of them speaking. Edsel wondered if he or Jacq were supposed to start things off, and if so, hoped that she’d do it, because he’d completely forgotten everything he’d planned to say.
Then, so slowly that he couldn’t even have pointed out the moment when the change began, the lights over the bench began to brighten, until the figures’ features became more visible. And yet the overhead light cast heavy shadows under their brows and noses and lips and chins, so that they looked more like skulls than people.
‘Robert Armandine,’ said one of the central figures, in a voice Edsel could only have described as sandy. ‘Jacqueline Grav
es.’
‘Yes,’ said Edsel.
‘Um … present,’ said Jacq.
‘You’ve each studied the Charter thoroughly?’
‘Yes, we have,’ Edsel said.
‘Then you must know that is very unusual for the Mira to meet with Arbiters. In fact, it has only happened on three previous occasions. And you should be aware that those circumstances were rather more pressing than what the Mira believe yours to be.’
‘Yes, sir, I understand,’ said Edsel, in a voice that he felt might not have even reached the bench in that dull room. ‘We both do.’
‘From what the Mira have been told, it seems that your case drifts somewhere between asking for special consideration, and a tech … nicality.’ The figure emphasised the first part of the word, and delayed the second, made it hover in the air. ‘So your presence here should not be seen as a sign that your request will be honoured, but more of the Mira’s own curiosity. It will be interesting to hear how you argue your case. So in your own time, you may begin.’
‘You start, like we talked about,’ Jacq muttered.
Edsel began, after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘When I said I would stay in Verdada, I really thought it was what I wanted. My Desire was to be allowed to do things, and to have friends, and to not have someone checking up on me all the time. I like the work here, and I like the place, and I like the people. But I’ve discovered a few things. I’ve discovered that I’m lost as well. Twice.’
‘You’re all lost,’ the figure said. ‘Every one of you.’
‘I know, and I think we should be told that at the very beginning. But I wasn’t just lost – I was lost twice. First, my mother – the one who gave birth to me – gave me away because she was too scared to keep me. So she lost me. Then my new parents were all overprotective because of something awful that happened to them a long time ago, and so I pushed them away. So the first time wasn’t my fault, but the second time kind of was. And that second one I can mend. I can go back, and make things right.’
There was a pause. Then the central figure said, ‘Some might argue that if you were lost twice, you have twice the right of anyone else to be in Verdada, but only half the right to leave.’