Floodworld

by Tom Huddleston

  “But that’s boring!” Joe protested. “I’m not a kid – I fooled Cortez and I got you out of that cage. You wouldn’t be here without me. This isn’t fair.”

  “I know,” Kara admitted. “I’m sorry. But it’s the way it has to be.”

  Joe turned away, so angry that his hands were shaking. He was the one Elroy gave the map to; he was the one Redeye came after. And now he wouldn’t get to see inside the Wall. He wouldn’t get to save the Shanties. That must be it, he thought. Kara just wants all the glory for herself. She’s always been selfish.

  He heard them saying their farewells to Maura, followed by the creak of the big iron gate. He took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears from falling.

  “She did the right thing, you know,” Maura said, touching his arm gently. “Partly because my Shore Boys can keep you safe. And partly because I have another use for you.”

  Joe looked up, surprised.

  “Kara’s plan is smart,” Maura explained, “but what if something goes wrong? What if she’s arrested at the barrier, or Remick refuses to see her? This is too important to risk everything on a single throw. I need a backup plan, and for that I need you.”

  She gestured to a small band of Shore Boys standing by the far wall, their bald-headed lieutenant striding along the line. Joe recognised him from last time – Zuma, was that his name?

  “Those are my very best men,” Maura explained. “My crack squad. But they’re not going to the Pavilion with the others. They’re taking a boat to the Badlands to look for this back door, and our old friend Redeye. I thought I’d go along in case they find him. You know the Mariners, and you know the map. Why don’t you join us?”

  19

  Oxford Street

  The air inside the Gullet was clammy and stifling, condensation collecting on the low ceiling and trickling into drainage grates set into the black concrete floor. The Shanty folk trudged wearily in their brown uniforms, their faces sallow as daylight gave way to a harsh neon glare. Kara could feel them eyeing her, wondering what a girl in a dress like that was doing in a place like this.

  Nate straightened his tie, peering uncomfortably at the roof. “I can’t help thinking about all that concrete up there,” he whispered. “What if it falls on us?”

  “The Wall’s stood for decades,” Kara reassured him. “I doubt it’s going to fall down today.”

  The crowd slowed and she saw brightness up ahead – not sunlight, but a row of strip-bulbs. A steel security barrier blocked the tunnel, fronted with reinforced glass. MetCo patrolmen lined the walls, their rifles shouldered, their dogs snarling on the leash.

  Kara swallowed and swiped her forged entry pass, waiting for an alarm to shriek and cuffs to clamp round her wrists. But the sentries didn’t even glance her way as the gate swung open and she stepped through, Nate close on her heels.

  Soon they could see light in the distance, real daylight this time, streaming through the Gullet’s mouth. The workers picked up the pace, sweeping them along. Above the chatter Kara could hear other, stranger sounds: an irregular nasal honk and a growl like outboard motors. She smelled sweat and chem-oil, but cutting through it all was a sweet, fresh fragrance like nothing she recognised.

  Nate grabbed her hand as they were driven from the tunnel into a large cobblestone plaza swarming with people. Slender trees grew on either side and above them rose the Wall, vast and white, curving inward. I’m inside, Kara thought. And it’s beautiful.

  The workers kept up a steady pace, crossing towards a rank of bright red two-storey automobiles parked beside a busy four-lane roadway. But it wasn’t the vehicles that drew Kara’s attention, or the imposing glass-and-stone buildings that rose tier upon tier. It was the expanse of open ground beyond the road, a rolling carpet of jewelled green like something from a dream.

  “Grass,” she said, savouring the word in her mouth. The park sparkled with morning dewdrops, dotted with wildflowers and shady spreading trees. Kara felt Nate watching her and blushed. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’ve never seen the stuff before.”

  He frowned apologetically. “Just try not to gawp. We’re supposed to belong here, remember?”

  A horn blared and Kara looked up to see a sleek blue jalopy veering up the road towards the plaza. A young man in an enormous three-cornered hat leant from the window, waving at the Shanty workers queuing for their transport. “Hey, rats!” he shouted. “Need a wash?”

  He flung three small projectiles and the workers scattered as the balloons exploded, showering them with water. “No need to thank me!” the boy hooted as the car sped away.

  The Shanty folk stood, silently dripping. One of them glowered at Kara, red-faced with embarrassment. No, she wanted to shout, can’t you see? I’m like you, but in disguise.

  “He’s one of the people we came to save?” Nate asked. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother.”

  Kara sighed. “We’re here for the Shanties,” she said. “Come on, let’s find this Parliament place. Maura gave me money for a taxicab, whatever that is.”

  “The black ones, I think.”

  Nate stuck out his hand and a dark vehicle pulled up beside them, the rear door swinging open. He hopped inside but Kara froze, the cab vibrating before her like a hunched animal.

  “It won’t hurt you,” Nate promised. “Think of it like a boat with wheels.”

  She gritted her teeth and climbed over the threshold, and the cab peeled away.

  “Parliament please,” Nate said.

  The driver nodded. “Right you are.”

  Kara wondered what part of the Shanties he was from; all she could see was a tuft of grey hair beneath a peaked cap. She felt her stomach tighten as they picked up speed, curving round a stone arch patterned with men and horses before turning into a long street with stone buildings on both sides. The windows were heaped with gadgets and garments, gold-trimmed furniture and strings of silver jewellery. City folk marched from shop to shop, laughing and spending. Their clothes were dazzling, their skin gleamed. Their Shanty-born servants struggled behind with overflowing bags.

  Kara had known it would be different in here, that people would be clean and healthy and rich. But the scale of it was still mind-boggling; all these shops, all this money, all this stuff.

  “Impressive, ain’t it?” the cabbie asked, glancing at her in the mirror. “People come from all around the world to shop on Oxford Street. You can get electronics from the Andes, spices from the Kush, suits and boots from the mills up north. Where are you kids from? I’m guessing you’re not local.”

  “Cal— er, Canada,” Nate said. “Our Dad’s here on a trade delegation.”

  “Maple syrup, right?” the cabbie grinned. “Never tasted it myself but I hear it’s delicious.”

  “Doesn’t it make you feel angry?” Kara asked before she could stop herself. “I mean, these people have so much and you … you’re not…”

  The driver eyed her, trying to figure out why a Canadian girl in expensive clothes had the same accent he did. Then he just shrugged. “The way I see it, you make the best of what you’ve got. They got born lucky, I didn’t. But I’ve a decent job. Back in the Shanties… You’ve heard of the place, right? The Shanties?”

  Kara nodded quickly.

  “Well, some of our neighbours hate the folks in here, say they’re keeping us down, keeping us poor. I can see their point; when my kids can’t have proper shoes or the wife can’t get medicine for her arthritis, I’ll admit it’s hard. But this is the way things are. And at least we’re better off than those stinking Mariners, right?”

  Nate forced a chuckle. “Good point.”

  Kara hunkered down, staring resentfully out of the window. The cab slowed, overtaking a two-wheeled cart hooked to a bicycle. Three men in suits lounged inside, sipping drinks as the driver pedalled furiously, sweat pouring down her back. An old woman hobbled past, strung with so many gold chains that her back was bent. A pigtailed boy followed, taking one bite from a candy apple before dropping it
in the gutter.

  Then for the briefest second Kara saw a dark shape in the midst of it all, a tall shadow stalking through the crowd. She gasped, pressing her face to the glass. No, it was impossible. She was tired and spooked; it wasn’t surprising that her brain would start conjuring phantoms.

  “See someone you know?” the driver asked. “You’d think in a city this size you’d never run into anyone, but I’m forever—”

  “Stop!” Kara shouted, a wave of cold dread running down her spine. “I see him. I really see him.”

  Redeye strode along the pavement, silhouetted in the glare from the shop windows. His Mariner robes were gone; he wore a tailored suit and carried a steel briefcase, a patch covering his artificial eye. Behind him strode two more Mariners, broad-shouldered Pavel and another man with a pinched face that Kara half recognised.

  “We were wrong,” she gasped, reaching for the handle. “We were wrong about all of it!”

  Nate grabbed her wrist as the cab slammed to a halt. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t you see?” Kara asked, shoving the door open. “If Redeye’s already here that means I was wrong about the map, and about the back door. I have to follow him or we’ll never know what they’re really up to.”

  “You’re not going anywhere without paying,” the cabbie said, reaching through the partition to grab Nate’s sleeve.

  Kara backed out apologetically. “I’ll come back. I’m really sorry.”

  Nate’s eyes widened. “Kara, you can’t!”

  But she was already gone, horns blaring as she flung herself across the street. She kicked off her shoes, watching them tumble into the road. The peach dress was tight round her knees so she paused on the pavement, ripping the seam. People stopped to watch, some laughing, others shaking their heads. Kara shoved past them.

  Looking ahead, she thought for a heart-stopping minute that she’d lost them. Had Redeye seen her and ducked into one of the shops? But no, there he was, striding through the colourful crowd like a shark in a school of guppies. Kara dodged towards him, knowing she didn’t have a plan. Should she cry “Mariner”? No, that would only spark a stampede, giving Redeye the chance to escape. For now all she could do was keep him in sight. Hopefully he wouldn’t look back.

  He looked back.

  Kara tried to duck but it was too late. Redeye’s good eye widened in disbelief and he gestured to his fellow Mariners, all three quickening their pace. Kara pushed through, feeling like a boat in a current, nudged this way and that but holding her course.

  The Mariners turned into a narrow street; there were fewer people here and the shops were a little less garish. Redeye glanced back without slowing. “I like your dress. You look almost like a girl.”

  “I like the patch,” Kara called back. “You look almost like a person.”

  Redeye laughed. “You were always quick. Let’s see how quick you really are.”

  And he bolted off down the street, tossing his briefcase to Pavel.

  Kara followed instinctively, cutting an arc round the other Mariners. Redeye had already widened the gap, his long legs pumping. She shoved through a herd of bewildered shoppers, accidentally elbowing one into the street. Horns blared but she kept running.

  They emerged into a pedestrian square, tourists swarming like butterflies. Chairs were arranged in the sun and there was a strong smell, like chicory but better. Real coffee, Kara realised. Redeye bounded over the cobbles, increasing his lead. But then a gaggle of sightseers burst suddenly from a building, milling out into the sunlight. Redeye plunged into them and Kara heard furious protests, voices asking if he was blind or just stupid. He growled and shoved through.

  Kara skirted the group, moving to cut him off. Along the side of the building ran an alley leading to a small yard – she saw tables inside with people seated round them. Redeye ducked in without looking and Kara followed, praying he’d made a mistake.

  Her heart lifted. The yard was a dead end with high walls on all four sides.

  Redeye turned, trapped. “I don’t know how you found me but I’m on a schedule, Kara. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  She glanced around. “These people might have something to say about a grown man beating up a defenceless little girl.”

  Redeye laughed. “Have you forgotten where we are? They won’t lift a finger.”

  He lunged, feinting one way then ducking the other, trying to slip by. Kara grabbed his jacket, trying to pull him back. “Whatever you’re doing,” she said as buttons popped. “It stops here.”

  Redeye tried to swing at her but his arms were pinned, the material bunching in Kara’s fist. Then a voice shouted “Hey!” and she was hauled back, kicking and swiping. An arm locked round her throat, lifting her off the floor. She couldn’t see her assailant, just his expensive wristwatch.

  Redeye smoothed his jacket, slipping his patch back in place. “She just attacked me,” he said, aggrieved. “I’ve never even seen her before. Hold her – she’s stronger than she looks.”

  Kara tried to speak but the pressure on her neck was too tight. People pressed in for a better look and Redeye took a step back. Kara struggled but it was no use; he tipped her a wink as the crowd closed around him.

  “I think she’s from the Shanties,” her captor said, grunting with the effort of holding her. “She certainly smells like it.”

  “Probably a common thief,” a woman sneered. “Restrain her until the police arrive.”

  Kara fought, feeling helpless. There was only one thing for it.

  Baring her teeth she sunk them into her captor’s arm just above his watch. She felt the skin break and heard him howl, dropping her instinctively. Wiping the blood from her mouth she shoved through the startled crowd, fleeing wildly across the square.

  20

  Parliament

  Kara sprinted through the back alleys of London, darting left then right, evading any chance of pursuit. Redeye had vanished, slipping away into the maze of grey stone. But she thought she knew where he was heading, and she was determined to get there first.

  As she ran she remembered Colpeper’s words that day in Regent’s Village. This part of the City really did feel like something out of a history book, a glimpse of the old world before the waters rose. She’d never been much of a reader, but back at the Sisterhood they used to tell stories from before the Tech Age, tales of lamplit terraces and shrouding fog, noble lords and wily thieves. She’d always struggled to picture the places in her imagination, visualising streets of water and carriages with oars. But now the stories came back to her all in a rush – she felt like Olive Twits himself, fleeing through the friendless streets one step ahead of the law.

  She came to a corner and peered round. Across the road was a building with a lit awning, the words THE MOUSETRAP emblazoned on it. Kara was perplexed – maybe they kept giant mice inside and people paid to watch them get caught.

  “It’s a theatre,” a voice said, and she turned. Beneath a lamp post stood the largest girl Kara had ever seen. She must have been seven feet tall and at least four wide, her green dress almost spherical as it ballooned around her. Her nose was pointed upward and her accent was so precise it could cut steel. “It’s where they show plays.”

  “I know what a theatre is,” Kara said. Then she forced herself to smile. “But thank you.”

  The girl shrugged her massive shoulders. “Well, I don’t know. You’re clearly not from around here, wearing tat like that.”

  Kara blushed, looking down at her torn dress. “But it’s the latest fashion.”

  The girl snorted. “Three years ago, maybe. Perhaps in the provinces those colours are still the rage, but at this year’s London parties it is all about size.” She studied Kara. “Are you lost? I can help if you are – I know these streets like the back of my glove.” She held up one silk-covered hand.

  Kara frowned. “You … you want to help me?”

  The girl yawned. “I’m frightfully bored. My driver’s late and I can’t go any
where until he returns, not in these shoes. Where are you trying to go?”

  Kara hesitated. “P-Parliament?”

  The girl nodded approvingly. “Good. Important place, lots of heritage. You go that way, take a right and … what on earth’s the matter?”

  Kara shrank back as a MetCo officer emerged from an alley across the street, strolling in their direction. She was trapped – the cop would surely spot her if she tried to run, assuming the girl didn’t alert him first.

  Then she heard a cough and saw the girl gesturing urgently, holding up the base of her enormous skirt. “Get in,” she hissed.

  For a moment Kara was too surprised to move. Then she gulped and ducked down, crawling into the cavern of cloth. The hem dropped and she was cocooned in pale green.

  The first thing she saw was a pair of boots so ludicrously elevated they were almost stilts. The girl was probably no taller than she was, Kara realised. And no broader either – her stockinged legs were straight and slender. This whole outfit was an illusion, crafted to make her appear much bigger than she was. Kara didn’t really understand why, but she had to admit it was impressive.

  She could hear voices now, muffled by the material – the girl casual and innocent, the policeman gruff but deferential. She heard footsteps clumping away, then the hem rose once more.

  “You can come out.”

  Kara scrambled free, her face flushed. “Why are you hiding from the police?” the girl asked. “Are you a Mariner? Steady on, you’re not going to blow up Parliament are you?”

  “I’m not a Mariner,” Kara said. “I’m actually trying to stop them.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Well, that sounds frightfully exciting. I suppose you’d better run along. I’d come with you, only I can barely move.” She drew something from her purse, holding it out. “Here, eat this. It’ll keep you going.”