by Nick Wilford
At 7.30, a taxi glided up outside to take her mother to the show at the moviedrome. Ezmerelda waited ten minutes in case she came back for anything, then tried the study door; it wasn’t locked.
Her father’s attitude was clearly that she wouldn’t be at all interested in anything to do with his work, so he only bothered to secure the study when the house was left empty. She often maligned the fact her parents knew virtually nothing about her, but on many occasions, such as this, it worked in her favour.
She waved her hand over the wall panel to activate the light. Gazing around the small room, she wondered where to try first. It was meticulously tidy, of course. There was a desk with a computer terminal and three drawers, and a filing cabinet with four drawers.
She sat down in the chair and scanned over the few documents lying on top of the desk. There were things to do with the energy prices, the school curriculum, the hoverbus schedules. Her father seemed to advise on a wide range of topics.
But did he have anything to do with the mysterious visitor? There was only one way to find out. Ezmerelda opened one drawer at a time and began rifling through the densely packed contents. There was a lot to get through, and her hopes of finding a selection of juicy material waned. A lot of it was dull administrative stuff.
And something that had only come up in the last few days wouldn’t be hidden away among papers going back months. Ezmerelda’s stomach tightened at the thought of coming up with nothing to help Mallinger. Then, in the middle of the second drawer down in the filing cabinet, she came across a sheet of paper tucked in between two files. It stood out for not being part of a file itself.
“Order for Re-Education of Wellesbury Noon”, it read. “16-year-old citizen who visited the invader from Fusterbury. His mind must be neutralised immediately.”
The printed words were signed by her father. The order must have been issued by him, and this was his own copy. She read it again, and something cleared inside her mind, ironing out the little niggles of doubt she’d felt for a long time. This was the first time she’d seen crystal clear evidence that there was a place outside of Harmonia, and the government knew about it. There was no mention of the word “demon”.
She looked around the room, feeling more repulsed than ever by the flawless, smooth surfaces and sharp edges. What was life like in Fusterbury, with all this black dirt everywhere and children dying before they’d had a chance to appreciate any of life? The government knew, and did nothing to help. A red tide of anger rose from the tips of her toes and spread quickly to every fibre in her body. Ezmerelda let it pass before focusing on the next thing to do.
This knowledge was a great start. It was something to work from. But how was it going to help Mallinger? What if she came right out and said she’d found the communication? She’d be severely disciplined at the least, and probably accused of forging the note. By the time they were through with her, it would be far too late.
She replaced the sheet carefully where she’d found it, and slid the drawer closed. There wasn’t a lot of point in looking any further. Her father would be away for the whole night, but her mother would probably be less than an hour. Time for a bit of tapestry work, after all. The activity, which came naturally to her, would allow her time to think.
Chapter 7
Monday morning, Wellesbury was back in school. Salvo – formerly one of his chief allies – sat as far away from him as possible. Still at the same desk as him, as they had preassigned places that could only be changed in dire circumstances, but maintaining as much distance as he could without falling off his chair.
Wellesbury knew this was because of Hedgeson, who’d sneered at him with his cronies as they passed in the corridor that morning. One of them had tripped him up. Didn’t hurt, of course, but Wellesbury got the feeling that Hedgeson had heard about pain and very much wanted to bring it into existence.
The team had lost. Dismally, too – 7-2. There was a practice tonight, and again on Wednesday. Wellesbury couldn’t see how he could tell them the truth about where he’d been – not only was Hedgeson bound to hoot derisively, he’d ensure an exclusion zone around Wellesbury a mile wide. “Don’t want to get infected by the demon.” He could hear it now. At least he didn’t have to lie about where he’d been, as they didn’t bother asking him.
The only thing that lightened his mood was Ezmerelda, who had whispered to him to meet her in the library at lunchtime. Her neutral expression gave nothing away as to whether she had found anything or not.
He was glad when lunchtime rolled around. The sense of alienation coming from his teammates was palpable. Even if Ezmerelda hadn’t found anything, he relished the thought of talking to someone who felt the same way as him.
Again, the library was empty except for Ezmerelda. He was thankful that his mates weren’t too studious. He tried to ignore the slight tingling feeling in his stomach when she looked up and flashed that radiant smile.
“Ah, the wanderer returns,” she said. “Have a seat.”
So, did she know where he’d been, like on the previous occasion they’d talked like this?
“I was only off school one day,” he said, sitting down.
“And you missed the match. I wasn’t there, but these things get around pretty fast.
“Those morons should have let you out sooner. It was basically imprisonment, keeping you there like that,” she went on in the same chatty tone.
He gave a small smile. “So, you heard about it from your dad again.”
“Over the weekend. He’s not very discreet when it comes to telling Mum what’s going on. He doesn’t realise I might overhear him - he barely realises I exist,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Tell me about it,” said Wellesbury, with a grimace of recognition. “So, did you come up with anything juicy?”
“Just a bit... A memo ordering you to be taken to the Centre to be ‘neutralised’”, she went on, looking around and lowering her voice, even though they were still completely alone. “Signed by him. He was the one who ordered it.”
Wellesbury’s eyes widened at this, and he wondered what further trouble he could possibly get into. And what he might land her in.
“Oh, don’t worry about it too much,” she went on in response to his expression. “He was probably just told to issue the order from someone higher up. He’s only an advisor, you know.
“Anyway, the point is, the note talked about the intruder from Fusterbury. It didn’t say the Under-Region, or anything else like that.” She flashed a triumphant grin. “This is massive! It means the government know all about the other country. So, why is it kept hidden from us?”
“That’s... great news,” said Wellesbury, his mind reeling a little. The niggling doubts he had kept to himself for so long were suddenly finding validation. “So, how does it help?”
“Probably not a lot right now. But I want them to explain themselves. We might get thrown into juvenile jail first. Whatever it takes, I don’t really care... as long as we get to hear the truth. However long it takes.”
“Me too, but Mallinger doesn’t have all the time in the world,” said Wellesbury, rubbing his chin.
“You’re right. We need to start with him and then move to the bigger picture. Let’s get some hard evidence of where he comes from which we can show to people.”
“And have them denounce us as liars or conspiracy theorists?”
She folded her arms. “You’re looking at the negative side. It’s all about who we show it to. I refuse to believe we’re the only ones who feel like this - it’d be too much of a coincidence that we’re the same age and in the same school.”
“Okay... it’s just I have no idea who to trust.”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
There was that winning smile again. Wellesbury had to admit that he did, and had made up his mind to pretty quickly. It wasn’t just because of a certain physical attraction which he couldn’t deny. Somehow it seemed like they had a deep and mysterious connectio
n.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, offering a smile of his own. “So... we need to find a way of getting to Fusterbury and documenting it?”
“Just what I was thinking. If Mallinger managed to get here, from a place with no technology, then surely we can do the reverse.”
“But how? Mallinger said he followed the instructions given to him by an old man, but he didn’t say anything more specific. Do we have to stand in a certain place? Say a magic word?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s think about it laterally. Hardly anyone here knows about that place. So the chances are that it would be the same for them, don’t you think?”
Wellesbury had to agree.
“But obviously, this old man did. Maybe he was young by our standards, but he was the oldest person in their city. He might know something – something that had been passed down. Maybe just old legends, but they turned out to be right. Mallinger made it here.”
He tried to think. “So why wouldn’t all of them come here, where things are so much better?”
She folded her arms, glancing around again to ensure they weren’t being overheard. They were in the busy main shopping street, standing a little over to the side, next to a giant window display of expensive home furnishings.
“Maybe he didn’t think they’d believe him. Maybe he only half-believed it himself. He didn’t want to give people false hope. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? That’s just conjecture. What we do know is he told Mallinger, who managed to find his way here.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I believe the two are linked somehow, from a
long way back. They’re so different. Polar opposites, really. There must be a connection between the two, which doesn’t exist in the minds of most people now. But once you know about it, that connection springs to life... It’s like a psychic link, just waiting for the right trigger.”
There was a pause, but Wellesbury’s thoughts were racing. It must have been evident on his face, as Ezmerelda nodded at him to speak. “So what you’re saying is... you could get to the other place just by knowing about it? Like, thinking hard about it?”
“Yep, I think so. It’s worth a shot at least, isn’t it?
Chapter 8
They arranged to take a walk out of school at lunchtime the next day and try to find the spot where Finnister claimed Mallinger had appeared. It was the most likely place for them to take a trip of their own.
Wellesbury tried not to let his rising excitement show on his face during his dealings with his parents that night, which he kept to a bare minimum as he usually did. It was a long shot and was very likely not to work. But if it did, the audacity of it was delicious. They would be going completely off-radar; would their tracking chips even work if they were outside Harmonia? Somehow, the thought of possible consequences was being overridden by a surge of adrenaline which Ezmerelda had seemingly created. It felt good that he wasn’t on his own in this any more.
On Tuesday morning, the atmosphere at school was pretty much like it had been the previous day. Apart from the treatment from his own so-called friends, he had one shout of “Look out for demon boy,” and one of “Don’t infect me!” from elements far worse than Hedgeson. He made no response to the taunts. No point giving them anything else they could work with.
Stupid of him not to realise he was doing just that, then, when he and Ezmerelda slipped out of the front door at the beginning of lunch.
“Hey look, demon boy’s got a girlfriend!”
“You’re too pretty to be infected, darling. C’mere and I’ll keep you safe from that thing.”
Ezmerelda walked right up to the boy who had directed that comment at her. He was a couple of years older, and a good few inches taller, but she drew herself up and stared him out with a venom that caused him to dart nervous glances to either side for his buddies’ support. They had fallen back a little way, though.
“It’s okay,” she said, all sweetness and light, the words seeming to melt on contact with the air. “I won’t need any protection because there’s no such thing as demons. It looks like you, though, have been infected with a bad case of stupid rumours. Combined with your pre-existing scumbagitis, it’s a sorry shape you’re in there. Hope you feel better.”
She smiled, but with one side of her mouth only. The offending commenter managed a half-hearted snarl in response, then turned and went back to his friends, who proceeded to jeer at him for being talked down by a little girl. Ezmerelda spun smartly and marched back to where Wellesbury stood.
“I don’t think we’ll be hearing any more idiotic remarks from him,” she said with satisfaction.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’re really brave. But now everyone’s going to think I need a girl to fight my battles!”
“Sorry, I can’t help it.” Her green eyes glowed. “My moron radar goes into overdrive and it’s just so easy to put them in their place. You could learn a thing or two from me. Anyway, if things go well, it won’t matter in a couple of days. Everything will change, and we’ll be seen as heroes.”
“That’s the best case scenario.”
She shrugged. “Let’s not think about the worst case, eh?”
He was amazed by her optimism. But thinking about the worst case meant they would never go through with this.
“So where exactly did your mate say Mallinger appeared?”
Wellesbury screwed up his forehead in concentration, keenly aware of the eyes fixed on them as they headed towards the exit and away from the school grounds.
“He just said it was in the town centre. No, hang on – the main shopping street.”
“Ah, good. That’s easy – it’ll be Perfect Avenue. It’s going to be really crowded, but that can’t be helped.”
They were silent as they walked on, contemplating the task ahead of them. As they reached Perfect Avenue - with its ranks of perfect-looking shops - Ezmerelda asked, “Any more detail on where exactly we should be aiming for?”
She folded her arms, glancing around to ensure they weren’t being overheard. They were standing next to a giant window display of expensive home furnishings.
“I’m afraid not,” said Wellesbury. “I know it’s a long road... we probably won’t be able to pinpoint the exact spot.” He looked down at the ground.
“Don’t give up now,” she said, batting him on the arm. “Hopefully it’ll work as long as we’re in the same general area.”
“Right... so let’s do it, then.” He straightened his shoulders. “Let’s think about Fusterbury.”
“Okie-doke. Just try your best to picture it.” She closed her eyes, and he did the same. He tried to picture people like Mallinger, with all the dirt, and the houses... but it was almost impossible. There was no frame of reference to work from. And he’d only seen Mallinger when he was clean. He screwed his eyes shut tighter, and tried harder. Black... it did exist, people had black hair, and skin...
A few seconds later, he heard a very faint, almost imperceptible sucking sound. He opened his eyes, and gasped when he saw there was nobody there. Ezmerelda had gone. She’d got through! Panic rose inside him. She was the clever one, after all. He was never going to get there, and now she was stuck, alone and vulnerable in an alien world with all that danger and... disease, without her loyal protector to stand by her side.
Wait a minute. Where did that come from?
He shook his head to clear the thought. Time to concentrate on getting through that portal. Closing his eyes again, he saw houses with black streaks... small houses, with holes in the flimsy walls, and bits of roof falling off. Dozens of children running in and out of open doors, shrieking. He went in through one of the doors, to see two children lying on some yellow stuff on the dirty floor, clutching their bloated stomachs and groaning...
...then he heard that whoosh again, that sucking sound, but louder this time. There was total blankness for about a second – even more blankness than he was used to seeing – and then he was there. There was no doub
t about it. The smell that assailed his nostrils was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he wasn’t equipped to deal with it. It was rank and poisonous. He gagged, and bent forward with his hands on his knees, trying to bring his coughing under control.
“So what took you?”
The voice, at that moment, was the most pleasing, melodious sound in the entire universe. He straightened slowly, turned and, through streaming eyes, saw Ezmerelda standing next to him with an amused look on her face.
“I thought I’d better wait here. I was hoping you wouldn’t be too long.”
She seemed to be completely unfazed by the whole situation. When Wellesbury was finally able to speak, he said in a strained voice, “W-weren’t you scared?”
“Of what?”
“Er, y’know... that I wouldn’t show up. I was definitely scared you were going to be stuck here on your own.”
“Aww, that is sweet of you.” She turned on her most dazzling smile, which was, at this point, literally a sight for sore eyes. “But really, I don’t think there’s anything here to be scared of. Just lots and lots of kids. Hardly any adults, and all really... young. And most of the women seem to be pregnant.”
Wellesbury examined the noxious scene for the first time. They were standing at the top of what he supposed to be a road, except instead of flat whiteness it consisted of brown sticky stuff that formed little peaks and valleys, and went “schlupp-schlupp” over his shoes when he tried to move his feet. Rows of houses stretched away on either side, all as dismal as each other. The scene took what he had pictured in his imagination and solidified it in nightmarish detail. The countless children were mostly dressed in scratchy-looking brown rags, although quite a few of the younger ones were completely naked. There wasn’t a pair of shoes anywhere to be seen, and the dirt on the children’s feet looked so ingrained that it seemed to have become part of their skin. Occasionally one of the children would stop and double over, much like Wellesbury had done just now, clutch at their tummy, and sometimes cough and eject some sort of awful fluid from their mouth, either yellow, red or brown. When the episode had passed, they would simply start running around with their friends again.