by Nick Wilford
He shook his head and schlupped off through the mud towards Rottifer’s house. “Welles, wait!” he heard from behind him.
It’s not supposed to be like this. Why doesn’t she feel the same as me? Thought she was the clever one.
He reached the house of the man who had shown them the utmost hospitality and shouted through the door, “It’s Wellesbury here. Can I come in?”
“Of course!” came the reply. He walked through the door just as Ezmerelda caught up, and she followed him in. He didn’t look round.
Rottifer was reclining on his scratchy bed again, but sat up and smiled through his thick beard when the foreigners entered. “Been making friends?”
“Yes, everyone’s really nice. But it’s time for us to be heading back now.”
Rottifer’s face fell. “Oh, I was hoping you could stay and share the evening meal with us. It’s customary in this house – even if someone visits from the next street, we share our food with them. I was saving you two the biggest rat. And before dinner, I was going to take you around and show you a bit of the town.”
Wellesbury was silent for a moment – it was, after all, against his nature to be rude – but then Ezmerelda piped up, “That sounds delightful. And it might give us some more evidence we can use against the government. And I’ve got to admit, I’m really curious about trying... well, I suppose you would call it real food.”
“You haven’t eaten food before?”
“Technically, no. It comes out of a machine, and it’s synthesised. Fake,” she added upon seeing Rottifer’s mystified expression.
“That sounds fascinating, although I’ve no idea what a machine is. Here, we catch our food – or find it dead – and roast it over the fire.” He indicated a construction consisting of a long, pointed bit of wood resting on two supports, with a handle at one end.
“I’d love to see that!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “We’d love to stay. Wouldn’t we?” she said, elbowing Wellesbury in the ribs.
Although he was torn, the instinct of being deferential and polite to adults pulled at him the most strongly. Especially as this was far and away the nicest adult he’d ever met. He felt relaxed in his company, which was more than he could say about his parents. “Of course we’ll stay,” he said.
“Excellent!” said Rottifer, rubbing his hands together. “If you’re ready, come with me and I’ll show you the sights. Starting with the Monument of the Dead.”
The two visitors looked at one another and raised their eyebrows simultaneously, their argument forgotten for the moment.
Chapter 9
“Just... gone?” said Lord Histender, the protruding veins on his forehead seeming to provide a physical map of his anger. “How is that possible? What about their tracking chips?”
“There’s no trace of them, your Lordship,” said Dontible, legs apart and hands behind his back, focussing on his usual spot on the wall behind Histender’s head, his expression unreadable. “Gone completely offline.”
“That has never happened, Dontible.” Histender’s voice was so quiet as to be almost inaudible. “You must be aware that, realistically, there is only one thing this can mean. And it is disaster for this government.” He rested his fists on the desk, clenching them so tightly that the knuckles were the same colour as nearly everything else in the room – and in the country.
Dontible nodded. “Yes, your Lordship.” There was no need for either of them to say it.
“They must have gone the same way that vile worm used to get here. The question is, how? By accident? Did they mean to do it? That Wellesbury boy should never have been allowed to have his mind poisoned. Remind me again, what was the fate of the jail staff?”
“They’re in solitary confinement at the Centre. For life,” said Dontible, his face remaining blank. Life meant life, and when the average span was one hundred and ten, that was a very long time – and with all meals provided by the dispenser, there was no need for the prisoner to have any human contact ever again. Dontible had heard stories about futile suicide attempts – futile because pain and injury were an impossibility. He thought about voicing his request not to have his daughter suffer the same fate, but speaking out of turn was out of the question.
As if reading his thoughts – which if the scientists continued their work, would soon be a real possibility – Histender asked, in a more casual tone, “Your own daughter is one of the escapees, is she not?”
Dontible gave an almost imperceptible cough and redoubled his attention on the spot on the wall. “That’s right, your Lordship.”
“Although it may not be my place to do so, I would venture to say that she has perhaps not been instilled with the best possible values and ideals if she can be so easily led astray by the ramblings of a boy who has had his ear bent by an invading demon. Although, of course, they are not demons – but that is neither here nor there.” He smirked. “Rest assured that everything will be done to bring your daughter back safely, but I would encourage you to reflect on the manner in which she has been brought up. But as I said – not my place.” There was a pause which lasted for just a heartbeat, and he went on, “And what of the report from the Chief Scientist? The rip between the worlds has evidently not been sealed satisfactorily.”
“I believe they were still investigating, the last I heard, Lordship. From what I understand, this is a highly delicate and complex issue.”
“That may be. But they have failed us when we need them most. I would not be so stupid as to have the Chief Scientist sent away to be disciplined, when this most vital job is still unfinished. But he is going to face exhaustive questions when this is over.”
“Naturally,” said Dontible. He was itching to get away from Histender now. The artfully concealed rage in the room, which was throbbing madly just below the surface, was making him uncomfortable in the extreme.
“The main job of the Chief Scientist should be finding the two runaways and bringing them back here – by force if needs be,” Histender droned on. “While he’s at it, it would make an excellent bonus if he sealed the hole permanently.”
“After the children are back home, of course.”
“Dontible?” Histender threw his arms wide, and allowed a thin smile. “Do you take me for some kind of monster?”
“No, of course not, your Lordship.” Dontible switched his attention from the wall, to the floor in front of his feet.
“You may go. And send the Chief Scientist to see me.”
“Of course, your Lordship.” Dontible bowed, and left as quickly as was proper.
On his walk home, he reflected on the day’s interesting events. He always knew he should have kept a tighter rein on Ezmerelda. There was a wild streak to that girl that neither he nor his wife understood. She’d never been in trouble as such, but she was overly inquisitive – far more than was becoming for a young lady.
He wasn’t worried about her safety. It was impossible for anyone from Harmonia to come to harm. Well, okay, he was 99.9% sure. You had to allow some margin for error. The same science department who had once upon a time eliminated pain had allowed this weakness, this wormhole between the two worlds to open up. Clearly, they were still working on eradicating human error.
After he’d gone through his front door, his wife ran to him, sobbing hysterically, and threw herself into his arms. He’d kind of prepared himself for it, but was still taken aback. This was the most emotion he’d ever seen her show.
“Oh, Randolph,” she sobbed into his neck. “Where is she? Where is our baby? I’ve been going out of my mind since I heard the alarm from the school. She’s vanished off the face of the world!”
“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Listen, Ezmerelda’s a tough cookie. She’ll find her way home. Wherever she is, she’s going to come out on top. She’s a fighter.” He peeled his wife’s face off his neck and used his thumb to wipe away her tears.
“She’s just a little girl!” said Mrs Dontible. “I’ve been trying not to think the worst, bu
t... well, I know that strange boy disappeared at the same time. The one who went to see the demon and got infected. He’s passed the infection on to her, hasn’t he? They’ve got them now – they’ve got their minds. Randolph, we’re never going to see our baby girl again!”
The sobs started up again, twice as ferocious. In that instant he hated the government. It was expressly forbidden for any civilians to learn of the existence of Loretania, even family members of government workers. He had sworn an oath, and was painfully aware of the consequences of breaking it. Because it would soon become common knowledge, and the questions would just pile up and up – and the entire edifice of society would come crashing down, as if someone had plucked a single card from the bottom level of a house made from the entire deck.
He guided his distraught wife to the couch in the living room, and sat her down before ordering a steaming mug of hot chocolate from the dispenser. Silently cursing his employers, he thought how much better it would be if they’d managed to eliminate emotion rather than pain. It was just a temporary thing usually, after all – they could deal with it as it came up. Even with diseases, people would hopefully know what they were dealing with. But emotion was arbitrary and unpredictable. And the mental pain could be unbearable, as he knew just from looking at his wreck of a wife.
Well, they’d get Ezmerelda back safe and sound. Her mind would be purified at the Centre, the scientists would fix the hole, and that would be the end of the matter. They’d just have to keep a close eye on her dealings with boys.
*
Wellesbury and Ezmerelda were led at a leisurely pace to what Rottifer proudly referred to as the town square. This was a larger expanse of mud, with buildings surrounding it on three sides. Some of these were primitive shops, where people bartered with valuable items like buttons and thread, because clothes were always falling into disrepair. Rottifer pointed out such amenities as the shoe repairer and the medicine man, who apparently dealt in creams and other preparations that would relieve the symptoms of disease, although it was widely known they had no genuine effect.
The two incomers weren’t even listening, however, as they stared slack-jawed at the vast mound that dominated the middle of the square. What struck Wellesbury most of all was its whiteness, making a bizarre link with the world back home. It was off-white, of course, and many of the components of the pile were stained almost completely black... but even so.
Instinctively, both he and Ezmerelda reached for each other’s hand for comfort... then recoiled in instant embarrassment.
Rottifer gauged their reaction to the monument with evident enjoyment. “So, you want to know what this means then, do you?”
They nodded, trembling slightly.
“Well, it’s a way of keeping those who’ve gone here with us. There are just so many of them, more each day. We used to make gravestones, but there just isn’t the time or materials to keep up with the demand. It’s been like that for a long time. So now we cremate the bodies and keep one of the bone fragments - whatever is left. It could be part of the skull or just a little finger. And we add it to the pile, just wherever we can slot it in. The rest of the bones get crushed and carted away, out to a pit in the Wild – although that is rapidly becoming completely full up, so we’ll need to find another solution.”
Wellesbury was struggling to push past his initial horror, and sneaked a look at Ezmerelda’s reaction; that innocent look of wonder was filling her eyes again. It was kind of... beautiful, he had to admit.
“This is fascinating,” said Ezmerelda. “You know, in our world, we don’t even have dead bodies.”
“Really?” Rottifer rubbed the side of his face, looking utterly astonished. “So what happens when people die?”
“Well, it never happens until you’re like, really, really old. Your body just vanishes... vapourises. I suppose it’s the clean way of doing things. But this way seems better to me. More... respectful, I suppose?”
“Yeah,” said Wellesbury. “Our bodies will just pop out of existence. That’s pretty sad, when you think about it.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m really glad I came here. Even if nothing ever comes of it, it’s changed me and opened my eyes, and there’s nothing they can do about that.”
The sun was starting to go down on Fusterbury, causing a red glow to diffuse through the murky sky and casting a scarlet tinge to the giant heap of bones. To Wellesbury’s eyes, it was no longer horrific, but romantic.
“This is definitely a picture opportunity,” he said.
He took photos of the mound on its own, then ones of Ezmerelda standing next to Rottifer, both bearing big grins to reflect the monument’s status as a place of celebration rather than grieving.
Eventually he called out, “I think the light’s going now.”
“Come on, let’s get back,” said Rottifer. “There’s not a lot else to show you. Just lots more streets like mine.”
They followed their host obediently, and he went on, “You know, it’s a massive job maintaining that monument. A labour of love, really. If there’s a bad storm, or just a particularly strong wind, bones can easily become loose and get blown away. Sometimes it takes a long time to find them and put them back in the right place. But we can’t let anyone be forgotten. They’re up here, of course,” he tapped his head, “but having this physical reminder keeps them even closer to us.”
Wellesbury thought about what happened to the dead on his world. A quick church service, and then... oblivion, basically. No evidence that you were ever here at all. He was definitely coming round to Ezmerelda’s way of thinking. He liked this place better. As primitive, dirty, and dangerous as it was, it had soul. And people who actually cared about each other.
Chapter 10
Mallinger lay curled in a foetal position, on his lonely bed, in his lonely cell, far, far away from the people who cared about him. He’d not seen a human face since that boy had visited... a week ago? A month, a year? There was no possible way of marking the passing of time, which he had learnt to do as a young boy by tracking the movement of the sun. But there was no sun here. And no moon, no night, no day, no rain, no snow, sleet or wind. Nothing real. Just this dead, blank space.
Although he couldn’t mark time, he knew well enough that his spasms were getting progressively worse. He had been used to feeling like a knife was penetrating the lining of his stomach. Now it felt like a giant arm was trying to pull out his entire insides through his throat, and crushing them in its fist before doing so. The pain came every few minutes, or so it seemed, causing him to writhe jerkily on the bed. He could feel the outbreak of more sores on his face, and see them on his arms and legs. They were full and ripe, and oozed unspeakable substances to their own peculiar rhythm.
The boy had forgotten him, of course. Wellesbury. He’d hung on to the name regardless. It was all he had to cling onto in this blasted place.
He could no longer stomach the so-called food which came out of the machine on the wall. The first few times, he’d been violently sick, not getting to the sink in time, but the rules of this world meant the vomit had vanished before hitting the floor. The fake food didn’t agree with him. He yearned for a good, solid rat. He dreamed about them, on the rare occasions when he shook himself into a fitful sleep.
It must only have been days he’d been here. If he hadn’t eaten for years, he’d be dead. And this wasn’t heaven, no matter how clean it was.
*
Wellesbury and Ezmerelda wiped their mouths with the backs of their arms to remove the residue around their mouth left by the rat. It was the first real meal that either of them had had in their lives, and they were overcome by a feeling of satisfaction. Usually, food was just a means of recharging energy. It was never particularly enjoyable. But this was different. As Wellesbury chewed the meat, it released juices which coated his tongue and seemed to seep into his nervous system, making him feel more alive than he had before.
“Did you enjoy that?”
“I can’t be
gin to describe it,” said Ezmerelda, still chewing her final mouthful. She finished it, and burped loudly. “Oh my goodness! Pardon me.” She covered her face with her hand. But Rottifer dismissed the occurrence with a grin and a wave of his own hand.
She continued. “I don’t know, it was like... there was something alive in my mouth. I know it was dead, but still. It’s got me fired up, and ready to take anything on! And the texture... I’ve never known anything like it. It’ll be rubbish to go back to those boring synthesised meals now, eh?”
“I know,” said Wellesbury with a sigh, “but we’re going to have to. The longer we stay here, the harder it’ll be to leave. We have to get going.”
The boy who’d first led them here and his siblings were seated around the table, having finished their own, smaller portion. They were looking at the guests with round eyes, as if their praise of roasted rat was the most marvellous thing they’d ever seen.
Wellesbury got up first, then Ezmerelda pushed herself up from the roughly hewn table with her hands. Noticing a large splinter was sticking out of her palm, she pulled it out quickly and tossed it on the floor.
“Hey,” said the girl sitting next to her – one of those she had been playing dominoes with. Her expression had turned accusing. “You’re not bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” asked Ezmerelda. “What’s that, sweetie?”
“Err,” said the girl, looking like she’d been asked to explain breathing. She stuck a little finger in her left ear and wiggled it around, dislodging several large lumps of wax which tumbled to the ground. “Y’know... red stuff, that comes out of you. That’s blood. When you get hurt.”
“How interesting. Where exactly does it come out from?”