by Nick Wilford
“Umm, well... like through a hole, where you got cut. Like the one you’ve got from that splinter.” She grabbed Ezmerelda’s injured palm to show her, but gasped hoarsely upon seeing the skin was completely smooth.
“You must be magic!”
Ezmerelda chuckled. “Not quite. In our world, we can’t get hurt. We don’t... bleed, and we never get disease. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Well, guess what. It’s boring. If we could get rid of those things here too, but kept the nice people, then it’d be just perfect.”
“Make those things go away, then,” said the girl. The kids were getting down from the table, and she was now on the floor, rolling a ball that looked like it was made of compacted mud to her sister.
“It’s not as simple as that, darling,” said Ezmerelda, following Wellesbury, who was making his way to the exit along with their host. “I don’t know how. But there are people who do, and I’m going to get them to come here. Don’t worry. I won’t forget you!”
This last sentence was shouted through the door frame. Wellesbury, looking distracted, was already marching through the mud along the darkening street. But the children gave a big cheer upon hearing Ezmerelda’s final words.
There was a bit of that smoke stuff in the sky, but otherwise it was very clear. Even the stars looked more real than they did at home.
Rottifer was talking to Wellesbury in a low voice. She squelched through the quagmire to get alongside the two of them.
“When will you be back?” he asked.
“As soon as possible,” said Wellesbury. “But no idea when that will be. First we have to convince the government to come here and help you. Actually, the first thing is to help Mallinger. I’m sorry there’ll be other kids dying here in the meantime who I won’t get a chance to save, but Mallinger can’t die alone.
“I mean, they’re probably going to take us to the place I went before and try to erase the memory of here from our brains. But I won’t let them do that. They don’t have the technology for it yet. However long it takes, I won’t rest until I’ve done all I can to change the situation here, you can take my word on that.”
“Same goes for me,” said Ezmerelda. “I’d really love to come and live in this place if we get everything sorted out. There’s really nothing for me at home. I’d love to open a school here, and I could teach.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” said Wellesbury, catching Ezmerelda’s eye. “False promises, remember?”
“Sorry. You’re right.”
Wellesbury didn’t like speaking to her like that. She was so full of good ideas and intentions, which he admired her for hugely. They just had to be... controlled, and directed a little bit.
“And how are you getting back?” asked Rottifer.
“Same way we came,” said Wellesbury. “We just stand in the place we arrived, think about our home town, and we should end up back there.”
“I’m not looking forward to that bit,” groaned Ezmerelda.
He gave a small laugh. “To be honest, neither am I. But we have to.”
After taking a few more paces, he said, “I’m sure this was the spot.”
They said their goodbyes, and Rottifer stood watching them as they concentrated.
Getting back was a lot easier than going. Maybe because they were more naturally pulled towards the place they belonged, but this time there was no alarming time lag.
Wellesbury felt the rapid whooshing again and saw stars swimming in front of him. He staggered on his feet upon landing back at the main street in Whitopolis, and instinctively grabbed for Ezmerelda’s shoulder to steady himself. He quickly let go in embarrassment and looked up and down the familiar street, but there was no one who seemed to be paying enough attention to notice their mysterious appearance.
“That’s the kids who went missing!”
Spoke too soon. Oh, brother... Footsteps ran in their direction and a gathering mob crowded around them.
“Were you abducted to the Under-Region?”
“How did you escape?”
“What’s that stuff all over you? A demonic substance, no doubt. We should stand well back, people.”
Wellesbury glanced at his companion, who was smiling radiantly at everyone but remaining silent. For his own part, he really wanted to tell them about the place they’d seen, but these weren’t the people to tell. He had to get away. For the first time it occurred to him that he had no clue about how to speak to the government. They were good at making their presence known when they wanted a word with you, but the other way round? No chance. He didn’t even know what the Supreme Grand Ruler looked like. Anonymity was something highly prized.
“Can you speak to your dad about stuff?” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’ve got to be joking,” came the reply. “It’d be all the excuse he needed to have me committed for life. My parents can’t stand me. No, not him. But-”
A hovercar drew to a halt alongside the gathering crowd of people. Two white-suited young men got out and calmly elbowed their way through the hubbub.
“Wellesbury Noon and Ezmerelda Dontible?” one of them said in a sort of low drone.
They nodded tentatively.
“You’ll have to come with us, as we need to discuss what has happened to you. May we be the first to congratulate you on remaining in one piece.”
They allowed themselves to be bundled into the waiting car. It was inevitable this would happen, thought Wellesbury, as they sped away from the crowd, who were now jabbering among themselves. It was impossible that no one had seen them vanish. The hovercar had probably been cruising up and down the street, just waiting for them to make a reappearance.
“This is an extraordinarily fast vehicle,” said Ezmerelda. “Where are you taking us, gentlemen?”
There was no answer for a few seconds, and it seemed the question had landed upon deaf ears. These clearly weren’t the people they wanted to deal with, anyway. Then the one who wasn’t driving said: “A place of safety. Undoubtedly you have been through a terrible experience, and we need to ensure there is no permanent damage.”
Wellesbury spoke up before he could stop himself. “How do you know what we’ve experienced?”
Uh-oh. Impertinence to a government official was an offence punishable by severe discipline. He’d learnt that one in the early days of grade school.
He realised that he couldn’t care less.
The man had his head turned round and was giving him what was clearly meant to be a piercing stare, but his brown eyes seemed to have no depth to them. They reminded Wellesbury of the mud he’d so recently been wading through.
He had absolutely no fear of these men. Their ignorance, although it might be unintentional, made them ridiculous.
“I would watch that attitude, young man.” The official faced the road ahead again.
Wellesbury caught Ezmerelda’s eye and he grinned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must be the corrupting power of the demons.” At that, they were both almost overcome by fits of giggles, and she dug an elbow into his ribs, telling him to give it a rest. Funny, he’d been the one trying to keep her in line up until now. But Wellesbury was running out of time, and patience.
“Well, all that bad stuff is going to get flushed out of you, don’t worry.” That was the driver, and he spoke with an air of finality that seemed designed to put an end to all the nonsense. Ezmerelda rolled her eyes and looked out of the window, and the rest of the journey passed in silence.
Wellesbury knew exactly where they were going. He’d just come back from there two days before. The journey outside the city was far less interesting the second time. He kept glancing at Ezmerelda for her reaction. At first she just seemed bored, but then she started to fidget. Clearly the bravado was wearing off, and nerves were setting in. He felt the same himself.
They reached the collection of angular buildings, went through the signing in process, and were escorted to the “treatment rooms”. It soon became clear they were to b
e separated for the purposes of the interrogation.
“Can’t we be kept together?” he asked the official escorting him. “I want to see she’s treated fairly. She’s just an innocent party in all this – in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m the one the demons were after. I started being sucked in when I went to see the one being kept in prison.”
“Your gallantry will be well noted,” said the official with a smirk. “But rest assured your... friend will have nothing but the kindest possible treatment. Just like yourself, we only want to do everything we can to reverse the demons’ grip over her mind.”
“Alright.” When they had been led away separately, he and Ezmerelda had shared a look the meaning of which was crystal clear to him: when it mattered, they would tell the truth. No holding back.
He was sent to a washroom with a sonic shower and fresh clothes. After being returned to his previous spotless self, he was put into the same bare room as before, with the desk and two chairs. And again, there was the waiting, for however long it was. That wasn’t kind treatment. Was it going to be Examiner Tharl again? I’m not scared, he repeated internally again and again. I’m not scared. What was the worst they could possibly do to him? He couldn’t feel pain, after all.
Eventually, the door opened and a tall figure entered and sat down in the other chair, showing dainty consideration in all his movements. Wellesbury didn’t need to look at his face.
“So, here we are again.”
Wellesbury made no response, but turned his pad over in his pocket.
“It seems your last stay here did not produce the desired effect. Those demons still have a hold over you, allowing you to be sucked into the Under-Region. This time, taking your unfortunate friend with you. Your parents – and those of the young lady – have naturally been worried sick, but rest assured they have now been informed of your safe return.”
All this seemed to attack neurons in Wellesbury’s brain, causing him to lose control when he promised himself he’d stay calm. How was he going to make people listen? “Do you want me to tell you what it was like in the... Under-Region?”
Tharl held up his hands. “Please, don’t get worked up. It would not do to dwell on the matter. Your recovery is our chief concern here.”
“I don’t need to recover. The people in that place are not demons. Yes, they live surrounded by dirt and disease. But it’s not their fault. Children drop dead on a daily basis! The people were the warmest and most welcoming I’ve ever met. They just make the best with what they’ve got. We should be helping them, not condemning them!” He stopped himself just short of banging his fist on the table, and looked down, fearing that looking at Tharl’s impassive features would only make him more angry.
“You have obviously been taken in by their foul ploys. All play-acting, I imagine, in order to gain the confidence of your vulnerable young mind. It’s just as well we got to you when we did.”
Deja vu, thought Wellesbury. “You didn’t get to us. We came back by ourselves!” He dug his pad out and put it gingerly on the desk between them, half-expecting Tharl to instantly snatch and destroy it. “Please, will you have a look at everything I’ve got on here? There’s photos and films. I didn’t know how I was going to convince you, so I recorded as much as I could.”
Tharl picked the pad up, but didn’t even give it a cursory glance before putting it in his own pocket. “Excellent. That will go to our research teams, who are always looking into how the demons operate and their schemes to infiltrate us. I’m sure it will come in most useful.” He gave Wellesbury a wide smile, but it was like a rictus grin plastered across the lower half of his face, making no difference to his small, cold eyes.
The interview went on for another half hour, but it mostly consisted of Tharl lecturing Wellesbury on the history of Harmonia and the Under-Region. It seemed that during the Reforms, certain citizens were not deemed fit to live in the new utopia created by the self-appointed government, and were banished to another plane of reality, where they transformed into demons. Since then, they had been trying to look for ways to breach the border between the two worlds – latching onto young minds such as Wellesbury’s and Ezmerelda’s. There was no end to their trickery and deception, so it was only with the utmost vigilance by the Government that the Harmonians were kept safe.
Wellesbury listened in a state of cynicism and dejection. None of it rang true or chimed with the experiences he’d had in Fusterbury. For the most part he let Tharl drone on, but once he asked: “What about the children and all the rest who’ve died? The people there have a pile of bones to remember them. Surely demons can’t die.”
“An illusion. Did you actually see anyone die in front of you?”
“No, but I saw children on the verge of death, and coughing up substances from their stomachs.”
Tharl shook his head. “You have been fooled for sure. Demons are invincible, and never die, much to our chagrin. Those who appear to be children have been so for hundreds of years, ever since they were banished with their wicked parents. The pile of bones is a fake.”
“I don’t understand why you would banish children. Surely they can’t have done anything wrong.”
“My young friend, you must understand that the days of the Reforms were a very different time. We do not do things the same way now. Those suspected to have characters or habits not conducive to the smooth running of society are now sent here, to the Centre, for correction. But there was no such facility in those early days. The brave Reformers had to eradicate those who were keeping society in a state of corruption and decay. That was why the movement started in the first place. Now, the demons are insanely jealous of the standard of life we have here, and wish nothing more than to destroy it...”
Wellesbury drifted off. It was looking increasingly likely that he wasn’t going to be able to change things after all. Not when he was up against such an impenetrable construct as this. But something stubborn in him found the impulse to keep chipping away at Tharl.
“What about Mallinger? He’s dying. I know he is. If demons are invincible, does that mean you’ll keep him here forever?”
“He is still undergoing interrogation to discover what he and his kind are planning. We would rather not send him back to his own world to pass on the information he’s discovered here. We must find a way to destroy him.”
Wellesbury folded his arms and stared at the edge of the desk. “He’s not going to find anything out while he’s locked in a cell. And he’s no more demon than I am. He’s a boy.”
“Young man.” The hard edge to Tharl’s voice made Wellesbury look up, to see the old man’s eyes gleaming. “Clearly, we have much work to do with you. Please be aware that you will not be able to go back to your home and your friends until your mind is free of infection from this fiend. However long that takes.”
Friends... “How’s Ezmerelda getting on? I want to know how she’s reacting to the questioning.”
Tharl seemed to have calmed a bit. “That is no business of yours. Concern yourself only with your own recovery.”
A pause. Wellesbury had never been more aware of the silence of his world. He strained for any sort of background noise or hum – to show that this place really existed – but there was nothing. Fusterbury had been a riot of noises. Most of them far from pleasant, but at least they made the place feel alive.
“Look, I’m not an unkind man,” Tharl continued. Wellesbury wasn’t convinced. “You’ve been through a lot in the last few hours. More than most of us experience in over a hundred years. You should return to your quarters and rest for the night. Perhaps your mind will be clearer in the morning. Kitson!” he barked into a microphone on his desk. Wellesbury jumped at the outburst, but it turned out to be the name of the official who had brought him here.
After a few moments, Kitson – a thin-faced man in his fifties or sixties – entered the room. Tharl stood up. “Take this young man back to his room. I will resume questioning tomorrow; his mind is tired and disor
iented from being exposed to the Under-Region.” Kitson saluted, and Wellesbury stood up to follow him, feeling every inch the prisoner. He did feel unusually tired. More so than normal, but of course, he was always completely healthy. He totally appreciated that now.
When he got back to his room, he performed the usual ritual of using the vapouriser and brushing his teeth with the brand new sonic toothbrush that had been provided for him. He took off the clothes he had only put on about an hour before, to change into the nightclothes that were folded neatly on the bed, but as he bent to put the trousers on, he was gripped by something that seemed to be... searing his insides and moving them out of their proper place. He froze, and gasped weakly before collapsing to the floor on his side. For an unguessable length of time, he just lay there, waiting for the... pain to subside. Because that’s what it must be - he had contracted the disease that was plaguing Fusterbury, from one of the people he had met. Or maybe even from Mallinger, and it was just now showing itself.
It had never even crossed his mind that he could get... diseased. He’d never experienced a jolt of pain in his life. Not even a twinge. If the ball hit him on the head during gravball, he was aware of it, but it didn’t affect him, and he just carried on. Now he really appreciated what things were like here. He’d thought the same rules would apply to him, wherever he went.
Now how was he going to deal with this pain? Any attempt at movement caused the gripping sensation to bite back with a vengeance. People in Fusterbury weren’t affected by the episodes for this length of time. But then – of course – they were used to them.
Eventually he managed to drag himself across the floor until he was in a sitting position, his back to the edge of the bed. But actually climbing up onto it seemed more than he could deal with. He looked around for a way of contacting the guards to tell them what had happened. But there was no phone, no speaker, nothing. That was because there should never be anything wrong, and no reason to call for them.
His mind clouded. Tendrils of fog seemed to envelop his brain, like those he had seen drifting around in Fusterbury. He passed into a black sleep where he was sitting, and there were no dreams that he remembered.