Black & White

by Nick Wilford

  *

  Wellesbury woke with his back aching. That was also a completely new sensation. His head felt clearer, though, and he began to contemplate what this disease could mean for him.

  They would have to help him, even if they wouldn’t help Mallinger. He was a citizen here, and his death would cause an uproar. And what about Ezmerelda? Had she contracted it too? He decided to try asking permission to visit her room.

  Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, but he still felt that odd spinning sensation, and when he walked, things inside him seemed to groan in protest. He used the vapouriser – thinking of the equivalent system in Fusterbury – and sterilised his hands. The food dispenser pinged to announce breakfast, but he just left it. He couldn’t face food.

  The guard – Kitson, or someone else – would come soon to escort him to Tharl’s presence for today’s session. He sat himself on the edge of the bed and tried to think of what he would say to the old coot, without having him deflect it and claim it was part of the demon’s plan.

  Chapter 11

  “A disease, you say?” Tharl’s glittering eyes looked at Wellesbury from behind the barricade of his desk.

  “Yes. The same one that Mallinger – my friend Mallinger – is suffering from. It’s getting passed around in his city like a gravball. I’ve already told you this. I never thought I could pick it up, but last night I couldn’t move for hours while it... attacked me, basically. As someone who’s never experienced pain before, I wasn’t very well prepared.”

  Tharl shook his head. “This is worse than we thought. They seek to weaken us. But their plan will not work. Our turbo immune system means you shouldn’t be able to transmit it to anyone while you’re in this country. Clearly in the Under-Region, your defences were down.”

  Wellesbury blinked and tried to concentrate, although he could feel another attack coming on. “So hang on. You admit the disease is real? But last night you said it was all a ploy by the demons. Aagh,” he grimaced, and clutched at his side for a few seconds. Tharl’s face remained still and emotionless. “So how are you going to treat me? There’s no one here who can do that, is there? And what about my friend, is she alright?”

  “I’m unaware of her status. My subject is you. You should not distract yourself with thoughts of her condition.”

  “Tharl, have you ever had a friend in your life?” It came out before he could stop it. He shivered when he saw that gleam igniting again in Tharl’s eyes, but he wasn’t sorry.

  “You will pay for that impertinence!” The examiner looked about to come round the desk and deal with Wellesbury at close quarters, but he remained sitting.

  “How exactly? I’ll be dead in a week if you don’t do anything. Is that payment enough?”

  Tharl closed his eyes and rubbed the tips of his fingers along his closely-shaven scalp.

  “Return to your room! I will relay the situation to the Supreme Grand Ruler to seek advice.”

  That was hardly a reassurance, but in a way it sounded good. If news of his condition spread to the highest level of government, they would have to deal with it; they’d be too paranoid about it leaking out. Another thought struck him, and he was glibly unsurprised by how long it had taken to occur to him. “What about my parents? Do they know about it?”

  Tharl’s eyes dropped, as if he was somehow embarrassed. “We do not wish to spread any fear and alarm.”

  Wellesbury found it hard to summon up any feelings for his parents, even in his current crisis. But he wasn’t going to let Tharl know that. “Is that a no, then?” he said, raising his voice and wincing as a needle of pain stabbed at his side. “You weren’t even going to let my parents know? Worried everyone else is going to find out about the disease, or maybe that demons aren’t real?”

  “Don’t raise your voice to me!” snapped the examiner. “You have no idea of the measures of discipline I could subject you to.”

  “Think I care? I’m going to die.”

  “Kitson!” barked Tharl into his desk microphone, before sighing and leaning back. He looked at Wellesbury as if he’d trodden in the sewage river in the street at Fusterbury.

  And so Wellesbury found himself back in his cell, with nothing but increasingly frequent pain spasms and food he couldn’t eat for company.

  *

  Lord Histender sat at the head of the gleaming rectangular table and looked again at the notes on the screen in front of him. He tutted as he did so. Things should never have been allowed to get this far, and someone was going to pay.

  “Are we ready to begin, gentlemen?”

  There was a chorus of subservient “Yes, your Lordship”s from around the table. The emergency summit meeting included the Chief Scientist and three of his underlings, Dontible and two more advisers, and Examiner Tharl. Histender didn’t see the point of involving more than he needed to. After the incompetence of the scientists and the prison guards, who could he really trust? Maybe it wasn’t incompetence – maybe they were plotting to bring him down.

  The scientists didn’t have the look of evil geniuses, though. Although sterling breakthroughs had been made by their predecessors, Histender was damned if he was going to call this lot geniuses, and he derived a certain pleasure from seeing them squirm in their seats. They’d been dragged away from whatever incomprehensible activities they’d been up to at a moment’s notice, with threats of dire consequences if they didn’t comply. Histender imagined this would probably include things like having their research grants taken away.

  Dontible and the other advisers were completely straight-faced. He was pleased to see it. That sort of composure was what had got them to where they were today.

  “Now, you’re all aware of the condition of our young subject, Wellesbury Noon,” began Histender. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  The Chief Scientist cleared his throat, his complexion almost matching the room around him. “It’s a very delicate issue, your Lordship. We don’t know how long he’ll last with the disease. It could be a week. Maybe even less. What we need is time to reacquaint ourselves with the technology used to create human perfection...” His hands groped at the air, as if he was trying to grasp his own thoughts. “We take it so much for granted these days, and no one predicted that a scenario like this would come up. All the elements and molecules that comprise dirt and disease were... redirected to the other world, and since then we’ve had a clean separation. This crisis is entirely unprecedented.”

  “I don’t care,” said Histender. “It was you that allowed that weakness to open up – that portal. And letting innocent citizens travel through it willy-nilly, not to mention one of those people getting here and sullying our perfection! That boy Wellesbury must be cured and returned to his family. The creature from the other place will die, and – if he’s kind enough to obey the rules we’ve created – vapourise. And that will be the end of the matter.”

  “There may be a more straightforward solution,” said Gennikin, one of the advisers. He cut an intimidating picture of neatness even by Whitopolis standards, sitting bolt upright, with his jet-black side-parted hair so perfectly lacquered it looked to have been painted on.

  “Let’s hear it,” said Histender, smiling. Gennikin always produced good results.

  “We can simply... sweep Wellesbury under the carpet, as it were. Pretend he was recaptured by the demons, with no chance of escape. And that will be a cautionary tale for the populace.”

  “You’re saying...” Histender’s eyebrows drew themselves together. “Just let him die?”

  The silence seemed to press in heavily, but Gennikin quickly carried on. “It would save an awful lot of hassle. Apart from the matter of curing him, there is the strong possibility that he will continue to assert the existence of Fusterbury. This boy has already proved to be a problem. Rather than use more resources in the event of further disciplining in the future, why not resolve this right now?”

  Histender shifted in his seat and leaned forward. �
�We’re talking about one of my subjects. I don’t think I can sanction this.”

  “What about my daughter?” asked Dontible.

  “What about her?” said Gennikin.

  “Are you going to use the same solution for her?” Dontible turned to look at his colleague with an impassive expression, but Gennikin gave only a quick glance in return.

  “Well,” he laughed, “she hasn’t contracted the disease, as far as we are aware.”

  “I suppose that’s rather inconvenient for you, isn’t it?”

  “Gentlemen,” said Histender, spreading his hands in front of him. “I do not wish this meeting to dissolve into petty squabbles. Well, perhaps petty is the wrong word –” Dontible’s face looked like it had been carved in stone – “after all, we’re talking about life and death here. But let’s please keep things civil. Dontible, rest assured that no harm will come to your daughter. You’re capable of keeping her in line, aren’t you?”

  “The girl is headstrong. She rarely spends her free time with us.”

  Histender cracked his knuckles. “Well, you see to it that she breathes not a word to anyone. Apart from to say that she had a lucky escape from being trapped in the Under-Region. That would terrify anyone, it’s only natural she would talk about it. But nothing about what she seems to truly believe. Your daughter has excellent credentials. That can be swiftly changed, and she will only be able to work at the lowest level. You yourself would face the strongest disciplinary measures. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, your Lordship.” Dontible’s head was bowed now, his eyes glazed.

  “Capital! Well, it seems our way forward is clear. After all, what is one citizen’s life measured against the continued stability and success of our society? Chief Scientist, what is the progress with the portal?”

  “We are still working on it, your Lordship,” said the scientist quickly. “From what we gather, the portal normally exists in a dormant state, and only opens up when someone focuses on and believes in their destination. It’s unlikely anyone else from this side will try it, but now the inhabitants of our counterpart world have talked to our two young subjects, it is possible more of them will try to make the journey.”

  “Work faster,” barked Histender. “The last thing we want is any more of those loathsome creatures causing a nuisance.”

  The Chief Scientist nodded several times, as if his head was being yanked up and down by a string.

  “What about the questioning of Master Noon?” said Tharl. “Must that continue, now his fate has been sealed?”

  “It would seem odd otherwise,” said Gennikin. “By all means give him the impression that a cure is being worked on. If he is to die, he must not know it - he would only try to cause further trouble.”

  Tharl gave a low snigger.

  “Are there any more questions?” asked Histender.

  None were forthcoming, although Dontible looked like a man who had been given a death sentence of his own.

  “Then this meeting is adjourned.”

  Chapter 12

  Two rooms. Only one was designated as a cell, though really there was very little difference. Both featured almost identical Spartan furnishings of a bed and small table, a food dispenser and waste vapouriser. And both contained a young man with nothing to do except die a slow, agonising death. The two looked remarkably similar – both had brown hair and blue eyes, and their features matched closely – except the one in the prison cell had sunken cheekbones and a gaunt, wasted appearance. Although the one who sat in the room at the Treatment Centre was heading that way. Treatment Centre – ironically named, for the only treatment carried out there was intended to make the guests think in a certain way. It wasn’t equipped for anything else, certainly not to save the life of a young man from a ravaging, life-sucking disease.

  Ezmerelda Dontible sat in another, identical room at the Centre. The main emotion she felt was anger, with boredom giving it a good run for its money. When she was alone, she vacillated between the two in a hollow sort of way. When she was being questioned by the female Examiner – or rather, lectured on the despicable ploys of the Under-Demons, and hadn’t she had a lucky escape? – the anger came to the surface as barely contained bile.

  But they wouldn’t change the memory she had of Fusterbury or her belief in the goodness of its inhabitants, even if they kept her locked up for the rest of her life.

  She had vaguely hoped that her father would want to see her, but when there was no sign of him, it didn’t come as a great surprise. What would it achieve, anyway? It would just confirm what she suspected – that her father saw her as a liability, a flighty nuisance with ideas that didn’t fit in this world. It was out of the question that he would back her, or take at all seriously what she had to say.

  Ezmerelda lay back on the bed and sighed, with nothing to wait for but the next meaningless round of questioning. She practically jumped out of her skin when the door slid open and she saw him standing there. She didn’t have a means of telling the time, but she’d only just come back from the Examiner’s room.

  She sat up on the bed and managed to manoeuvre her mouth into a smile. However, her father didn’t return it, and barely looked at her as he sat down in the hard chair.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Hello,” he said. Despite being separated from each other for a time, the atmosphere was just as stilted as ever. No emotional reunion here.

  “How’s Mother getting on?” she asked, for the sake of something to say.

  “She’s fine. It’s good to see that you’re doing fine as well. Very good,” he said, but the emphasis on “very” sounded overly forced.

  “Um, yeah. I’m great. Apart from being stuck in here, that is. I need to get back to my studies! Look, I’ve learnt my lesson, I put myself in terrible danger, I had a narrow escape from being trapped in that horrible Under-Region. I’ve already had all that from the Examiner, so if you’re here to lecture me, I’ve heard it. And... I’m sorry,” she said, softening her tone.

  Her father gave her a good look for the first time since entering the room. More than anything, he looked annoyed at having to deal with her. No warmth in his eyes, but that was par for the course.

  “I know you’re sorry,” he said. “But you don’t know everything that’s going on. Have you heard anything about that... friend of yours, since you got back?”

  “Welles? Nothing. I’ve tried asking the Examiner, but she says it’s none of my business. Can you tell me anything?”

  “Normally I wouldn’t, and I’d ensure you had nothing more to do with him, as this boy seems to be an extremely bad influence. But I want to emphasise just how lucky you are. You see, Master Wellesbury has been infected by the demons... badly. With what’s called a disease.” He seemed to be gloating, as if he was playing his trump card. “You don’t know about them, but it means his body has been attacked by something evil, and he’s going to die in the next few days, rather than the old age you and I will.”

  “Father, I know all about disease,” she interrupted. “I talked to the people of Fusterbury, remember? They’re all infected.”

  “Don’t butt in!” he shouted. “And you know Fusterbury is a fake construct. A ruse by the demons to gain your trust and sympathy. You’ve been informed of all this by the Examiner.”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry.” She tried an ingratiating smile, although she knew it would have no effect. “I’m saying that a lot, aren’t I?”

  “Probably for the rest of your life.” Dontible folded his arms, and tipped his head back, regarding her down the length of his nose. “I’m here to tell you that you will not utter a word to anyone about what you saw – or think you saw – in the Under-Region. People will know about it, as an item will be broadcast on the government feed to serve as a warning. If anyone asks, just say it’s too horrific to speak about. You can manage that, can’t you?”

  She nodded solemnly – the meek, obedient daughter. Father knows best.

  �
��Good. Because if you say otherwise, you’ll be destined for Level One Citizenship when you leave school. You’ll only be able to get a job as a secretary.”

  That was pretty much the lowest of the low in a world where manual labour was non-existent.

  “And no marriage. No child. Failure to continue our family line will bring disgrace to us. Do you understand?”

  She kept nodding, but her eyes were down now, sick of the sight of him. Message received. Could he just go?

  As if reading her thoughts – although they were still working on that technology – he rose soundlessly and started to move towards the door.

  “Father, when will I get out of here?”

  He stopped, but kept his eyes on the door. “When the Examiner deems you are ready.”

  “I think I am.”

  He sighed loudly and turned. “That’s not up to you. Or me.” He leaned in closer, and she met his cold gaze. “What I want you to do with your time here is think about what happens when you let yourself be led astray. Focus on your studies and your credentials, Ezmerelda, and you’ll go very far. You’re a smart girl. Don’t let this sorry mess ruin your future.”

  He turned away from her and left the room almost before she realised it.

  Well, fat chance of convincing him, then.

  Although she’d expected this treatment from him, she couldn’t help feeling dejected. More so than ever, as if he’d visited just to hammer home the feeling.

  You’re a smart girl... That was the nicest thing he had ever said to her, without a doubt, but it didn’t help. He probably wouldn’t care less if she was the one dying.

  Wellesbury... why did this have to happen to him? She’d been feeling so resentful of her father that she hadn’t totally taken in what he said. Now it started to sink in, like poison trickling down into her stomach. Were they going to help him? It didn’t sound like it. No way they would do anything for Mallinger, then.