A Tangle of Gold

by Jaclyn Moriarty

‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘The PR Department insists Cellian Royals maintain the traditional Cellian appearance. It helps to preserve the myth of superior Royal blood.’

  ‘Well, that’s just weird,’ Elliot said. ‘Anyhow, Cello’s just about all mixed-race these days, so who’d care if the Royals were too?’

  He frowned, his thoughts circling. Then the circles thudded up against a truth.

  ‘But you Hostiles kill people,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t compare.’

  ‘Sometimes, this killing, it must be done,’ Chime said.

  ‘Well,’ said Elliot, ‘you’ve lost me there.’

  Chime curled her legs beneath her, so the bed trembled. ‘Cello’s Security Forces have slaughtered thousands of Hostiles, without trial. All of us here have lost friends and family in this way! They hunt us down and torture us! They lock us up for so much as breathing anti-Royalist ideas!’

  ‘Okay,’ Elliot said. ‘But at least those guys are taking down people who threaten the Kingdom. You Hostiles blow up cars with babies in them. You shoot children on vacation with their families.’

  ‘There are many different branches of Hostiles, many style of Wandering Hostile. Do you not think that the media might portray only the worst? And our mistakes? That they might be making us into monsters?’

  ‘But you are monsters sometimes, right?’

  She lay back down again.

  ‘I’m a Nature Strip girl,’ she said. ‘And isn’t it the truth that we tear the bellies from living creatures and eat them to cure illness? We break apart the youngest Colours and use these to make protective clothing—to protect ourselves, to protect you from Colour attacks.’

  ‘Not me so much,’ Elliot pointed out.

  From his chair, Ming-Sun chuckled. They both turned to him, surprised. He rarely made a sound.

  Ming-Sun’s smile faded as he narrowed his eyes at Elliot.

  ‘You’d better go,’ he told Chime. ‘He’s about to have another attack.’

  ‘I will return,’ Chime said.

  Elliot glanced at her and a remote thought flared at him—today he’d forgotten to pretend—and then he was tearing off his mask again, this time shouting, ‘I’ve had enough now, make it stop, I’ve had enough,’ while Ming-Sun asked his regular questions and gave his regular admonitions to stay still.

  4

  The attacks came so regularly over the next thirty-six hours that Chime couldn’t visit at all. Elliot was learning that the more precisely he answered Ming-Sun’s questions, the better the magic worked. ‘It’s like stains that I can’t get out of my bloodstream,’ he said, ‘and my bones are rusting.’ ‘It’s deep blue with edges of red.’ ‘My body is a forest and they’re splitting me up into kindling.’ ‘It sounds like an angry man laughing.’ ‘I’m a sheet of pastry and they’re cutting out circles with sharp-edged knives.’

  Each time he spoke, Ming-Sun’s hands would braid the air. Each time, the pain would slow and subside.

  By the end of those thirty-six hours, Elliot felt more battered and exhausted than ever in his life, but he also felt that something was different. The ceiling light seemed brighter. The air seemed calmer.

  Ming-Sun dragged his chair close to the bed.

  ‘Elliot,’ he said. ‘That is the attack that should have killed you. It did not. Against all odds, I believe you may be winning. The poison is leaving you. Attacks will recur but, in time, I believe they will stop altogether.’

  Now Ming-Sun fixed his eyes on the wall beyond Elliot’s shoulder. ‘I will tell nobody this news but you,’ he said. ‘I will report that the attacks continue. I will change your bandages tomorrow, and take out your stitches, but I will report that your wounds show signs of continued infection. I will tell them that you are in false recovery, that you can move about but that, in fact, you only have weeks left to live.’

  Elliot stared at the man’s face. He could hear his own heart thudding like animals running on dirt.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ Ming-Sun continued, now so close that Elliot could smell his breath, ‘you should continue your charade with Chime. It is a good plan. Yes, do not look startled, I see your plan. I believe you will convince her of your conversion. She feels remorse towards you, and affection. Thus, she wants to believe in you. In a few days, ask her to take you to the Cat Walk. She loves it. She will want to show you, and redeem herself a little by sharing its joy. She will trust you not to run. In any case, she will reason, you are to die soon so what does it matter. Once at the Cat Walk, you can run. Now sleep.’

  This last he said in a sudden bark.

  Elliot flinched.

  ‘Sleep,’ Ming-Sun repeated, more politely.

  At once, Elliot closed his eyes. He felt himself fall towards profound rest. Then he opened his eyes and turned to Ming-Sun. ‘Why are you helping me?’

  Ming-Sun shrugged. ‘I’m a deftball fan,’ he said.

  5

  Everything happened as Ming-Sun had predicted.

  Elliot felt better. He was well enough to get up for a few hours each day, and to work in the kitchen, although he was not allowed to move around the compound otherwise. He always returned to his infirmary room, where Ming-Sun waited in his straight-back chair.

  In the kitchen, Elliot and Chime continued their discussions. She taught him about political systems and inter-kingdom relations. Sometimes he was weirdly elated to be learning, as if his brain had been crying out for it, but sometimes it got boring and he zoned out. Chime didn’t seem to notice. She kept right on talking, chopping, frying, grating, talking.

  The attacks stopped altogether. Ming-Sun said there could be one or two more, but that otherwise he was cured. He suggested Elliot shout and thrash about now and then in his room. The compound was accustomed to hearing this, Ming-Sun explained, so it would seem suspicious if it ceased. This was about the most humiliating thing Elliot had ever done, he thought. ‘Louder,’ Ming-Sun would whisper, and once Elliot whispered back, appalled, ‘Surely, I didn’t make as much noise as this?’

  ‘More.’ Ming-Sun shrugged. ‘The pain is extraordinary. There is no shame in screaming when we hurt.’

  Still.

  Strangely, Elliot began to feel a sort of wide sash against his chest, only this wasn’t physical. It was emotional, he realised, a mix of anger and sadness. Sure, he had plenty to be sad and mad about: he was trapped, his life was in danger, his friend had betrayed him and taken him out to be slaughtered (she’d helped him in the end, but it still wasn’t all that friendly a thing to do). But this ‘sash’ feeling seemed bigger than all that. In fact, it seemed to have swallowed those facts and now it just sat there like a part of him. It was a new tone or atmosphere he carried around, that wasn’t hinged to anything particular. He didn’t like it.

  *

  ‘The first time we spoke of this,’ Chime said one day, ‘you said that the Royals of the past are not those of today. You are right. But what truth can you know? With their marketing games? Shall I tell you some truths?’

  ‘Sure,’ Elliot agreed.

  ‘King Cetus is arrogant, lazy and self-important. His preference would always be to party, rather than making difficult decisions. He achieves little, merely pretends to do so. The Queen also, she enjoys parties. Once and she expressed an interest in finances. Thus, with neither experience nor training, she was after the overseeing of the Kingdom’s economy! The Commissioner of Finance cannot breathe a breath nor take a step without that she is giving her permission.’

  Elliot was slicing runner beans. He rolled these back and forth beneath his palms.

  ‘The younger Princess,’ Chime went on, ‘Princess Jupiter, she has inherited her father’s wildness. His penchant and all, for the alcohol and the drugs.’

  ‘Well, that I know,’ Elliot said. ‘Everyone knows that Princess Jupiter was out of control. But is that such a big deal?’

  ‘Do you know that her escapades have cost the Kingdom thousands—tens of thousands—in cover-ups, in payments for the
damage she has done? Yes and I can tell you, and I can tell you sure that her recklessness has cost lives. She once went to a gangster party in the Swamps of the Golden Coast; guards were compelled to follow. They were taken by a hovering Hideum. Do you know that Princess Ko, meanwhile, inherited her father’s laziness? Sure and she spends her days in the lolling about in hammocks and the riding of horses.’

  Elliot straightened. ‘Princess Ko,’ he said, ‘is a lot of things, but she’s not lazy. I knew her. Remember?’

  ‘She was lazy,’ Chime retorted, ‘before her family disappeared. And then what happened? She took control of the Kingdom like a child with a new toy. Recall how she treated you? We know little of what happened on the R.Y.A., but we know this. She sent her best friend Sergio, untrained, on a dangerous mission to the W.S.U. She bullied Samuel into using Olde Quainte magic which was effectively a death sentence. She blackmailed Keira with the threat of her mother’s execution, and she risked Keira’s sight. She blackmailed you with threats to report you to the W.S.U. for contact with the World. Then she forced you to continue that contact and, in the end,

  sacrificed you to the W.S.U. anyway!’

  ‘You know little of what happened?’ Elliot said. ‘Sounds like you know everything.’

  ‘We had a spy amongst you, recall?’

  Elliot had lost that memory somewhere behind the Colour attack. It returned now, weighing down the sash across his chest. He resumed chopping, but slowly.

  ‘Can you tell me who it was now?’

  Chime shook her head. ‘This, I do not know. But consider how Princess Ko treated you. And consider how she treated her Kingdom! Why did she not inform us that her family had disappeared?’

  ‘She thought it would cause chaos,’ Elliot said. ‘Seriously, she was trying to do the right thing. She thought Aldhibah would attack. She was tough but she was trying to save the Kingdom. She does not deserve to be executed.’ The knife sped up.

  Chime placed her hand on his to stop the movement.

  ‘Do you not think,’ she said, ‘that it was security’s job to rescue her family, not a group of young people that Princess Ko chose on a whim? And that the Elite run things anyway, and so would have assumed control, as they have now? This, and should it not have occurred to Princess Ko that the Kingdom runs itself without her family at its helm?’

  Elliot seemed to be frowning a lot today. ‘But if it does,’ he said, ‘if it runs itself, and the Elite are actually in control—who cares about the Royals? Isn’t it sort of ideal?’

  ‘And so,’ said Chime, voice rising, ‘we have the corrupt and powerful of Jagged Edge, rubbing their hands like cartoon villains, making shady deals with Dark Quarters of Tek and Ganglords of G.C., gathering treasure while the Royals prance about as their puppets and, oh yes, isn’t that ideal?’

  Elliot watched her. She was shaking, which he found oddly moving. He wanted to hold her and calm her.

  ‘You got any more of that Vermillion candy?’ he asked, remembering.

  There were only two left.

  ‘These last days,’ she admitted, ‘have been stressful . . . the sound of your screaming through the walls . . .’

  Elliot sighed. His screaming again. It might not technically be shameful, but here he was, ashamed.

  They sat down, feet up on the counters and were silent for a while.

  ‘What about the registration system?’ Elliot said eventually.

  Chime sucked on the candy. Eventually she spoke: ‘What about it?’

  They smiled at each other.

  ‘Well, it’s always made sense to me,’ Elliot said. ‘If a town doesn’t like the Royals, they register as Hostile and then they’re exempt from Royal rule. That way, people who like Royals get to keep the Royal Family, and people who don’t, rule themselves. Why don’t Wandering Hostiles just settle down in a registered town and stop blowing things up?’

  There was another languid silence.

  ‘When you say that Registered Hostiles can rule themselves,’ Chime said, ‘you forget that all who live in Cello are Royal subjects. If you leave the borders of your town, you are subject to Royal rule. Also, the Royals control education, transport, foreign policy, the law. Every judge on every court was appointed by royalty. Every major decision affecting the Kingdom requires the Royal Stamp.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Elliot. He sighed, content, studying the candy stick.

  ‘The Royals have authority over everything, except the W.S.U.,’ Chime continued. ‘And they do not like it when towns register. Discrimination begins. Major highways and railroads bypass those towns. Public funding ignores them, even in times of catastrophe. Not a single student from a Registered Hostile town has ever been awarded a King’s Scholarship. This, and thus of late, towns declare themselves Randomly Hostile. They paint an H encircled with daggers. By this, they say they oppose both the Royals and the registration system. But the Crown simply treats them as registered, so it achieves no end, except that it says something of the mood of the Kingdom. Do you know of this new trend?’

  Elliot said he’d heard something about it.

  ‘You’ve always heard something about it, Elliot,’ Chime said. ‘Only, you’ve never listened.’ They both laughed.

  There was a longer silence. The calm filled it completely. The sash of anger and sadness slithered from Elliot’s chest.

  He saw that it was time. Over the last couple of days, he’d been calculating just how and when to ask, the right voice, the reasons he should offer, persuasive arguments, but now, with the calm, he simply asked.

  ‘Can you take me to see the Cat Walk some time?’

  She narrowed her eyes, smiled and said, ‘The Cat Walk? Of course. Let’s go tonight.’

  6

  They did go that night.

  Something was happening in the compound. Doors were closing, strangers arriving. Voices were rapid and raised. Footsteps hurried up and down the corridors.

  Chime went to investigate. When she returned, Elliot was stirring soup.

  ‘What’s the story?’ he asked.

  Chime drew her thin shoulders up, but it seemed more a squirm of pleasure than a shrug. ‘The Director is free,’ she said.

  ‘The Director? You mean Keira’s mother? Mischka?’

  ‘Keira’s mother, yes. The Elite have assumed control over the penal system. She must have made a deal with them. They have set her free.’

  Elliot studied this news. It sat before him quietly. Mischka was free.

  ‘Will she be coming here to this compound?’ he asked.

  This question stood, rather than sat, before him.

  ‘Yes, she will return, but I cannot know when,’ Chime said. ‘Let us truly go to the Cat Walk tonight. They are all so distracted, it is perfect.’ She looked at the soup. ‘I will bring out the evening meal and then we can slip away. Will Ming-Sun wonder where you are?’

  ‘I’ll tell him I’m working late in the kitchen.’ Elliot kept his gaze steady.

  She caught the gaze. ‘You will return with me from the Cat Walk?’ she said lightly. ‘You know they will probably kill me if I let you escape?’

  ‘I won’t run,’ Elliot agreed.

  *

  This time, she found protective gear for both of them: helmets, jackets, pants. Elliot looked at these without comment, but he felt himself shaking as he dressed.

  There was nobody around. The exit door opened. They moved through the cavern of sleeping Greys, and Elliot focused on Chime ahead of him, ignoring the clusters and pods that hung from the ceiling and in mounds along the walls. He felt the Vermillion candy stepping up against his fear: surges of calm, a panic of calm.

  Then they were outside.

  It was night. There’d been plenty of darkness down in the compound, but this night-darkness was so immense and generous it was almost humorous. He’d completely forgotten the stars and the moon, and now they seemed like part of the joke. The air was so light, he felt it couldn’t hold him.

  Chime was already
running, flashlight swinging, and he followed, stumbling along. His legs seemed downright amazed to be moving in this way. It was typical Nature Strip terrain, rough and swampy, roots to trip them, thick forest either side of the track, mountains rearing up against a rich, dark sky. He ran and smiled at the space of it all, and the movement, and the cold against his face, and he felt a terror of happiness.

  Ahead of him, Chime’s shoulderblades moved in her shirt. He thought about stopping her, and holding her, all the fire and bones and energy of her, and he thought of the flats of her hands making music, and he watched the muscles moving in her arms.

  It was only a ten-minute jog to the Cat Walk and Elliot almost crumpled when they reached it. Chime caught him and stood him up again.

  ‘This, and I am forgetting you have been so ill,’ she said, then her eyes drifted away from him.

  The Cat Walk ran between two high ridges, a rutted path as wide as a country road, pale and glowing in the moonlight. The Walk was empty now, the air cool and still. A few people were already sitting along the ridge, dark shadows wrapped in blankets. They glanced up at Elliot and Chime, eyes curious, then turned away. A small crowd had also gathered on the opposite ridge. Elliot watched as a man set up a camera and tripod. A couple of women held clipboards and binoculars.

  It was quiet. The Tea-Wild Redbirds swooped and called, and the Curling Black Sombles chittered in trees. Chime led Elliot away from the other tourists and around a curve. She laid out a rug. ‘Here come the first ones already,’ she murmured. Elliot squinted.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Chime said softly. ‘They’ll come right by us.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ Elliot watched the distant blurs grow and sharpen.

  ‘No.’ Chime reconsidered. ‘Unless they are disturbed by sudden noise.’

  The figures moved into a middle distance, more shapes appearing behind them.

  ‘Why do they do it?’ Elliot asked.

  ‘None knows,’ she said. ‘Those women with their clipboards? There are always scientists, researchers, doctoral students. Some say this is a mating ritual, or a selection of leaders. Others argue the clay here has qualities that sharpen claws—but nothing is conclusive. Simply, there is a gathering of cats, from all over the Kingdom, every night at this time. Some cats come frequently, some rarely, but all come at least once. This, it has always been.’