A Week without Tuesday

by Angelica Banks

  She was about to press the button that would replace the world’s lid when she noticed a fisherman far out at sea being circled by a school of sharks. His boat was only a skiff and his sail was a patchwork of sacks. The man was very old. Should she remove the sharks? Or bring the fisherman back close to shore? She didn’t know, and before she could decide, two worlds above her head smashed into each other at high speed and a searing flash lit up the dark sky. She tore off the glasses and ran to the boathook and attempted to pull one of the worlds away from the other, but they were crushed together, stuck. She heaved and heaved on the boathook until at last she felt a shift. With all her strength she levered the worlds apart and they spun away, wobbling in a way that she thought looked extremely unsafe.

  Tuesday was shaking with the effort and with worry. What was she even doing here? Was she really helping, or simply making more of a mess of things? She thought of Baxterr, and tears sprang to her eyes. Where was he? And what was he going through? What kind of damage had the world of Vivienne Small suffered? Could whole worlds be destroyed, along with everyone inside them? Tears began to prick at her eyes. She realised that all the worlds in the sky were quivering.

  ‘Stop that!’ she shouted up to them. ‘You’re not allowed to do that!’

  Then she heard the sound of yet another world landing on the jetty. She watched a great orb of sand and swirling wind coming towards her, but it didn’t reduce in size. The automatic arm attempted to pick it up and squeeze it into the tube. Tuesday winced as she heard the world creak and the automatic arm groan.

  ‘Stop, stop!’ she cried. She raced to the long bench and tried to find a control panel, but there was none. Again, the storm world crashed into the side of the Conservatory, making everything shake.

  ‘This is bad,’ said Tuesday. She rushed to the Gardener and knelt beside his chair.

  ‘Mr Gardener, Mr Gardener. You have to wake up!’ she cried. ‘Things are going wrong.’

  The Gardener stirred and opened his eyes. The small rest appeared to have done him good.

  ‘Garnet. Did I tell you that? That’s my name. I haven’t thought of it in years. And you’re the new Gardener, eh? Congratulations! Wonderful life it is, wonderful!’

  He closed his eyes again.

  ‘Garnet!’ Tuesday said, shaking his shoulder. ‘You have to wake up!’

  ‘Oh! The work of the Gardener is to garden,’ he said. ‘To garden is a game of division and multiplication. Of fractal geometry and organic geology.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense,’ Tuesday said. ‘A world is stuck out there. It won’t fit in the chute.’

  ‘Ah, so the task is too big, is it, Ms Gardener?’ he asked, swinging his legs around and sitting up.

  ‘Tuesday,’ she said. ‘My name’s Tuesday.’

  ‘Time to leave all that behind, I’m afraid. Life is not meant to be travelled backwards.’

  ‘The world is too big,’ Tuesday said, rather impatiently.

  ‘All things that happen out there, are also happening in here,’ he said, patting his chest.

  ‘You’re still not making any sense,’ said Tuesday. ‘You have to come see.’

  ‘That I can do,’ said the Gardener, getting up out of his chair. ‘In fact, I feel better than I’ve felt in weeks. Months even.’

  And though he looked older, Tuesday noticed that he was more lucid. At the entrance to the Conservatory, he gazed at the storm world being banged against the chute, and gave her a sage smile.

  ‘You must understand that you are not too small,’ he said. ‘Nor is the challenge too big.’

  ‘The world won’t fit,’ said Tuesday. ‘You have to make it smaller.’

  ‘You have to make it smaller,’ he said.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ said Tuesday.

  ‘You’d be surprised how many times I said those words myself when I first arrived here,’ he said.

  ‘I’m only here to help you,’ said Tuesday. ‘I’m not here to take over. You know that, right? I mean, I’m not even a grown-up. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t know how.’

  ‘Doubt is always a bad idea,’ said Garnet. ‘It makes everything a bit …’

  Above them, worlds were spinning away.

  ‘Where are they going?’ Tuesday asked.

  ‘Who can say?’ he said. ‘But until you become more certain, they won’t come back. Which will cause all sorts of problems. Is your dog here yet?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Tuesday. ‘He doesn’t even know I’m alive. How would he ever find me here?’

  ‘I understand everything is uncertain. But you will learn certainty,’ he said. ‘Did you ever notice that the Librarian and the Library are connected? She knows every book that is being written at any moment. Every book that has ever been written. There is nothing she does not know about books. Writers are simply the sunshine and the rain that make books grow. In the same way, the Gardener must know every world. You aren’t expected to know it all straight away. Yet you will be surprised how soon you become acquainted. There’s a pattern to it all. Some days are maintenance days. Some days are for visiting other worlds. Some days are for finding a favourite lake and fishing. This whole universe is yours. Can you imagine the wonder of what you will see? Of whom you will meet?’

  Tuesday shook her head miserably. The storm world was banging against the side of the building again and this time several items fell from a nearby shelf with the impact.

  ‘In the meantime, Ms Gardener,’ Garnet said, ‘you need to focus.’

  ‘I can’t focus. There’s a world right there currently experiencing … what? A sandstorm?’

  ‘And possibly a black blizzard, a khamsin, a sirocco,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t do this. I ought to be home with my parents. I ought to …’ Tuesday took a deep breath and determined not to cry. ‘I need my dog.’

  ‘Of course. Where did you say you left him?’

  ‘In the City of Clocks.’

  ‘Ah, in the world of Vivienne Small. Excellent world. Truly elegant mountains. And those dogs! If that awful fellow Mothwood had his way they would have become slaves. But I have protected them.’

  ‘The Winged Dogs? Where?’

  ‘Oh, I hid them. Such beautiful creatures. My how they’ve flourished, too. Nothing so loyal as a Winged Dog. Of course, you know that. We’ll find your dog later, will we? When you’ve calmed down. Mustn’t go hauling in worlds when you’re in a state.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Hauling in worlds? What do you mean?’

  ‘Ah! You’ve been at work, I see,’ Garnet said, observing the world with the palm trees and the fisherman inside which Tuesday had been gardening. ‘Excellent, excellent.’

  He picked up a large magnifying glass and peered about.

  ‘Nicely done, nicely done. What did you think about the sharks?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘I thought about picking up the boat and bringing it in closer to the shore.’

  ‘That could have ruined a wonderful story,’ he said. ‘The writer wouldn’t thank you.’

  ‘I did save that house from a fire,’ Tuesday offered, pointing.

  ‘So you did.’ Garnet nodded. ‘Santiago, he’s the fisherman, would thank you if he knew. But he never will. Right-o, I think that one can go out again. Push that button there.’

  Tuesday touched the button Garnet indicated and the mechanical arm replaced the world’s lid and carried the globe to the exit chute, where it shot up and out and was soon back among the constellation of worlds above.

  Garnet said, ‘Do you think you might be ready for that world out there?’

  Tuesday thought the waiting storm looked a little smaller and more manageable.

  ‘You might even like to leave a little message.’

  ‘A message?’ Tuesday asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I leave a rainbow when I’m finished. Nobody but me knows what it’s about, but still, it’s my small way of letting everyone know that ever
ything is all right. You can never feel too worried when you see a rainbow, no matter what is happening.’

  ‘Happening?’ said Tuesday.

  ‘Well, you might see battles happening. You might see terrible tragedies that will touch your heart, or love stories. You might see vicious creatures and valiant heroines. These are worlds where the magnificence of imagination is alive and at work every day.’

  ‘They never see you?’

  ‘Not during routine maintenance. No, no. Everything stops. For everyone down there, time stands still. Ready?’

  Tuesday nodded, and the world of roiling wind and sand outside was suddenly in the chute and rolling around the room above them until it popped out onto a stand on the work table.

  Garnet handed her a very small vacuum cleaner and the special microscope glasses. Tuesday adjusted them, turned on the vacuum cleaner and, at a nod from Garnet, sucked up the dust storm to reveal the fields of bright yellow grass. To one side was a great city made of tents. Flags were flying. There were hundreds of horses. Beyond the city lay a desert of iridescent sand.

  ‘I always find, in this world, the grass needs trimming,’ Garnet said, handing Tuesday a tiny electric razor. She turned it on and proceeded to mow the yellow grasses.

  ‘Then remove those reeds that always try to clog up that river.’

  Tuesday did as he suggested.

  All this time, Garnet had not once looked into the world. He was standing leaning against the table, tiny and wizened, but his eyes were bright.

  ‘Next,’ he said, ‘you’ll need to replace a bit of sand. I like to add a few ripples and patterns.’ He handed Tuesday a vial of sand, and a pin that she used to create waves across the desert.

  ‘A little rain will help the wildflowers bloom,’ said Garnet handing Tuesday a miniature watering can.

  He then handed her a final spray can. ‘Try that,’ he said. ‘Up in the sky.’

  Tuesday sprayed and the most beautiful rainbow appeared. It gave her such a surprise that she stopped halfway.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Garnet. ‘It’s always difficult to get a perfect arc.’

  ‘This is fun, but you will be taking your job back soon, won’t you?’ asked Tuesday. ‘After all, you’re the one who knows everything.’

  Garnet smiled and carefully took the microscope glasses off Tuesday’s face. ‘Ms Gardener,’ he said.

  ‘Tuesday,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I was so worried when you arrived. I thought the Librarian had made a terrible mistake. I would never have allowed you to become the Gardener. You’re so young. I suspect you have books you want to write yourself. You haven’t yet fallen in love. I’m sure you have a family waiting for you. But you picked up the boathook before I had even had a moment to warn you. And you pulled those worlds apart as if you knew exactly what to do. The way you tidied up that world, and the one before it, it’s as if you’ve been doing it forever and I think Lucille was right.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She was the love of my life, you know.’

  Tuesday blushed.

  ‘She will always be the love of my life. She and North Wind, my dog.’

  Tuesday again thought of Baxterr. Looking up into the sky, she wondered how – even if she knew which world was Vivienne’s – she would bring him here.

  ‘Good point, good point,’ Garnet said, as if he had read her mind. ‘I’m beginning to run out of steam again, so I’d best show you the doors right away.’

  As they crossed the room, Tuesday noticed that the table, which had not so long ago been laid out with cake and teapots, was set for dinner. Tuesday smelled mushroom soup and possibly a lasagne.

  ‘Does it just arrive?’ Tuesday asked.

  ‘Three meals a day plus morning and afternoon tea. You’ll never starve.’

  ‘Who made this place?’ Tuesday said, suddenly in awe at everything she was discovering.

  ‘Well, a writer, I imagine,’ said the old Gardener, and he chuckled. ‘Whoever it was, they were thorough. There’s always hot water, good towels, clean linen. I do so like fresh sheets – don’t you? Take your hook.’

  Tuesday lifted the boathook.

  ‘And let’s grab that world … there. Yes, that nice small one. Can you see the loop?’

  Tuesday could. Effortlessly, she slid the hook into the loop on the side of a small world in which she could glimpse green and gold fields, the occasional farmhouse and barn.

  ‘Tow it down to the end,’ Garnet said, nodding to the opposite jetty.

  All of this was surprisingly easy, and the world latched on to the end of the jetty as if by magnetism.

  ‘Ready?’ Garnet said, his eyes twinkling. ‘This is my favourite part of gardening. You must never neglect this part of the work. Walk in the worlds, learn their geography, their atmosphere, their essence. Learn how things should be, speak to people on your travels. I never tire of this. Never.’

  The glass door onto the jetty opened automatically, and Tuesday followed Garnet to the waiting world. To her surprise, the world had a timber door. It appeared quite unremarkable but for a small brass plaque etched with a picture of a cobweb that had the word TERRIFIC woven into it. Tuesday’s eyes lit up.

  ‘We won’t stay long. Only a glimpse today,’ Garnet said. ‘Once I’m gone, you’ll have all the time in the world.’

  Tuesday hardly heard what he said, so eager was she to open the door. She blinked in wonder as she found herself in a barn. There was the smell of manure and the sound of a horse whinnying. There was a clean, chubby pig in a stall and Tuesday thought she saw a rat’s tail flicker beneath the feed trough. Garnet pointed to one corner of a large open doorway, where a spider rested in the middle of a beautiful web.

  ‘Is it … really?’ said Tuesday, amazed.

  ‘It is.’ Garnet nodded. ‘Never forget to close the door behind you, will you?’

  Tuesday glanced back at the door they had come through, and it appeared a very ordinary barn door.

  ‘What would happen if someone from this world went through that door?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, they’d end up out in the pen with the geese,’ Garnet said.

  Tuesday breathed it all in.

  ‘I feel as if I already know this world,’ Tuesday sighed. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘This is a key world, Ms Gardener. The first time a writer creates a whole new idea, a key world is made. And it becomes like a sun in a solar system. When writers come along and are inspired by that world, their worlds are then like planets circling the sun. No less important, but related …’

  ‘Is Vivienne Small’s world a key world?’ Tuesday asked.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Come, come. Let’s be getting home.’

  ‘My home is a long, long way from here,’ said Tuesday with a pang.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Garnet said. ‘It’s through here.’ And he led Tuesday back out of the barn and onto the jetty. At the glass door he pulled a lever and she watched the world spin away and fly back up into the constellations above. Returning to the open-roofed Conservatory, she noticed that Garnet had lost the spring in his step and begun once again to stoop.

  ‘Keep on, won’t you? While I sleep,’ Garnet said.

  He settled onto the couch, closed his eyes, and then half opened them. His body was so fragile that Tuesday worried he might never get up again.

  ‘The last thing you need to know,’ he said, ‘is that you must not be distracted or diverted. No matter who you meet, or what you do out there, you hold all this together until such time as a new Gardener comes. The boathook is yours, and yours alone, until someone comes with a willingness to wield it in your stead. Until then, you must keep on. Or all of this will end.’

  He put his feet up very slowly, and closed his eyes. Without opening them again, he said, ‘Why don’t you have a little rest, too? Hmm? Because it’s always night doesn’t mean it isn’t night.’

  Sleep. Tuesday felt as if she’d already slept for
days. So she sprawled instead on the blue rug in the centre of the room and stared up into the dazzling, swirling firmament above the Conservatory.

  So many worlds, so many lives. Watching the worlds spiral and spin, Tuesday realised that any book she could think of would have a world, and any world she could think of, she could visit. The thought of it made her mind stretch with possibility. Then she began to think of all the things that she would never do if she stayed to be the Gardener.

  She would no longer go to school, or sleep in her bed at Brown Street. She would no longer make up stories on her baby blue typewriter, nor fly out windows on silvery thread. Worse than that, she would no longer curl up in bed reading books with Serendipity, and she would never again eat one of Denis’s blueberry pancakes. And how would anyone ever find her here? Who else might ever come to take this job from her? She understood it was a vital job. A job that meant books stayed alive forever. She too might live here forever. In the midst of all these story worlds. And never go home. The thought of that made her heart ache so badly that she cried.

  Chapter Twenty–one

  ‘Doggo,’ she whispered. ‘I would feel so much better if you were here.’

  Above her, two large worlds passed right over her head, grinding and grumbling as they scraped at each other’s sides. From further away there were the sounds of collisions and explosions. Flashes of yellow, green and red burst like fireworks inside distant worlds. The sudden brightness speared into the Conservatory, where the lights that illuminated the workbenches and jetties had dimmed down as if they knew Garnet wanted to sleep.

  Tuesday looked up at the sky and worried. It was supposed to be the Gardener’s job to tend to the worlds, to keep them calm and separate. But things were still going wrong, and the task of making everything go right felt immense and impossible. She thought of the world of Vivienne Small, and hoped with all her heart that Baxterr and Vivienne were all right.