It didn’t look easy. ‘Well, I owe you more thanks, I think, my lady. Those children were taking me back to their Mother.’ I can’t believe I just said that.
Raxx nodded. ‘Perhaps they would have. Or perhaps they would have changed their minds, and done something else with you. The Duet are a capricious pair.’
‘One thing they are not, though, is children,’ said Sanndro. He scratched his stubble. ‘There are few older than them.’
‘They are Operators, like our one,’ said Canning. ‘And Shirkra. And Mother. They’re all the same.’
‘Yes, they are all one powerful, fucked-up family of merciless immortals,’ Raxx said.
‘But you can fight them.’
The three foreigners went silent, and exchanged glances.
‘In a way,’ said the girl. ‘We have retained skills that were developed long ago, at the beginning of the war. We need them, where we are from.’
‘Where the war never ended,’ said Arlan. ‘The Remnants.’
‘The Duet have tormented us now for ten millennia,’ said Raxx. ‘We’ve never seen them come up here, though. The way used to be barred to all of us. We hoped we could capture them, you see – take them back to our land, where we’re good at holding creatures like them. But I couldn’t do it. I put them in a powerful memory, but I could feel it failing. They are too strong. We have to get away before they find us. We won’t have surprise on our side any more.’
Raxx sighed, and rubbed her forehead. ‘They must have sensed it – the machine, that’s what you call it, isn’t it? We know about the machine. Jandell made it long ago, and now it’s broken. That’s attracting them all like rats to grain.’
‘Not the machine,’ Canning whispered. He glanced into the shadows, half-expecting a Watcher to leap out upon him. ‘The Machinery.’
‘Whatever you call it, whatever happened took them here, and away from us.’ Raxx grinned. ‘Maybe we should have left them to it.’
‘You shouldn’t have tried to hold them in a memory, Manipulator,’ said Sanndro. ‘You could have hurt them badly, given them a little blast. You could have done more.’
Raxx jabbed a finger at him. ‘Don’t fucking try and tell me about Manipulating Autocrats, Sanndro. They’ve grown more powerful up here. I can feel it. We were lucky to get out of there alive.’ She sighed. ‘I apologise, my brother.’ She placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I am exhausted.’
Sanndro smiled, and took her hand.
‘We will leave this place, and return to the Remnants,’ Raxx said. ‘The Arch Manipulator will know what to do.’ She pointed at Canning. ‘You’ll have to come with us. OK?’
Canning chuckled. ‘Nothing could persuade me to stay here.’
She nodded. ‘Then we go into the south and the east.’
‘What is in the south-east, my lady?’
She gave him a quizzical look. ‘Our ship, of course. You don’t think we crossed the Wite on foot, do you?’
Arlan and Raxx gathered their things and turned away into the darkness. Sanndro appeared at Canning’s side.
‘You’ve not been on a ship before, have you, Overlander?’
Canning shook his head.
‘They’re bumpy things. Those with a weak constitution get sick easily.’
Sanndro laughed, and began to walk after his companions. Canning watched them for a moment in perfect misery.
Everything about me is weak.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Your people call it the Old Place, then?’
Alexander Paprissi asked a lot of questions.
‘Yes,’ Drayn replied. ‘What else would we call it?’
‘We used to call it the Underland, where I come from. Though I suppose that’s only because we lived in the Overland, and the Underland was below our feet. Or so we thought. I’m not sure where it is any more, truth be told.’
They were in a tunnel. There was only the palest of lights, coming from some unseen source. As they walked, Drayn thought of Cranwyl. Would she find him here? Or had he been taken to some other part of the Old Place, for the Voice to assess him alone? Of course he has, you idiot. You forced your way down here for nothing.
At long last they came to a stop. Alexander took her by the hand, and they ducked under an archway in the rock. Drayn fully expected another cave to open up before her, as damp and dreary as everything else she had seen in the Old Place. But her expectations were misguided.
They were in a garden, elegant and well-tended. Neat lines of blue and yellow flowers stood in rows upon the grass. There was no wind in this place, not even a breeze, so the flowers were eerily still. The sun was large in the sky, bigger by far than Drayn had ever seen it: a perfectly circular yellow ball that cast a sickly sweet light across the world.
In the centre of the garden was a courtyard, formed of silver tiles. Two wooden chairs sat on either side of a small iron table, upon which was a glass jug of an amber liquid and two ceramic mugs. There was food here, too: bowls of sausages, and chunks of fried bread.
‘What is this place?’ Drayn asked. ‘How can this exist in a cave?’
Alexander grinned, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘This is the Old Place. Things are different here.’ He gestured at the sun in its cloudless sky. ‘Have you ever seen a place and a day like this on your island?’
‘No. There are hardly ever days like this on the Habitation, and there are no places like this.’
‘That’s a pity. I remember places like this in the Overland. But this is too perfect. And you can see the joins, if you look carefully. It’s a memory, from another time, and memories are never just right, not even in the Underland.’
He pointed away from the courtyard, to the far distance, beyond fields of bright green grass. Drayn saw that the edges of the horizon were black and frazzled, throwing dark sparks into the sky.
‘This is a strange place, Alexander.’
‘Oh yes.’
The boy indicated to the chairs. They sat down opposite one another, and he filled their cups with the amber liquid. Drayn found she was suddenly thirsty. She drank deeply, and felt something warm bloom in the pit of her belly. Hunger followed, and she tore into the sausages and the bread.
‘So your people really don’t call this the Underland, then?’ the boy asked.
‘No. You’ve already asked me that. Many times.’
‘Hmm. And so you don’t call your home the Overland?’
‘My home is the Habitation.’
The thought of home sent a pang through Drayn.
‘The Habitation,’ said Alexander. ‘That’s a strange name. But then, so is the Overland.’
Drayn leaned back in her chair.
‘So, Alexander. Let me ask you some questions. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘You say you’re from this Overland. So you’re not from the Old Place?’
‘Correct.’
‘But you seem quite relaxed down here.’ She gestured at the unreal grass.
‘Yes. It has taken me over, I am afraid. I’m not sure if I’m a boy, now, or just the memory of a boy. I don’t think I could return, even if I wanted to.’
Drayn nodded. ‘What took you here?’
‘The Operator took me here. He is a brother to your Autocrat, or as close to a brother as those creatures get. He’s the one that’s now on your Habitation.’
‘Why did he do that?’
Alexander gave a gentle smile. ‘That’s a long story, and a sad one, too.’
Drayn nodded.
‘Tell me about the Choosing,’ she said.
‘I don’t know much about it.’
That figures. My one ally is clueless.
‘But,’ Alexander continued, ‘I am sure I can help you.’
‘Help me?’
He leapt to his feet. ‘Help you get Chosen, of course! That’s the only way out! And like I said – I know the Voice! I reckon you’ll probably be presented with a puzzle or two, things of that nature. Well, I’ll help!’
He pounded his chest. ‘I’m great at puzzles.’
‘But you don’t know? You don’t really know anything about the Choosing?’
Alexander squinted. ‘Well, not exactly. But if worst comes to worst, it’s probably better to have me at your side than not, hmm? Keep you company? Hmm?’
Drayn nodded. That seems fair. ‘Where do we begin?’
Alexander looked up at the strange sky. ‘We are being watched, even now, by the Voice, though I don’t think the Choosing has begun. Not properly, anyway.’
‘You don’t think it’s begun? That’s reassuring.’
The boy smiled.
‘Well, I’m no expert. But you can trust me.’
Something in Drayn’s gut told her this was true. ‘I don’t think I’m meant to be here,’ she said, standing up.
‘What do you mean? Of course you are. The hands wouldn’t have taken you otherwise.’
‘I … a friend of mine was taken. I asked to go, too, so I could follow him. I begged the Voice, and the hands. But I don’t think it was a good idea. I don’t think I’ll find him in this place.’
Alexander shrugged. ‘Who knows? You may find him, you may not. Perhaps you will be Chosen! And then you might even be able to save him before they throw him into the sea.’
Drayn felt suffocated. ‘But I wouldn’t be me then, would I? I’d be the Voice. I wouldn’t care about Cranwyl at all.’
Alexander chuckled. ‘Maybe a part of you would survive. Who knows? Why else would they want a host, if they didn’t love the person that was there in the first place? But you shouldn’t care about anyone else any more anyway. Not down here. Because no one cares about you.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Except me. Perhaps.’
‘Perhaps?’
‘Perhaps.’
The sound of conversation came from across the fields of grass, muffled words just barely audible. Two men came into view; they seemed to leap forward in jolts, as if the land was shifting under their feet. They were quite different, these men, though they both looked older than the Autocrat himself. One was a tall character in a bedraggled suit, sporting a mop of unruly hair, while the other was a short, fat, round man. He reminded Drayn of a boulder she had seen once, on the edge of the Higher Third.
They approached, smiling broadly at Alexander.
‘So!’ cried the tall one. ‘There he is. The Operator’s friend. I haven’t seen you in a while.’
‘But we have met your sister, haven’t we?’ asked the shorter one. ‘Yes, I’m sure we have.’
‘You have, gentlemen, you have. But that part of the story is over now.’ He walked to the men, and whispered something in their ears.
The tall man whistled through his teeth. ‘Fancy that! The Strategist! An amazing development! You must be so proud of her. Still, we have seen a lot over the years, down here. I imagine this will all pass, too.’
‘Yes indeed,’ said the fat one. ‘It will all pass, and we will return to our old stools, and we’ll have a good drink.’
The two men laughed together, before the taller man turned his gaze on Drayn.
‘And is this another sister of yours, then?’
Alexander shook his head. ‘No, sir. This is Drayn, a child of the Habitation. She is taking part in the Choosing.’
‘Oh!’ said the tall one. ‘That’s a shame. Well, my girl, if we’re to be the last creatures you ever meet, then you should know our names. I am Sharper, and my companion here is Sprig.’
‘Are you Autocrats, like Squatstout?’ Drayn asked.
The old men seemed surprised.
‘Autocrats? Back to that, then? I thought it was Operators now.’ Sharper sighed. He reached into the back pockets of his suit and removed a flask, from which he sipped. ‘Let’s have a drink.’
Sprig took the bottle from his friend, and took a deep draught.
‘There is one thing that’s bothering me,’ Sprig said when he had finished. ‘Why are we here?’
Alexander grinned. ‘We need your help. In the Choosing.’
‘Help?’ Sprig cocked his head to the side, and gave the boy a quizzical look. ‘What help is there to give? She is being assessed as we speak, the mortal. It doesn’t matter where she is, here or there or everywhere. The Voice may be imprisoned, but it watches all.’
‘But you can help, can’t you? You know this place better than anyone. Tell us what she can do to impress the Voice.’
‘Nothing,’ said Sharper, in a serious tone. ‘The Voice sees all. It can’t be tricked or influenced.’
‘No,’ said Sprig. ‘But she seems a nice girl.’ He gestured at Drayn, then turned to Sharper. ‘My friend, we do know some things about the Voice. We know the type of things it hates.’
He turned to Alexander.
‘You are going with her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then listen carefully. If she’s trying to lie, and you can sense it, you have to stop her. It won’t make much difference, in the end, but it’s best that she doesn’t anger the Voice. Sometimes it doesn’t let them go, the Unchosen that anger it. Sometimes it keeps them here, and it hurts them.’
‘I don’t have anything to worry about, because I don’t lie,’ lied Drayn.
‘No, well. Be that as it may,’ said Sprig, ‘most people don’t mean to lie. But memories are memories, and sometimes people look at their own memories with liar’s eyes and untruthful hearts, even if they don’t mean to. The Voice hates that type of thing.’
The sky flickered, for a moment; the sun seemed to blink. They all looked up at it, the boy, the girl, and the two old men. Drayn felt a wave of coldness run through her.
‘What’s all this talk of memories?’ She hoped her own voice was firm, but she knew that it was not.
Sprig and Sharper exchanged glances. ‘That is what the Voice looks at, of course,’ said Sharper.
‘It digs inside you for them,’ said Sprig.
The girl swallowed. For the briefest of moments, images of the past flashed before her mind’s eye, things she had buried long ago. She pushed them away, back where they belonged.
‘We have to go now,’ said Sharper.
‘We are needed, on our stools,’ said Sprig.
‘Wait!’ Drayn cried. ‘Have you seen a man down here? His name is Cranwyl! He’s older than me, but he’s not very old, and he’s good, he’s so good!’
But it was too late. The old men had turned their backs on Drayn and Alexander, and were on their way.
The sun began to sink, quicker than it should have, falling away beyond the horizon. When it disappeared, the courtyard vanished with it, and Drayn was somewhere else.
**
She was standing outside the house, on the Higher Third. The house she had grown up in. Thonn House.
She felt her breath catch in her throat. She turned, searching. Alexander was there, staring at the old building with wide eyes.
‘So, we’re in your memories!’ he cried, glancing up at the sky. ‘How much fun is this? It’s like playing with new toys!’
Drayn turned back to the house. It stood alone, which was a rare thing in their cluttered land. It was built of a grey stone, and its roof was black and broken. The door was red, and it hung open.
Drayn knew when this was. The memory would not be suppressed. She had not been here for a long, long time.
‘Do you like this? Walking through an old memory?’ Alexander, and his damned questions. ‘It must be nice, no? I wonder if it’s just the same as you remember.’
‘I try not to remember,’ Drayn said, in a quiet voice. ‘I am an expert at forgetting. I take memories, and I bury them.’
‘Why would you do such a thing? Memories are art, Drayn.’
‘Not all art is good, Alexander.’ She sighed. ‘Do I have to go inside?’
Alexander looked to the sky. It was night, and the stars were cool and crisp. ‘Oh yes, Drayn. The Voice is watching you. The Voice is testing you.’ The boy inclined his head slightly. ‘Let’s go in.’
/> Drayn walked to the door. She had not lied to Alexander. She had learned how to do it, over the years. She had hidden away more memories than … well, than she could remember. Life hadn’t always been crawling through corridors with Cranwyl. Oh, no. Not at all.
But perhaps memories couldn’t be destroyed, no matter how hard you tried. She entered the house, and she remembered everything.
**
‘The House of Thonn is built on shadows. It has lived on shadows for ten millennia. But the thing about shadows is they wilt before the light, no matter how big they are. Do you follow me?’
The speaker was Uncle Simeon. He was a strange-looking man. He seemed old, at first glance, his face a yellow patchwork of wrinkles, but his head was crowned with the most luscious outcrop of youthful black hair. Cranwyl said Simeon had won the hair in a duel with a market magician. But Cranwyl said a lot of things.
Drayn’s father was sitting on the same sofa as Simeon, while Mother was perched on a wooden chair. She had not changed over the years.
‘What do you mean by that, Simeon?’ Mother asked.
Father was not a blood member of the House of Thonn; he had gained his entry through marrying Mother. But still, Dad and Simeon looked strangely alike. Dad was much younger in appearance, but he had the same black hair, and the same clever-clever eyes. Mother always said that part of the reason she loved Dad was because he reminded her of Simeon. Drayn had found that a bit strange.
‘I live on the Higher Third, like you,’ Simeon said. He had a slithery kind of voice. ‘I sit at the Autocrat’s side, when he wants my advice, and all the people of the island look upon me as a lord. But they’re wrong, aren’t they, my sister and brother? I am not a lord.’ He jabbed a finger at Dad. ‘Teron is the lord. He has brought his blood into our House, and he has taken our name, and he calls himself a lord, all because he has married Lyna.’ He gestured at Mother.
Drayn and Alexander were standing at the back of the hall, between the doorway and the fireplace. She felt a tug on her sleeve, and turned to her companion.
‘If this is your memory,’ Alexander said, ‘then where are you?’
Drayn nodded upwards, to the top of a flight of stairs. There, barely visible behind the bannister, sat a young girl, with wide brown eyes and long brown hair.
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