The Worm That Wasn't

by Mike Maddox

  "I thought you liked your job."

  "I do. I - ow!"

  "Sorry."

  "I just want to do more with my life than be a Gardener." Leah caught her mother's expression, suddenly sharp, in the mirror across the room. "Of course, there's nothing wrong with being a Gardener."

  "It was good enough for your father."

  "And it's a good enough job for me, I know that. If it weren't for the Gardens, then the Sages would have nothing to work with. Without us, without the Chemists, we'd be defenceless. I know all this." Leah sighed. "We are part of the same army, we all are needed; all parts work together." she said in a dull, flat voice, reciting the credo learned by all children at school.

  "All parts work together," chorused Saran, finishing her hair. "There." She stepped back, smiling.

  "What?" Leah said, over the top of her goblet.

  "Just admiring my handiwork."

  "Really?" Leah said, glancing in the mirror over the fireplace. "My hair looks the same as always."

  "I wasn't talking about your hair."

  Leah jumped to her feet and gave Saran a hug. "Love you," she said, her mouth full of seed bread again.

  "And I love you. But you need to start acting like an adult, Leah. I know you're clever, they know you're clever, but if you're not there on time what does it matter!"

  Blowing her mother a kiss, Leah ran to the door, remembering to pick up her data phial from the dish on the dresser. Pulling the door to the cottage closed behind her she stepped lightly out onto the street and into a whole new day. Which would probably be exactly like yesterday unless she managed to get through the exams which were waiting for her.

  Sliding the phial into her wrist-port she felt the sudden data rush, as updates from work, her friends, the usual threats and rumours of war, flickered across her eyes, before settling down into her core memory.

  She shook her head, shivering. Her good mood, all of one hour old, paused, spun around and fled as the news sank in. Another death in the village, the third in as many weeks. The same as before, the same sickness. The Sages in the Castle were supposed to be working on a cure, but as yet there was none to be found. For the past two weeks, the illness had been the talk of every inn, schoolyard and workplace. Allesh was a small country and bad news travelled fast.

  This was why her work was important. Without the raw materials provided by the Garden, the Sages would have nothing to work with. Lacking the tools to do the job the Mage employed them for, the illness might spread unchecked. Her mother was right. It was time to grow up

  Although the world of Inan was technically in a state of peace, the fallout from five centuries of conflict was still ongoing, with many newly created republics and kingdoms still flexing their muscles in relation to each other. Allesh was one such country, nestled in the western corner of the continent of Bethel. It had a large port, which served as a commercial hub for traders between Bethel and Varn, the huge land far across the seas to the south. It was mostly farmland, and home to a generally peaceful people, glad to see the back of the war, and generally hopeful for what the future might hold.

  The sound of stamping feet and hooves broke her thoughts as rapidly as the bad news had but a second before. Leah stood to one side of the narrow cobbled street as, around the corner, the unmistakable sight of the militia came tramping into view, the clanking of their brown armour echoing off the walls.

  "Make way! Make way for the militia! Official business," called the herald, riding alongside Captain Krillan at the head of the column. The militia, local men all, winked and smiled at their friends and neighbours as they made their way towards the market square. These were not professional soldiers but volunteers, farmers, builders; ordinary people helping out in difficult times.

  Krillan was from The Castle, sent to lead the militia only last year. He had made it abundantly clear that he felt the job beneath him, and this was reflected not only in his manners, but in outward expressions such as his uniform. Although the same colour as the earthy brown all militiamen wore, his was the shape and cut of a front line cavalry officer. He was not, it was fair to say, greatly liked. And, as Leah knew only too well, this didn't seem to bother him greatly.

  Krillan sat bolt upright on his horse, neither noticing nor acknowledging those beneath him. His gaze was, or so he thought, distant and noble. His eyes, or so he thought, were set on far better things. This was, or so Leah had decided long ago, because his head was stuck firmly up his arse.

  Leading the militia would never be enough for Krillan, thought Leah. Even if his men won a war single handed, his face would still burn with the shame of being asked to lead peasants instead of regular soldiers.

  As the troop passed by, the data phial in Leah's wrist suddenly burned with a scratching sensation. Many people with skin as sensitive as hers occasionally suffered a reaction to the implant. She snatched her hand up to her face, rubbing the soreness with her fingers.

  Krillan's horse, face-to-face with her, took fright and sidestepped, causing him to lurch in the saddle. Krillan glared at her. To Leah it was as if he was furious that he had to even soil his gaze with the lower classes.

  The troop came to an abrupt halt behind him, men bumping into each other clumsily.

  Leah looked up at the officer, suddenly afraid to be held by such a steady gaze.

  "Madam, you seem distressed. May we assist you?" Krillan's words were politeness personified but hissed with such arrogance, such venom.

  "My wrist implant. It burned me."

  "Most unfortunate. You may wish to have it seen to." Krillan's eyes were already on the horizon again. "Good morning."

  With a shout from the Herald, the militia set off once more down the narrow cobbled street. A few raised their eyebrows at Leah as they passed, tutting and shaking their heads in amusement.

  "Sorry!" called Leah after them. A smile slowly dawning across her face. "Mind you, I thought a war horse would be made of sterner stuff myself," she smirked. "Scared by girls. What's it going to do if it has to fight a battle?" She looked up at the Castle. "A real one."

  The Castle overshadowed everything. Not just the village but, figuratively and politically speaking, all the land immediately to the east and south. The neighbouring country of Prash-Romaria had been Allesh's ally in the Great War. Like Allesh, they were formerly part of Greater Bethel, and subject to will of the Mage Ramus-Bey. But the two had drifted apart along cultural and religious lines in the recent past. Once the war had ended, their differences seemed suddenly larger than the things that had once held them in common. Although they lacked the magical firepower of a Mage, the Prash-Romarians had enough skilled wizards to keep their borders safe. Bethel tolerated these smaller breakaway countries, as long as they kept themselves to themselves, and as long as they were satisfied that the Alleshi Mage Pillian was content to lose himself in his books rather than play empire builder.

  It would be an understatement to call Pillian's Castle 'big'. It was, in all fairness, enormous. The walls were aquamarine, lit from within by shifting lights that seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere. No flags or pennants flew over the towers, but there was a constant heat haze, a blurring of the air not from fire or furnace, but from thought and magic and something else; something very like madness. It was at once both beautiful and terrible. Leah had known it her whole her life, and like everyone else in the village, she wavered between never noticing it at all and being constantly struck in awe at the enormous majesty of it.

  The Castle was not 'real' in any meaningful sense. It was there, it existed, but it was something so complicated, so wonderful that it went beyond mere reality. As Leah stood, lost in wonder, her gaze was drawn to a Thought Ship heading south. Thought Ships were one of the Alleshi's more recent creations. Built of the same translucent fabric as the Castle, they differed from the Holoships found in other parts of Inan, in that they did not require a trained magic user to operate them, and they did not vanish when not in use. Rather they were
a halfway point between a purely magical Holo Ship and a conventional aircraft.

  "Good morning." The old lady in the market stall smiled at Leah.

  "Good morning," said Leah, lowering her gaze from the Thought Ship, by now drifting over the rooftops.

  "Raisin bread or sunflower?"

  "Sunflower. Please."

  "There you go, ducks." The old woman's eyes flicked up, following Leah's gaze. "Those Thought Ships, you never get used to them, do you?"

  "No," smiled Leah back at her. "Not if I live to be ninety."

  "Me too, ducks. Of course I'll find out sooner than you will."

  "I daresay."

  "Anything else?"

  "What's it like, I wonder?"

  "Being ninety? Pain in the arse mostly. Your teeth give out, your knees give in and your bladder gains a mind of its own just as you start to lose yours. Never trust a fart over forty, that's my advice."

  Leah looked shocked. "No. Sorry. I meant what it must be like to fly."

  A frown slid across the old woman's face.

  "Oh! Sorry ducks, sorry." She went back to her stall, arranging her cakes and bread rolls. "I'm sure that's a pain in the arse too. Most things are, I've found."

  Leah tucked the sweet roll into her shoulder bag, rustling the greaseproof paper with her books and notepads.

  She glanced up at the sky again but the Thought Ship had gone.

  Her father had flown in one once. During the last war, her father had -

  Her father.

  For the second time today his memory had caught her unawares. She shifted the strap on her bag -his bag - and set off towards the Gardens.

  As she reached Rendolph's house she slowed her step and tapped on the window. She had known Rendolph since childhood. Despite him being quite the laziest young man in the world, he was as faithful a friend as you could hope for.

  An upstairs window opened. It was Rendolph's mother, Glora. "He's not in, lovey," said Glora, shaking the dust from a small rug.

  Leah looked up, smiling. "He's gone in early? The age of miracles is still upon us, Glora."

  Glora rolled her eyes, despairingly. "The age of miracles has well and truly passed! He never came home last night. Out with Gim again. The two of them are probably asleep in some ditch somewhere. We can only hope a cow covers them in bottom juice and teaches them a lesson."

  Reaching work, the guard on sentry duty raised his hand in greeting as Leah made her way towards the Garden gate. The mushrooms rose up like a forest, towering over the high stone wall, their colours gently glowing and pulsating, augmented by the quasi-magical technology the genesmiths had endowed them with in centuries past.

  "Good morning guard," called Leah, quickening her pace as she realised the time. "Funny weather today."

  "Nothing funny about it Miss. Have you not got the news yet?"

  "Another death," said Leah. "Third this month. You'd think we had enough on our plates, wouldn't you?"

  "You'd best make your way in quickly, Miss. It wouldn't do for you to hear it from me."

  "Hear what?" His eyes lowered, looking away. "Guard, what's happened? Is it someone here? Has someone in the Garden caught the sickness?"

  The guard coughed into his hand, his awkwardness visible.

  "Tell me, what's wrong!"

  A voice called from inside the gate: "Leah! Leah Carleaf?"

  As Leah turned to see to whom the voice belonged, the guard took his chances and retreated to his sentry box, turning up the volume of his earpiece as he did so.

  Leah held her palms to the gate, which obligingly swung open, the liquid crystal eyes of the wrought iron Pixies blinking with electronic delight as they recognised a friend.

  A man was making his way towards her, his face expressionless, although his eyes were black with worry. He wore an army uniform. Not the dark ochre of the militia, but a light blue, the colour of the Castle guard. A sword hung loosely at his side. An officer, Leah noticed.

  "You're late."

  Leah blushed, suddenly cross with herself for doing so. "Oh only just. Besides, I was in well after hours three times last week, and anyway I'm owed loads of time in lieu from last month." She paused, wondering why she was explaining herself to a complete stranger. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

  "Captain Rilston, first tier Castle Guard."

  "We are honoured, captain. If I'd have realised that my timekeeping was of such importance then I'd have got up extra early."

  "If you had then you could would be dead now."

  "... dead? Being early is a capital offence these days?"

  Rilston's expression stopped Leah's smile in its tracks.

  "You had better come with me."

  She looked up to see more soldiers in the Garden, their blue uniforms standing out among the seedpods and herbs that grew in the soft womb-like twilight beneath the mushroom's massive spans. Not militia. Castle men again. And then, more remarkable still, she noticed here and there amongst them the bright daisy-yellow armour of Chemical Warriors, military pharmacists under the command of the Sages themselves.

  They were searching for something, prodding at bushes with their swords, peering into greenhouses with the faces of men who expect to come under fire at any moment. Twitchy, concentrated, worried.

  Leah also realised, with a shudder, that several of the Castle guards were wearing gas masks. One was quite used to seeing old war footage of men in masks, their black armour stained with mud, but it was another thing entirely to see Castle guards dressed for battle. There was something undignified and faintly tragic in seeing them forage in the bushes in their spotless blue ceremonial uniforms; their bright chrome bayonets reflecting back what little light there was in the murk of the Garden. And yet, despite everything, these were men who had sworn to defend the Mage with their own blood. Even so, what could make them grovel in the dirt looking for -?

  For what? The thought hit her like a slap in the face.

  "What's happened? The news said there had been another death, but why the need for soldiers? Captain, where are all the Gardeners?"

  Rilston ran his hand though his hair, pushing his lanky fringe in an unexpectedly boyish way as he brought the scroll of parchment from his satchel.

  "Leah Carleaf. Gardener 1st class, apprentice to Chief Gardener Lizall."

  "Goodness. Aren't I Miss Popular today?"

  "Come with me, please."

  Leah fell in behind the captain, following him as he made his way past the searching men to one of the yellow-clad Chemical Warriors. Like the Captain, the Chemical Warrior wore the uniform of an officer, but unlike him, his was without badges of rank.

  "I've found her. She was late for work," said Rilston.

  The Chemical Warrior looked up at Leah. Like all Chemical Warriors, his pupils were dilated, his eyes red, his gaze distant. He had pale skin.

  "Excellent. We feared you were all gone." His voice was slow and sleepy.

  "Gone? I don't follow you."

  The yellow clad Chemical Warrior drew himself up to his full height and rubbed his eyes. "The sickness came last night. It's taken them all. I'm afraid your colleagues are either dead or dying, Miss Carleaf. We're -" He stretched his arms over his head, like a man waking up from sleep. "We're delighted to find a single Gardener left alive this morning. The only other survivors are the two peasant boys we found, sleeping in the composter."

  "No," mumbled Leah, taken aback. "No, this is wrong. The news said that there had been another death, but not this many. Not my friends..."

  Rilston coughed. "The news says whatever we tell it to say. I'm sorry, but as of this morning you are the only Gardener left qualified in this part of Allesh."

  Something caught Leah's eye, over the Captain's shoulder. It was a body wagon.

  "You will have to be tested for the sickness," said the Chemical Warrior, following Leah's gaze. "We believe that it does not spread from person to person, but we are still at a loss to explain how it does infect people. In the meantime
we have to expect the worst. Hopefully you are immune."

  Leah felt the earth slowly turn beneath her feet. Her friends, her colleagues, all dead. Every one of them. She leaned for support against the trunk of a huge toadstool, older than most of the ramparts of the Castle itself.

  The Captain leaned forward, holding her uncertain gaze. "We need you. Your work here is vital. Without the raw materials for the Chemists we are helpless against the storm that's on its way. You do understand, don't you? There will be time to mourn later. Trust me there will be time. But here and now there is work to be done."

  Leah sat down, the world suddenly cold and cruel.

  "Yes." She said, weakly.

  "Good. I'll arrange for help to be sent. My men are needed back at the Castle, but I will order the local militia to assist you in any way you see fit."

  The chemist dropped to his knees beside Leah, the hard plastics of his armour clack-clacking in the still, silent air. "You need time. You need help." He slid a bright blue phial into the socket in Leah's wrist. Her eyes met his, and then burned with magical brilliance, before returning to normal once more. She felt suddenly calm. Not drugged or altered, just calm. He pushed a handful into her hands, smiling at her as he did so. "In case you need more," he explained.

  "Thank you," she muttered, rising to her feet.

  All dead. Yesterday there had been twenty Gardeners here, some her friends, some she didn't know all that well and never would now. Despite the sudden rush of calm keeping her body in check, she knew she was suddenly out of her depth. The fact that Leah was aware she should be panicking at this point, should be crying at the very least, made the calm all the more unreal.

  "Oi! Leah!"

  She looked up. Rendolph. It was Rendolph!

  "Leah! Tell them who we are! They think we're vagrants."

  Rendolph and Gim were sat on a bench by the thatched house that served as the office. Two Castle guards stood over them, their rifles held in a casually menacing fashion. The two boys were unshaven, unwashed, unkempt and looked for all the world like they had gone to sleep in a warm compost heap, having fallen down there in a drink fuelled stupor. Which is exactly what had happened.