by Lavie Tidhar
"I beg your pardon?"
"The King-in-Exile," she said, elaborating.
"I beg your pardon?"
Her smile grew softer at his bewilderment. "The man who would be King, William," she said.
"I'm sorry," Orphan said, "but that's ridiculous."
William?
The old woman smiled, and some of her energy seemed to return to her. "Look at yourself," she said. "Can you deny the family resemblance?"
Orphan shook his head. "Superficial," he said.
From her place by the door Elizabeth snorted again. "Blood doesn't lie," Catherine said. "When we were brought here, the island's machines analysed and sampled us, and the Rule was instated: that only those of the blood could live on the island, though they could never leave. Over the years I have seen the remains of the people who once sought this island: their skeletons litter the shore and the jungle."
"What do you mean, the Rule?"
"Families have a – a sort of signature," Catherine said. "A code, the lizards call it. The insects are manufactured, mobile probes for the island's defences. When that insect bit you, it withdrew blood and analysed it. Were you a stranger – were you really no more than what you say you are, an orphan, a pirate, a castaway – you would be dead by now, and your body would have been slowly decomposing in the jungle. That you are still alive, I think, is proof enough of who and what you are."
"Ridiculous," Orphan said again. He didn't want to deal with this.
Catherine laughed. She had a warm, deep laugh, and smoky. "Why don't we eat first?" she said. "I am sure you have hundreds of questions."
Yes, like how do I get out of here? Orphan thought. But, right now, he had to admit, the thought of food dominated.
"Elizabeth, bring plates!" the old woman said. Elizabeth, with a disdainful look at Orphan, disappeared through the door and returned a moment later with three earthenware plates and some crude cutlery. Catherine dipped a ladle into the iron pot and brought it up full of a thick, fragrant broth. She dished it into the plates, and Elizabeth handed the first one to Orphan.
"Have some fungus bread," Catherine said, and from somewhere in the gloom there emerged a basket, similar to the ones Orphan had seen carried by the mushroom pickers, but it was full not with mushrooms but with loaves of soft, chunky bread.
Orphan didn't need much encouragement. He tore a large piece of bread and dipped it into the broth, almost forgetting to chew in his hunger. The hot food burned his mouth and throat. Catherine looked at him with concern. "You must eat more slowly," she said. "Have some water."
From somewhere, too, a jug of cool, clear water and a plain, muddy cup. He drank, and continued to eat with a little more moderation, while the old woman pecked at her food and Elizabeth played half-heartedly with hers. The large chunks floating in the stew, he figured, were mushrooms, though they tasted meaty. He finished the plate and started on another.
"You never knew your mother?" Catherine said, and there was a note of pain in her voice. Orphan momentarily stopped eating (a chunk of bread suspended in the air, half-way to being dipped) and looked at her. "No. I told you, no."
Catherine nodded. "Let me tell you about my daughter," she said.
Orphan made a vague gesture with his bread, as if saying, Do I have a choice? and splattered himself with gravy. Elizabeth laughed, but quietly.
"Very well," Catherine said. "Then I will tell you about Mary."
Even when she was very young (as young, Catherine said, as Elizabeth is now), Mary had begun to exhibit her difference from the others. Though she was generally a quiet, unassuming child, a mischievous streak in her broke from time to time to the surface and exhibited itself, and often at the most inopportune moments. One time, for instance, she was working in the Nursery ("The nursery?" Orphan said, but Catherine ignored him and continued) when her parents heard a scream and, rushing around the corner, saw her holding a bloodied lizard tail in her hands. Catherine herself (so she said) then screamed, but when they reached the child discovered that the thing in her hand was no more than a crude construct, made with fungal flesh and dyed green and red with leaves and berries collected in the jungle (at this point Elizabeth smirked).
As she grew older she began to spend long periods outside of the tunnel system, exploring the jungle and making daring raids onto the beach (or as close as she could come to it) and even to the rim of the crater. Like a small animal, she passed through the island without rousing the automated defences' attention, and she came to know much of its geography in secret.
Once, she made it as far as the sand on the edge of the sea. It was night, and there was no moon. In the distance, lights flashed, followed by the sounds of explosions and the weak cries of men. Mary had turned back on the water and climbed as high as she could, and when she turned again she saw two ships (of what make she didn't know) fight each other with cannon and guns. It did not seem to be a battle for loot or treasure, for the battle ended with one of the ships on fire, and sinking, and the other simply turning away from it. The ship that won the battle soon disappeared, and the other ship burned slowly, and was drowned.
When Mary came back to the sand the next night, she was not alone. In the darkness, not seeing, she had stumbled over the body of a man.
She clamped down on her scream, afraid of rousing the unseen defences, then saw that it was too late. The man was dead, his chest punctured as if by a giant fist. Something, she thought, had come out of the sand and gone through the man, and had then gone back into the ground. She had heard of the sand-worms that guarded the island, but had never seen one. No one was even sure if they were real, a lifeform warped by the ancient impact that had created the crater, or whether they, like the insects, were machines.
She was afraid; but not so afraid that she didn't stop, and let curiosity triumph; and so she searched quickly through the man's pockets, and came back with a–
"A book," Catherine said, and Elizabeth made the warding-off sign he had seen her use twice before.
"What sort of book?" Orphan said.
Catherine sighed. "That," she said, "I did not find out until a long time afterwards."
Books (so Catherine explained) were forbidden amongst the humans on the island. Their charges at the Nursery used no books, but rather strange play-devices, similar to pliable balls, that were (apparently) similar, but used smell and a high-pitch sound not audible to humans (Orphan asked again about the Nursery, and again received no direct answer). Books were the domain of the Bookman (again, the sign, made by both Catherine and Elizabeth this time), and were objects of evil and misfortune.
But to Mary, this book she had found was a thing not of evil, but of hope. Which (Catherine said with sudden vehemence) was perhaps more evil than all.
It was a very curious book. Had Mary known any books she may have been more wary of this one she had found. But she did not, and was not. She took the book with her that night, and hid it in the hollowed cavity of an ancient tree on the edge of the crater. And she returned to it most nights, when everyone else of the subterranean court (for that, as Orphan found, was what the mushroom gatherers called it) was asleep.
And so time passed.
Mary (Catherine continued) had become a beautiful young woman. She continued her work at the Nursery, tending the young lizard-spawn ("So that's what it is!" Orphan exclaimed. "Shush," Catherine said. Elizabeth giggled), learning the manners of the court ("such as there still are," Catherine said) and, all in all, arousing no special curiosity. Her habit of pulling pranks, as far as they all could tell, had abated. Life went about its daily routine.
Or so it seemed.
The truth ("And I only found this out much later," Catherine said) was that Mary continued to visit the book, and she continued to read it nightly. It was, she soon realised, a special book, in that its contents never remained the same. The book's title, embossed in gilt on its hard, leathery cover, was Bible Stories for Young Children. Of all the stories, Mary liked most the ones about A
dam and Eve. There were many stories about them. In the beginning, Adam and Eve lived in the Garden of Eden. Then Adam did something very bad, awakening a monster that lived in the garden, and the monster, which was in the shape of a lizard standing upright, had a fight with God and then took over the garden. Adam and Eve were still in the garden but, since it was on an island in a big ocean, they couldn't leave. A kindly old wizard, however, helped them. He was shaped like a strange, multi-legged creature, and he was once a servant of the monster but he had escaped and was now living in the garden in secret. He became Adam and Eve's teacher. Every time Mary opened the book, Adam and Eve were doing something new. To begin with, they merely studied geography, and the book showed her continents and oceans, the trade routes that passed between them, and the different people who lived in those far-off places. Then Eve decided to become an engineer, and the book showed Mary blueprints and diagrams and conversion tables, and the ways to build vehicles and machines. One day Adam decided to run to sea and become a pirate; after that, only Eve remained in the book. Then there were more lizard-monsters, baby ones, and Eve had to take care of them. Eve did what she was told, but there was revenge in her heart, and the desire to escape. She began to plot ways to get off the island – which was heavily guarded by powerful sorcery – until one day…
The fire threw twisted shadows on the walls, and a cold wind seemed to whisper under the door, insinuating itself into the confines of the hut. Orphan shivered, and wished for a hot bath.
"One day," Catherine said, "I was called to the Nursery by my husband. I had no intimation that anything was wrong. Mary had left in the morning as she always did. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And yet…"
"What did she do?" Orphan leaned forward. "Did she do it?" He was excited despite himself. "Did she manage to escape?"
Catherine smiled, but her face was sad. "Is it really so bad, here?" she said. "Did she hate it so much? Did she hate us so much?"
"If I could," Elizabeth announced, "I'd escape too."
"Hush, girl," Catherine said. She turned back to Orphan. "When I arrived at the Nursery, Mary was gone."
"But how?" He was tense now, his muscles feeling constricted and hard under his skin. He felt hot, then cold, as if the air itself kept changing around him. It was too much to take in. Was she really his mother? Could it be possible? And is that, then, where he came from, this squalid, sordid subterranean habitat, reeking of fungus and ash?
"I don't know."
"You must know!" He stood up, bunched his fists. He fought the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him. He discovered that he no longer disbelieved Catherine. And that meant…
Realisation touched him like a cold hand. For though he had made it onto the island alive, and could pass through it undisturbed, he could never leave.
Like Mary, he was now a prisoner on the island.
The Bookman had never intended to give him back Lucy, he thought. He had never intended for him to leave.
"No," Orphan said, and louder, "I don't believe it."
Yet I have to believe, he thought. I have to believe this is part of the plan. I have to believe I will return, I will get Lucy back.
"How did she escape?" he said – shouted. Elizabeth backed away from him, but the old woman didn't stir, and looked up at him with a faraway look on her face. "I will show you," she said, "what I know. And perhaps the book could tell you more than it had ever told me."
"The book?"
"The book?" Elizabeth said, and there was genuine fear in her voice.
Orphan felt his thoughts slow down to a trickle; it was like he was swimming through thick, syrupy liquid. It was too much – he had gone too long without sleep, and his mind could no longer operate. Like an automaton, he thought. I need to shut down.
"Help me hold him!" He was dimly aware of Elizabeth and Catherine taking him by the arms and helping him down, and onto a mattress by the wall that smelled, rather pleasantly, of mushrooms.
"Sleep, William," Catherine said softly, and the last thing Orphan felt before falling into a deep black sleep was the touch of her hand as she gently stroked his head.
He was running through a landscape of pools and warm rocks, and the air was full of flies. In the distance he could see another figure running, yet as fast as he ran he could not catch up with it. Small lizards sunned themselves on the rocks and caught flies with their tongues. The flies were emitting a distinctly mechanical buzz.
He began to flap his hands. Somehow, it made sense. He felt air currents under his open palms, and was lifted in the air. He circled, slowly at first, rising higher. Below him, the island spread out like a treasure map. Thick forests grew out of the wound in the centre. The crater looked like an eye, with an improbable needle sticking out of it. It looked painful.
The figure he was chasing was still ahead of him, rising higher than him. He chased it, flapping harder, until he reached the edges of space. Blackness spread out before him, filled with stars. Below, the needle left the eye and rose into the air, impossibly thin. It went past him and disappeared into the void.
He stopped moving, and hung suspended in the thin air, on the edge of space. Ahead of him, the figure stopped too. It came closer to him, circling in orbit. They were like Earth and the moon, but growing closer, until he could see her face…
Then he was falling, falling hard, the air rushing past him and he screamed, and hit a hard surface, and woke up.
"Why 'William'?" he said.
"Mary always said that, if she had a son, she'd name him William," Catherine said. It was still twilight. It was always twilight in the tunnels.
"Call me Orphan."
"A wise man knows his own name," Catherine said.
"A wise man wouldn't be where I am now," Orphan said, and Catherine smiled, briefly.
"Do you know what happened to her?"
"She died," Orphan said. "They both died."
"How do you know?"
"I…" He didn't. It was what he was told. By… Gilgamesh? How did he fit into all this? Orphan remembered the fragment of Gilgamesh's diary. He had been to the island once. Had he been there again?
"Who was your father?"
"He was a Vespuccian sailor."
Catherine's face was a moue of disapproval. Orphan almost laughed.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, sitting up. He felt refreshed, almost light-headed.
"Nearly fifteen hours," Catherine said. "It's morning now."
Purpose returned. "I want to see the Nursery," he said.
"Elizabeth will show it to you."
"I need some food," he said.
"There's some–" Catherine said, and Orphan sighed and said, "Mushrooms?"
"Yes."
"Fine."
"You could do with a wash, too," Catherine commented.
Orphan agreed.
"There's a warm pool outside."
"Thanks."
"It's so good to have you back, William," Catherine said. Orphan muttered something inaudible. He did not intend to stick around if he could help it.
"Where is the book?" he said.
Catherine didn't answer immediately. Orphan stood up and stretched. Yes, he felt a lot better now. Ready to tackle the island. Ready to act. And to find a way off it. He tried his thumb, felt it no different. If he didn't look at it too closely it was just like it was before… Good. One step at a time then. If his mother – was it really his mother? – could find her way out, then so could he. The Bookman must have intended him to.
If he kept repeating that he might actually believe it.
"Where it has always been," Catherine said in a low voice. "But it would be hard to get to. In the tree, on the edge of the crater."
"Good," Orphan said, "because the crater is the next place I want to pay a visit to." And he wandered out of the door and went looking for the warm pool, whistling as he went.
THIRTY
Launch
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are lookin
g at the stars.
– Oscar Wilde, Lady Windermere's Fan
Orphan had washed and cleaned himself, and was given clothes by the man with the crown of hair over his balding head, who was apparently his uncle, if by marriage. He was Elizabeth's father. Which made him, Orphan, her cousin, didn't it? He wasn't sure how he felt about that. The thought of suddenly having a large (and somewhat mushroom-obsessed) family was a little overwhelming.
He also got the impression that the uncle wasn't very keen on him. The man moved furtively. But then, they all did, Orphan realised. They moved like unwanted strangers in someone else's home, meek and nervous.