Mysterious Mysteries of the Aro Valley
Page 33
Danyl. When she’d woken in the Chamber of the Great Sponge he was lying beside her, bleeding from a cut in his head. He woke a few minutes later, disoriented. Confused. Trying to speak. Making no sense. He couldn’t walk, so Steve and Verity helped him up the tunnel to Gorgon’s basement. When they reached it, Verity washed Danyl’s wound and bandaged it. Steve inspected his eyes. ‘His right pupil is larger than the left,’ he said. ‘That’s a good sign.’
Verity stripped Danyl, dried him, and put him to bed. She laid cold compresses against his wound, and when his bleeding stopped and his breathing calmed and his eyes returned to normal, she climbed into bed next to him, and they lay sleeping together for twelve hours, until the leering archivist shook them awake and demanded Verity’s presence in the Councillor’s Chamber.
Danyl hadn’t spoken much since then, but when Verity told him she was leaving the valley and returning to the seaside town where she grew up, he’d said simply, ‘I’ll come too.’ And now here they were. Together. She took his hand and squeezed it. She felt content. Safe.
The bus turned again. They left the Aro Valley.
They drove through the Capital. Steel and glass buildings towered above them: vertical planes repeating to the sky, mirroring the perfect, impossible architecture of the Real City. Verity gazed at it and wondered, how much of our world came from there? Was it trying to replicate itself? Was the Real City another reality or the future of ours?
Danyl saw it too. He squeezed her hand and said, ‘Try not to think about it.’ So she didn’t.
Neither of them had much luggage. Verity had a sports bag full of clothes. She’d stowed it in the locker overhead. Danyl had a box on his lap. Inside was his book. The pages were torn and stained with mud and blood.
Verity nodded at the box. ‘What will you do with that?’
Danyl smiled. It was a warm, confident smile, totally unlike the Danyl she’d once known. He seemed like a different person. A real person. He flipped through the pages. The words blurred, forming patterns. Images flicked by, half-registering in his mind, then they were gone. Eventually he reached the end and said, ‘I have some ideas.’
Thanks to:
Steve Hickey who allowed himself to be both a character in this novel and provided valuable early feedback on it, in which he insisted I expand the role of Steve.
Elizabeth Knox who read what was supposed to be a final draft then met me for coffee and flipped through the manuscript, pausing at each of the most painstakingly crafted parts of the book and said, ‘Cut all of this. This too. Lose this. And this,’ and was right every time.
Fergus Barrowman, Ashleigh Young and everyone else at VUP.
My wife Maggie who is always my first reader.