The Door

by Andy Marino

  “Throckmorton’s my name,” said the man. “This wondrous dewdrop to my left is Urvashi.”

  The woman gave a slight bow. “I am perfectly capable of introducing myself, delightful sunflower.”

  “Apologies, tea cake.”

  “All is forgiven.”

  “Now, then!” Throckmorton said, looking from Hannah to Nancy to Stefan. “Which one of you is responsible for this marvelous gift?” He tapped his wristwatch and a grainy projection of Belinda appeared right in front of Hannah.

  Startled, Nancy jumped. Hannah waved her hand in front of the projection’s face. Belinda stood completely still. There was nothing behind her eyes. It was just a lifeless hologram.

  “What did you do to her?” Hannah asked, voice cracking with the sudden hope that Belinda might not be completely gone. “Where is she?”

  Throckmorton looked puzzled. “We had assumed she would be with you, after you sent us down that little preview.” He glanced at Urvashi. “Didn’t we, melon ball?”

  Urvashi nodded. “We did indeed, my finely aged cheddar.”

  “So you don’t have her,” Hannah said, dejected.

  “It appears that none of us do,” Urvashi said. “Unfortunately, the price of your admission was that peculiar gift. So before we send you back to the surface, may I ask what, exactly, she was? Our scans had not detected a soul like her before, someone who appeared to never have been human at all.” She raised an eyebrow at Throckmorton. “Please correct me if I have any of this wrong, sugarplum.”

  “You are, as always, very much on the mark, turtledove.”

  “Please,” Hannah said. “We’ve come a long way. I have these” — she pulled the Hidden Su-Ankyo message board postings from her pocket — “from the Lady of the Lake. I need your help to see what the Watchers see, like the Lady says. It’s important.”

  “I am truly sorry, dear,” Urvashi said. “But we simply cannot allow it.”

  “Rules are rules,” Throckmorton said. “The way is shut to those who cannot pay the entrance fee.”

  Nancy splashed her foot into the floor. “We rode all the way down here in your stupid fish and now you won’t even let us in?” Her voice had a hysterical edge. “Here’s what I think of the Lady of the Lake!” She kicked water in Throckmorton’s direction.

  There was a blur of movement from behind Urvashi and a third person appeared in their midst, a few steps in front of Nancy: a girl with long black hair wearing a collarless one-piece tunic. Poised perfectly still in a low stance, she brandished a sword with both hands on the grip, elbow out to the side. With an expressionless gaze she shifted her eyes from Nancy to Hannah.

  “Eri,” Throckmorton said. “It’s all right. Please stand down. You are no doubt frightening our visitors.”

  “They are not our visitors until you invite them across the threshold, Sergeant Throckmorton,” Eri pointed out in a quiet, reasonable voice.

  Urvashi sighed. “That is true, Eri, and we appreciate your vigilance. But I think this conversation will be easier for everyone if your sword is put away.”

  In one graceful motion Eri straightened her posture and slid her sword into a scabbard on her back — SHNK! — so that the hilt poked up over her shoulder. Then she took a position beside the door.

  “What is it with you people?” Stefan said. “The Guild doesn’t treat people like this.”

  “I am truly sorry we couldn’t do business,” Throckmorton said with a regretful smile. “You will of course be transported back up to the surface in the same manner.” He bowed crisply. “Good darkday to you all.” He took Urvashi’s elbow. “Shall we, rice pudding?”

  She turned to the door. “Lead on, my tangy vinaigrette.”

  “Wait!” Nancy said. “I have something to say. I’m just like the old woman. I mean, we come from the same place.”

  With a look of interest, Throckmorton waited for an explanation.

  “Nancy!” Hannah said sharply. “Stop.” She gave the soldier an apologetic shrug and said, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Nancy continued, undaunted. “You can study me, or whatever it is you want to do. But on one condition.”

  Throckmorton raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s time to go.” Hannah reached for her twin, but Nancy sidestepped.

  “Like Hannah said, we need to see what the Watchers see. We’re looking for somebody.”

  Throckmorton consulted Urvashi. “Opinion on this matter, sunset?”

  “I say we give them a chance, meadow lark.”

  “You two are gross,” Stefan said.

  “Nancy,” Hannah whispered. “You don’t have to do this. What if you —”

  “I can do what I want,” Nancy said firmly. “And this is it.”

  Hannah sighed. “Then I have a condition, too, Mr. Throckmorton. You don’t get to keep her stashed away in some lab. We all stick together.”

  Urvashi smiled. “Of course, love.”

  “It’s actually okay if me and Hannah aren’t together all the time,” Nancy added quickly. “Whatever works best for you.”

  “In that case, welcome to the Dead City Surveillance Institute!” Throckmorton beckoned for everyone to follow him through the vault door. Hannah heard the SHNK of Eri’s sword being unsheathed, and glanced at the girl just in time to see her thrust the blade through the wall of water and pull it back in one impossibly fast strike.

  On the tip of the sword was a sightless fish, speared and wriggling.

  The Institute was unlike anything Hannah could have imagined when she first saw the skyline of Su-Ankyo in the subway poster — which seemed like a lifetime ago. How strange that each new neighborhood felt like the shedding of an old skin in favor of a new one. Maybe that’s why souls like Stefan (and billions of others) were content to let the past slip away. Why bother holding on to an old life when the city offered a new beginning every couple of blocks?

  “A worthy question, Hannah Silver,” Eri said. Hannah winced.

  Nancy had been led away for tests. Throckmorton had assigned Eri to show Hannah and Stefan the facility, or at least the parts they would be allowed to use. The girl was clearly a retainer of the strangest sort: knowledgeable about all kinds of bizarre Institute technology, but also formal in speech and traditional in manner. She had an unsettling way of staring right through Hannah, as if she were contemplating both her face and the back of her head simultaneously.

  Hannah wondered if Eri had actually been a warrior in her time on earth, or if it was something she’d picked up in the afterlife. Did they used to give weapons training to teenage girls in feudal Japan? She pondered this as she followed Eri through corridors lined with thick bundles of multicolored wires. Crystals sparkled, embedded among the bundles. Souls bustled about, vaguely irritated, carrying armfuls of crystal-tipped tentacles or jars full of mush that sparked and fizzed. It was a bit like moving through a honeycomb of stressed-out bees.

  She gave Stefan a nudge. “What do you think of this place?”

  He just grunted, keeping his eyes down. Being around the hums and buzzes of circuitry made him skittish.

  “Are you taking us to the computers?” Hannah asked.

  “We do not use computers,” Eri said.

  “Are you telling me that we came all this way for nothing?” Stefan asked angrily. Charlemagne, wrapped around his neck like a scarf, dripped lazily down the front of his sweater, matching the stripes.

  “I do not know what you came here for.”

  “I’m — we’re — looking for my mother,” Hannah said.

  “You may find her. Or you may not.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Stefan said. “What do you people even do here?”

  Hannah thought she heard a tiny sigh escape Eri’s lips. Without warning, the girl stopped at a desk where a man in a safari hat was hunched over a thick book. As if it recognized the presence of a relative, the handbook in Hannah’s pocket trembled. She stilled
it with a hand.

  “I require the use of this desk,” Eri informed the man, who looked up from his reading with irritation and lifted the brim of his hat.

  “It’s occupied,” he said.

  Eri tapped a quick pattern into the face of her wristwatch. Her head erupted into flames. Hannah and Stefan jumped back. It took Hannah a moment to realize that the flames were actually radiant bursts of light, and at each light’s core was a tiny glowing object swooping in a complex orbit. Hannah could make out a sparrow, tree, sword, pony, and teapot. It was like watching a weaponized charm bracelet spring into action.

  The man at the desk took a slow, resigned breath and tapped his own wristwatch. Instantly, his hat was alive with bouncy, excited sprites of his own: binoculars, telescope, beetle, lobster, coffee mug.

  Eri closed her eyes and her charms attacked, breaking their orbit and homing in on the man’s hat like tiny guided missiles. Each item found a target: Her pony kicked his telescope, while his lobster snapped its claws at her tree. The sprites flitted and spun and battled. All at once there was a sound like shattered glass, and the man cried out in frustration as his telescope vanished, followed by his coffee mug. Eri’s victorious items did a quick synchronized victory dance, then blinked away.

  “I was just getting up anyway,” grumbled the man, taking his book and stomping down the hall.

  “Can I get a watch like that?” Hannah asked.

  Eri ignored her and slapped the sightless fish she’d caught down on the desk. With a stubby knife that appeared in her hand, she sliced open the fish with a single assured stroke. Its marbly, goopy innards spilled out.

  “Oh, come on,” Stefan said, turning away.

  “This is how the members of the Institute will Ascend,” Eri explained.

  “By slicing open a fish?” Hannah asked.

  “The fish is the city in this demonstration.” Eri began flaying it with expert strokes, flicking her knife under the scales. “Our work is to lay the city bare. To expose its every part. To look, to listen, to record, until we have examined each block and street and house and skyscraper and castle and citizen down to every …” She lopped off the fish’s head. “Last …” Carved out the eyes. “Raw …” Separated its fins. “Nerve.”

  Hannah was convinced she could see a precise logic in the destruction of the fish, as if its guts were highways and rivers.

  Eri continued, “Some seek to make the city beautiful through art, or perform gymnastics between its high-rises, or simply exist as they always have.” With a swish, she used the flat of the blade to sweep the gutted fish into a wastebasket alongside the desk. “But the Institute seeks the purest truth. That is the key to Ascension: a map of the entire city, just as it is.”

  Hannah expected Stefan to mutter something like, It doesn’t take much talent to make a map. But he was looking away from the greasy smear on the desk, staring at a squiggly cable that ran along the ceiling.

  “A place like this must need a whole lot of Foundation to keep things running,” he said.

  “More than some,” Eri answered. The knife vanished up her sleeve. “Less than others.”

  She moved noiselessly on down the hall. Hannah shot Stefan a look to ask, What was that about? He shrugged, tight-lipped. Behind them, the wastebasket rattled, vaporizing the fish guts in a puff of smoke.

  * * *

  The cavernous map room was full of echoes: machinery clanking into place, technicians chatting, the faint whine of the ever-changing 3-D display. The chamber was ringed by a perimeter of user pods shaped like clamshells. Hannah’s pod was outfitted with all manner of lenses, gadgets, speakers, and dashboards that jutted out all over, swallowing her up in a crooked mouth of titanium and plastic. Chalkboards and notepads hung about her head, scribbled with mathematical formulas. Every time she shifted her weight, trying to get comfortable, a new piece of equipment poked her in the spine or bashed against her elbow. The speakers emitted a low but constant chatter, as Institute mapmakers gave and received orders.

  — Klonjutsk neighborhood is edging into the upper garden district of Frydz, propose resurveying.

  — Anybody scoping the Kresh River, over by Duquoj? That lady’s doing the backstroke!

  Hannah poked around for a dial to turn down the disembodied voices.

  “Do not touch anything,” Eri said from the clamshell to her right, without even looking at Hannah. She was typing on her wristwatch while her sprites were scrambling about the clamshell, busying themselves with buttons and knobs. Eventually, five crystal-tipped tendrils dropped from the ceiling of the shell. Eri’s tree settled upon one, infusing it with a cheery glow. The other sprites followed, and in a few seconds all five of Eri’s crystals were pulsating with the energy of the tiny charms.

  “When do we get those?” Hannah asked.

  Puddled at the edge of the map, Charlemagne swirled like a tie-dyed shirt, trying to lap up bits of information as it flooded past, his tongues getting zapped and scrambled for his trouble. Hannah could barely watch — the map was incomprehensible, gibberish code, a behind-the-scenes glimpse into an arrangement of letters and numbers and symbols flinging themselves about the room with wild, dizzying abandon. How this was supposed to represent the dead city, Hannah wasn’t sure.

  “Your demon will behave,” Eri said to Stefan, who was seated in the clamshell to her right. “Or I will remove it.”

  “Why does everybody think poor old Charlemagne is a demon? All the little guy wants to do is eat.”

  Hannah watched as the paint-lizard successfully slurped a string of code. His fluid skin crackled as he buzzed with newfound energy.

  “This is the map room,” Eri said. “There are rules.”

  “Okay, okay. Here, boy!” Stefan called, and Charlemagne launched himself up into Stefan’s clamshell.

  Dozens of new and excited voices came bursting through Hannah’s speaker. Next to her, Eri joined the chorus: “Acknowledged. I’m pulling it up right now. Yes. Jaretsai Station. Over.”

  Hannah tried to remember where she’d heard that name before. Her heart began to race, and she had the sudden destructive urge to kick one of the lenses free of the clamshell, just to hear it shatter.

  “I have to scope something,” Eri said as her sprites began to dance in their crystals. “Institute business. I will take you with me as your orientation to the map. I suggest you hold on.”

  “To what?” Stefan said.

  Handlebars rose from the sides of Hannah’s seat. As if she were at the eye doctor’s office, lenses dropped in front of her face. She gripped the bars and braced herself for a plunge.

  The pods didn’t move, but the map did.

  At the sound of a single chime, the voices in her speaker fell silent. Bits of information changed course, flowing across her clamshell like water over smooth stones. Sleek and aerodynamic, the pod accepted the flood of data. Hannah found herself surrounded by threads of letters and numbers that smeared together into a backlit fog. A soothing, programmed voice came through her speaker, announcing a destination: “Druftilliger Crossing.”

  Elegantly, like swans gliding atop water and coming in for a landing, the blur surrounding the clamshell condensed into shapes. Fuzzy lines and blocks of color sharpened, and a neighborhood materialized. Druftilliger Crossing was a district of neat brownstones and motor carriages that sputtered along, belching smoke. Eri piloted smoothly around a corner, beneath the branches of a stately elm. Hannah heard giddy laughter, and a moment later realized that she was the one laughing. It had been a while. Zooming around the map made her feel light and free. She had completely forgotten that life — and the afterlife — was sprinkled with moments of pure, effortless joy. She waved at a man in a top hat and a monocle as he stepped out of a carriage.

  “They cannot see you,” Eri said. “We do not exist for them.”

  “It’s like we’re Watchers,” Stefan said, his voice hushed and awestruck. Hannah would never mention this to Stefan, but in its own way, the Institut
e’s map was just as beautiful as the artwork of the Painters Guild.

  The map had to draw and redraw itself constantly. This effort produced a sound like a mosquito flying into Hannah’s ear. Eri steered beneath a concrete overpass, where they stopped short with a halting thump that rattled the map to its core. For a split second, the gibberish code reappeared, and streets and buildings were reduced to skeletons of data. Hannah blinked and the city came rushing back.

  They cruised alongside the mighty Kresh River, through a swampy tree-house district, past miles of huts on stilts. Foundation meters were buried in the marsh, their dials rising above the surface like lazy crocodiles. Meter men waded along, clipboards wrapped in plastic bags.

  The voice of the map identified the neighborhood: “Hud-Faroja.”

  Hannah was exhilarated. She felt like she had closed the distance between herself and her mother just by gaining access to the Institute.

  The scene glitched. Eri rocketed them down a deep dark well, and there was a sickening shudder as the map redrew itself.

  Stefan moaned. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

  They threaded a logjam of glass walkways that connected minarets with an aerial garden, where a young couple was strolling hand in hand. The man stooped to pick a sunflower and then vanished as Eri took a hard left and halted abruptly in the shadow of what had once been a magnificent transit hub.

  The speaker crackled. “Jaretsai Station.”

  Hannah gasped. Watchers!

  Snout-lights from hornet aircraft played along the building’s facade; it looked as if the entire armada from the Egyptian neighborhood had surrounded the station. Hannah knew that she was safe in the map room, completely hidden from the hornets, but even their virtual presence made her blood run cold.

  “Zooming in,” Eri said. They shot past stalled traffic that choked the roads around Jaretsai. Above the cars and carriages and bikes, locomotives sat motionless on elevated tracks. Passengers peeked out from their cabins, craning their necks to witness the spectacle.