Questors

by Joan Lennon

  They didn’t argue. One more strange thing – who would notice, the way life had been lately…

  There was a pressure, a resistance in the air just before they reached her. They stopped, hesitated.

  ‘Come on!’ repeated Mrs Mac. ‘It won’t hurt!’

  Cam shrugged. ‘OΚ…’ It grabbed Madlen and Bryn by their sleeves, and the three leaned forward.

  There was a moment when nothing happened, and then, with a pop, they were through.

  ‘Wow,’ said Bryn. ‘That was… What the…? Where…?’

  The kitchen looked the same, but it felt completely different.

  ‘We’re still right here, in the London House,’ said Mrs Mac calmly. ‘But this is one of the bits between. I thought you could do with a touch of peace and quiet. Can you feel it, how different it is? There’s no responsibility here; this is a place where no decisions are made.’ She smiled at them.

  She was right – there was something very… soothing. The bits of the London House they’d been in up to now had been full of uncertainties and surprises. On some level they had only partly sensed, it had pulsed, as the energies of Time and Space rippled about, flexing their cosmic muscles. But here it was neutral. It was restful. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever, because people aren’t designed for nothing but rest, but it felt as if you could stay here long enough.

  There was a collective sigh of relief.

  ‘That’s it,’ agreed Mrs Mac. ‘And now it’s baths and bed and a good night’s sleep, to set you up for tomorrow – or whenever – when the brave Questors will sally forth to manage the unmanageable, do the unthinkable and achieve the unachievable.’

  ‘Sally who?’ said Bryn, but they all ignored him.

  ‘And Madlen,’ said Mrs Mac as she held out the impossibly microwaved necklace, ‘this is for you.’

  The late afternoon sunlight came in through the frosted window. Mrs Mac had fed them, and patted them, found bathrooms and bath towels for them all, and left them in peace.

  Cam lay back in the bath. It hadn’t felt this good since it’d left home. It was a simple happiness that had to do with hot water and the undeniable end of a day. A kind of mindless body-peace.

  Then the sound came. It was faint, and it stopped from time to time, and it seemed to be coming from somewhere else, not far away, inside the House.

  Cam sat up, to listen better. The sound came again, low and throaty, and it vibrated, and for a long moment the Dalrodian had no idea what it could be.

  And then it realized. It lay back in the water and smiled seraphically up at the steamy ceiling.

  It was Madlen, singing in her bath, her one perfect note.

  26

  Night Manoeuvres

  In the darkened kitchen there was silence, touched only lightly by the occasional low hum of an appliance motor switching on and then off again. Time loosened its belt, slumped in a chair and nodded off. Moments stretched out. The peace was almost too good to be true.

  When the figure slid into the kitchen from the stairs, it too was silent. Its presence was more a shifting, a displacing of the air, a shading of dark against dark, than anything with a real body. It glided round the room, pausing, moving on. By the sideboard it came to a halt and there was the faintest suggestion of a sound, almost as if the figure were sniffing. Was it disappointed? It moved on.

  The circuit of the room completed, the figure turned back, placed something on the big table and was gone.

  The stillness settled again, and stayed for a long, long time, until…

  There were rumours that Mrs Mac never slept. Certainly no one who came looking for a midnight snack or some late-night tea and sympathy was ever disappointed. So it was not unusual for her to be padding about at all hours.

  She was padding now.

  ‘Eh?!’ she muttered sharply, and turned on the lights.

  ‘What’s this, then?’ and she picked up the thing from the table. It was a message, on official Council letterhead, and after she’d read it Mrs Mac stood for a long time, tapping it thoughtfully against her teeth. Then, ‘Hmm,’ she said. She took a step back and opened her hand. ‘Oops.’

  The paper hit the floor and was nudged firmly under the table.

  As she walked away, Mrs Mac turned out the lights.

  In a corridor somewhere in the London House, someone whispered urgently.

  ‘Well? Did you find them? The monitors have been going crazy – if anything, the backwash has become more erratic than before! So? Are they back? They were seen entering the building – but was it the first time or a second? If they’ve died, that would explain the readings – but if they’ve succeeded… well?!’

  Alpine Cordell’s pause was as subtly rude as he felt he could get away with. He was not impressed by panic.

  ‘I was not able to locate them on Trentor,’ he answered. ‘When I returned and was able to search the kitchen –’ he shrugged one shoulder slightly – ‘Mrs Macmahonney had been diligent. She had cleaned thoroughly.’

  His listener stirred irritably and then stilled, as if deliberately choosing to be calm.

  ‘It’s not important. You will have proceeded on the assumption of, at the least, their continued existence. You have delivered the instructions in the manner I ordered.’ It was not a question. ‘The timing and location should provide a reasonable possibility of success. The rest will be… clarified.’

  The speaker turned and walked away, but Cordell overheard its last remark, noting the renewed self-satisfaction in the voice as it repeated to itself ‘There is no need to be impatient. After all, Time is on my side.’

  27

  Life in the Freezer

  When they came down the next morning there was no sign of Mrs Mac, or Kate, or anyone.

  Madlen frowned anxiously. ‘What do you think we should do?’

  ‘Have breakfast!’ said Bryn cheerfully. He was already pulling the makings out of the fridge. ‘One egg or two?’

  A while later, and they were all stuck in, though Madlen still had worry lines between her eyebrows. She kept fiddling absent-mindedly with the miniature hatchet necklace. Cam watched her and then turned to Bryn.

  ‘Didn’t Mrs Mac say this was the worry-free bit of the House? No decisions, no responsibility? Stuff like that?’

  Bryn kept chewing. ‘We’re not in that bit any more,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘I got up in the night for a pee and you could tell then it’d shifted back.’ He reached for more toast. ‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘you snore. Looks like you’re going to grow up to be a man after all, ‘cause snoring is one of the really manly arts.’

  ‘Girls snore too,’ said Madlen.

  They looked at her.

  She spread her hands. ‘I lived in a girls’ school for a million years, remember? I was in the dorm for most of it. So, take my word for it – girls snore too.’

  Bryn shrugged. ‘OK. Live and learn.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I hate drying, so I’ll wash.’

  ‘No way!’ exclaimed Madlen indignantly. ‘I hate drying more than you do!’

  Bryn made a rude gesture at her, but Cam interrupted.

  ‘Drying what?’ it said.

  The other two exchanged glances.

  ‘Right! Cam dries!’ they chorused.

  The breakfast things cleaned and put away, Bryn reached for a broom.

  ‘Here’s another little delight for you to learn!’ He pitched it at Cam, grinning.

  ‘Oh, ha ha,’ said the Dalrodian, catching the broom deftly. ‘I’m not stupid, you know. Just because we don’t use water to clean dishes where I come from.’

  ‘No, you use servants!’

  ‘Oh, very funny’ Cam started to sweep. ‘You can pull out the chairs. Your brain must be getting tired with all this wit – hey! What’s this?’

  The broom had brushed against something lying on the floor under the table.

  ‘It’s a piece of paper…’

  The three gathered round and read
the message: WALK IN FREEZER IMMEDIATELY.

  ‘Oh, cripes!’ muttered Madlen.

  They turned and looked at the door of the big walk-in freezer on the other side of the room.

  The door just stood there, blandly chrome, giving nothing away.

  ‘It could at least pulse with an eerie glow,’ murmured Bryn.

  The others nodded.

  ‘They could have made the message clearer,’ complained Madlen. ‘Do they mean “walk in” as in walk into it? Or walk-in, as in, you know, big? And just when is “immediately”? I mean, we didn’t exactly rush breakfast.’ She was getting more and more agitated. ‘And which World are we supposed to go to next anyway? I mean, is it Kir or Dalrodia? Mrs Mac said we didn’t have to go back to Trentor –’

  ‘Chill out, Madlen,’ interrupted Bryn.

  ‘That’d be what the freezer is for, I expect,’ murmured Cam.

  Bryn groaned. ‘That was terrible. Just for that, you get to check it out first.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and I’m really dressed to go messing around in some big fridge!’

  Bryn made a rude noise and walked up to the door. He grabbed the handle and, looking back at them over his shoulder, he jeered, ‘Oh, oh, I’m so frightened – the big bad bag of frozen peas is going to get me!’

  He heaved on the handle; the door swung open; he started to say something more –

  – and he was gone. The freezer had sucked him in. With a brief metallic boom, the door slammed shut.

  Cam and Madlen stared at each other in horror. The kitchen was quiet, except for the carefree hum of appliances. There was still a faint scent of toast and eggs in the air.

  But there was no Bryn.

  ‘Do we…?’ Cam looked longingly towards the door to the stairs, but Madlen shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think we can take the time to find anybody,’ she said in a tight, strange-sounding voice. ‘It said “immediately”. I think we have to go after him now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Cam. ‘He’s not much good on his own, is he?’

  Madlen gave it a forced little smile.

  ‘We’ll go together,’ she said.

  Cam nodded. They took hands and stepped up to the freezer door.

  ‘NOW!’ squeaked Madlen, and together they took hold of the handle and pulled –

  A tremendous, freezing suction dragged them forward, ripping the door from their hands and slamming it to behind them. Cam caught a glimpse of metal shelving, with ice-covered packets of food on them and then, strangely, stone – stone walls and stone shelves and then… that was it. They weren’t moving any more. They were there.

  But where was that?

  28

  Out of the Icebox and Into the…

  ‘There’s a door over here,’ said Madlen. ‘Latched.’ She grunted. ‘Feels like it’s jammed against something. Here, give me a hand…’

  Cam came over and together they leaned into the door.

  ‘It’s stuck!’

  ‘Push harder!’

  ‘I am –’

  Grudgingly, the door ground open, just enough for them to squeeze through. The light outside was dazzling and the air was so cold it hurt to breathe.

  ‘It’s a fair guess this isn’t Dalrodia,’ muttered Madlen.

  ‘MADLEN!’ squealed Cam in delight. ‘It must be Kir – there’s snow! Look, it’s real sn –’

  There was an unexpected tackle from behind, and Cam found itself face first in a drift of cold white wetness.

  ‘Keep down, you idiot, and shut up – I’m going to take a look…’

  It was Bryn’s voice, but before Cam could splutter clear of the drift, he was gone. Cam rolled sideways and bumped into Madlen. She was huddled down on the snow and her eyes were very big.

  ‘Well, we found him.’

  ‘Y-yeah.’ Cam’s teeth were beginning to chatter. ‘G-good for us.’

  They were lying beside some sort of farm outbuilding, in the corner of an enclosure or pen. The bit of sky they could see suggested it was afternoon on a short northern winter day, with more snow expected. And there was a sound…

  ‘What is that?’ whispered Cam.

  It was irregular, and coming from some distance away, a noise sometimes like a football crowd whose team is being scubbed and sometimes like…

  ‘Slaughtering pigs?’ wondered Madlen.

  ‘When have y-you ever been around a p-pig slaughtering?’ said Cam, looking dubious.

  ‘Well, I don’t know, it’s a farm…’ Madlen began, when suddenly Bryn was back.

  ‘Come on,’ he ordered, panting clouds of white. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s safe.’ Then, when they didn’t move immediately, he grabbed their hands. ‘I really think it would be a good idea to get to shelter, don’t you?’ he insisted.

  ‘No argument,’ groaned Madlen. ‘I just need… to get… started…’

  ‘Come ON!’ and, glancing nervously about, Bryn dragged them out of the enclosure.

  As soon as they came round the corner, the wind hit them. It was icy and heartless and immediately leached away what little warmth they had left in them. They were in a farmyard, with low outbuildings on two sides and a farmhouse on a third. The ground was a churned-up mess of mud and snow, as if herds of animals had stampeded through it.

  They stumbled across the broken surface to the house, and Bryn pushed open the door. Even with the cold, Madlen hung back at first.

  ‘You didn’t even knock!’ she protested.

  ‘There’s nobody home – I checked.’

  ‘But – how did you get in? Wasn’t it locked?’

  Bryn shrugged.

  ‘Country people don’t lock their doors. We don’t have a lot of crime on Kir. Now get IN!’

  ‘G-go on,’ stuttered Cam, and pushed her indoors.

  It was cold inside the farmhouse too, but escaping from the icy wind made it feel almost cosy. The place had that still, waiting feeling of a home whose people are away. Bryn headed for the stairs.

  ‘Warm clothes, first thing,’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing?!’ Madlen stood by the door. ‘You can’t just tromp into somebody’s house and take stuff!’

  ‘Borrow stuff, not take. Borrowing’s OK.’

  Cam looked at Madlen. ‘We do need warmer things. We’d ask if there was anyone to ask, but we have to get kitted up somehow.’

  Madlen shook her head, sighed and followed the others to the door at the top of the stairs.

  They found Bryn in a big loft bedroom. He’d dragged open a cedar chest and was pulling out warm woollens and furs.

  ‘Any skirts… any dresses…’ he muttered to himself as more bits of clothing flew out on to the floor.

  ‘Sorry, Madlen,’ he said, when the chest was empty. ‘No women’s clothes here at all. I’ll try over there.’

  ‘What?’ Madlen’s head was just emerging from the depths of a fur-trimmed tunic.

  ‘Women’s clothes,’ repeated Bryn. ‘There aren’t any. I’ll go and look…’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Madlen flopped on to the bed and started to pull on some lined trousers. ‘These are big enough – I can stuff my skirt in at the top. It’ll make another layer to keep me warm.’

  She stood up to do just that – and Bryn looked away in embarrassment. Which brought him face to face with Cam. He looked at it enquiringly

  Cam made a face at him. ‘You must be joking! I’m not wearing a skirt in this weather. At home, all right, but here!’

  Bryn couldn’t help taking note of that. Aha! he thought. Wears skirts. Must be going to be a girl…

  ‘So you wear skirts at home, then?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘Of course. Everybody wears skirts – for formal events, like weddings and funerals, stuff like that. Not for every day.’ Cam continued to speak and dress at the same time. ‘My uncle always looked fabulous in his.’ It grinned at him, looking as if it enjoyed messing with his head.

  … or maybe not, thought Bryn as his brain changed gear one more time. Ge
t into something warm, stupid, he chided himself. First priority, right?!

  It was not long before the three shivering Questors were transformed into three Kirian bundles of wool and fur. Cam tottered across the floor with its arms and legs stuck out.

  ‘Does my bum look big in this?’

  ‘In those clothes I can’t even tell where your bum is,’ replied Madlen, stuffing her hair up into a fur hat. She went over to rummage in another chest by the dormer window. ‘Hey, look! I’ve found boots!’

  ‘Excellent!’ said Bryn. ‘Pitch me those – they look about my size.’

  Madlen didn’t answer.

  ‘Madlen? Pitch me those boots, will you?… What is it?’

  She was staring out of the dormer. She pointed but didn’t speak. Cam and Bryn looked at each other, and went over to see what could be affecting her like that.

  ‘Over there,’ she said huskily.

  Cam gasped. Bryn swore quietly.

  It wasn’t the view of mountains, or the sweep of the valley leading up from the farm, or the distant Castle presiding over it all that they were reacting to.

  It was war.

  The battle had evidently engulfed the farmstead not too long before and then swept on. Its passage was marked by broken fences, snow and soil trampled together, and horrible, scattered humps of… they strained to see… dropped equipment? Lost clothing? Or the fallen bodies of men? The battle front itself was several hundred metres away and still lurching up the valley. They could see it so clearly in the high, cold air, and yet there was a surreal quality to it all – the ragged groups of men that struggled together, slashing, grappling, bleeding, were entirely noiseless, their screams and grunts and the thud of weapons on flesh silenced by distance and the doubled glass. It was a horrible mime, choreographed by a sick mind. Then, as they watched, the bulk of the battle moved further up, over a ridge, and disappeared.

  For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Bryn turned away from the window and began to drag on the boots. Madlen stared at him.