Green Jay and Crow

by D. J. Daniels

  He is wrong.

  Crow

  I TAKE THE hammer out to Ed. I mean, what else am I going to do? He takes it, grunting, then asks me to hold this, hold that, while he wrestles the tubing back into shape. I figure it’s something to do with the watering system. And while I stand here helping out like a five-year-old, I take a look at the water tower. There’s no picture of Eva here, thank God, but someone’s painted a picture of a giant bird feeding a worm to three small baby birds in a nest. The nest kind of melds with a scraggly bit of vegetation at the bottom of the water tower. It’s a strange combination of domestically cute and macabre. I think about birds for a while and then I remember I’m not really that much into plants and gardening. That there’s no need to solve the mystery of the box in the shed, that it’s probably time to be moving on.

  “Thanks,” Ed says at last. There’s no visible difference in the tubing, but he seems to have stopped messing around. “How’s the planting going?”

  “Pretty much done,” I say. “I probably should get going now.”

  Ed pushes his hat back with both his hands and takes a long look at me. “And where will you go, Brom?”

  “Home,” I say.

  “Really?” asks Ed.

  I splutter a bit, because, well, I do. But I gather myself together. “I mean, you’ve looked after me, and I’m thankful, and I’ve enjoyed our time in the garden, but I feel a lot better now and—”

  “There’s no point, Brom,” says Ed.

  “We know you don’t belong here,” says Judith, who’s snuck up on us, bearing more drinks and looking completely motherly, but somehow now she’s acquired a sinister edge. “You’ll need somewhere to stay, and we’d be happy to help.”

  “No,” I say. “No, it’s alright, I’ve somewhere to go. But thank you, thank you.” I would run, if I could, but the best I’m going to manage is a fast hobble.

  Still, I start moving, try to give the general impression that I’m a man about his business and not to be stopped.

  Ed puts a hand on my arm.

  “We don’t want to alarm you, Brom, you’re free to go, of course you are.” His arm notwithstanding. “You’re not the first, you realise.”

  “The first what?” I ask, because actually I want to know, and why not be as stupid as I can be?

  “The first person to be caught from elsewhere,” says Judith. “Why else would the Barleycorn King throw you down the stairs? We figured you must be a friend of our Olwin. That’s why you came here.”

  That name is familiar. Something tells me I should know who Olwin is, but it’s not information that’s making itself accessible just at the moment. I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know her. I was just—”

  “Hurt and lost and barely alive.” I’d not go that far, myself, but I figure Judith’s sympathy is not something to throw away. “He’s a dreadful man,” she continues.

  Ed comes to a decision. “Whether you know Olwin or not, an enemy of an enemy is a friend.” He puts out a hand and I shake it. I’m not sure that I’d class Korbin as an enemy, even taking the stairs incident into account, but on the other hand, I’m quite partial to having someone on my side.

  “Stay,” says Judith. “Just for tonight. Tomorrow you can go your own way, if you want to. We’ve a bed, a room, it’s somewhere...” She looks hopeful, almost pleading.

  And, not completely unexpectedly, I agree. It’s very seductive, this: the bringing of food, the offering of shelter and even friendship. Not something that I’m used to. Not something I’m sure I should want, but there you have it. It’s nice to be fussed over.

  I help Ed tidy up in the garden. It’s late afternoon by the time we’re finished. I make several trips to the shed, assiduously avoid looking at the box, don’t yield to the temptation to examine it to see if it’s still Time Locked.

  Then it’s more food and drink. Fresh from the farm type meal. There’s lots of salad. But also bread and cheese. No meat. The talk starts off polite enough at first. I mean, on my part, I doubt if Judith and Ed have ever not been polite. But after a while, I can’t help but probe a little. Ask a few questions, seek a few answers. And they’re completely forthcoming.

  “What happened to the big screen?” I ask

  “Brain Training? Oh, they got rid of that years ago,” replies Judith. “It was silly, really.”

  Possibly more forthcoming that I would’ve liked. “Oh,” is about all I can think of to say.

  “Don’t worry, Brom,” says Ed. “Everyone’s the same. It looks like the place you know, but it’s not. It’s different. Different place, different history.”

  Everyone? Different time? I want to ask, but don’t. Instead I forge ahead with compare-and-contrast. “And the Tenties?”

  Ed shakes his head. “Oh,” says Judith. “That’s a sad story. And, you know Brom, that’s not a very nice way of speaking about them. Nobody says Tenties. Not anymore. They’re called the Trocarn.”

  I’m as conflicted about the Tenties as the next person, but if anything, their nickname is a term of affection. I’ve heard a lot worse.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Ed shakes his head again. “They went too far,” he says. I’m not sure if he means the Tenties or some other group: the Hooks, possibly. The Hooks have maintained their fixation with the Tenties, even in the face of everyone else’s apathy. It don’t usually come to much, not anymore, but their hatred has a tendency to arc up in unexpected and dangerous ways.

  Judith is looking away, fiddling with her food. This is obviously a topic beyond the bounds. I don’t press. And I don’t have the heart to ask about the Chemical Conjurers. “Then tell me about the Barleycorn King,” I say. And they’re off.

  “The Barleycorn King,” says Judith, “And you’re right, Brom, his real name is Korbin, though nobody’s called him that in a long time. He was a normal person, once. Not a particularly nice one.”

  “Criminal,” adds Ed.

  “But powerful,” says Judith. “He took over the High Track. It used to be for everybody, once.” She pauses for a moment. “But that wasn’t the thing. He somehow got caught up in something bigger than him. A technology that pulled people here from other places, other times. And…”

  “It drove him mad,” says Ed.

  “I think he was the one that pulled me here,” I say.

  The both look at me closely.

  “Well, perhaps not intentionally,” I admit. “But there was a stripy cane I grabbed on to. The cane Korbin uses to walk around. At first I thought maybe he was trying to rescue me.”

  “Rescue you from what, Brom?” asks Ed.

  “I was holding a box,” I say. “A Time Locked box. And I couldn’t get free.”

  And here, I think, is where the forthcoming might end.

  “A Time Locked box, you say?” remarks Ed.

  I nod. I look, to the best of my ability, inscrutable and yet trustworthy. And then I notice Judith has begun to cry.

  “The same as the one in the shed?” asks Ed. But it’s barely a question.

  “I left the one I was carrying up on the High Track,” I say. And because the looks are all expectant, and the pressure to say something is mounting, I blurt out, “I could go back and get it, I guess.” They seem keen on the idea, though what good that box is going to do them, I have no idea. But I’m going to have to follow through, because Judith cries some more.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Green Jay

  I LIE HERE in the sun, watching a package come in on a drone. It must be for the robots, they’re the only ones who really do this. I miss them, suddenly. I miss my greenhouse, looking down on the streets and watching. I have all the sun I need, now that they’ve let me outside, but all that I can see is sky. Clouds. Birds, sometimes. I can’t even see the big screen. They won’t let me walk to the edges. Perhaps they think I’ll jump, or attract attention. Perhaps they’re worried it would tire me out. I am getting weaker, despite the Tenties’ care, despite the sun.
My skin is beautiful, glowing, but it holds together a disintegrating sack. That is how I think in my worst moments. I almost welcome the drugs now. They give me an excuse, a reason to explain my lack of energy, my lack of clear thought. I am scared that without them, I would not be alive at all, that somehow they are providing me with a malicious scaffolding. I hope I am wrong. This is just fear. And helplessness.

  Blue Jay has not been to see me a while now. I don’t think Guerra has him. He would taunt me with the knowledge, if he did. I am all alone, and I am fading. I need to find a way to come back to myself, become stronger. Sometimes I feel the memories of Olwin Duilis springing up, unwanted. She is trying to tell me something, something I do not want to listen to. Something, she suggests, that will keep me alive. Keep who alive? Me, Eva, Green Jay, or you, Olwin Duilis? I know the answer to that question, so I push her down again.

  I’m beginning to grow fond of Rose-Q. I know that it’s a mistake. It’s mostly her that looks after me, and she is so kind. Sometimes, it is true, she fusses too much and at first I found that annoying, overwhelming. But now I welcome it. It reminds me that I am still here, that I am a person worth fussing over.

  I am too lonely. I have become like Guerra, with only a machine to talk to. He talks to her more and more while he is with me; he seems to have forgotten that I am alive. Her name—I want to be generous and say ‘her,’ because if I am allowed to live, then surely so must she—is Eila. It is too much like Eva, too close. Perhaps that is how he got the idea? I shudder with the thought that he wants, somehow, to make me her. Or make her me. He forgets that my memories are organic, that hers are electronic. Something different. A different way of thinking. And that my memories are entirely my own, memories I have chosen and forced myself to think. Hers are only Guerra’s. A cruel person would say that he is in love with himself. And, of course, he is vain and self-obsessed. But I think that he is truly in love with another. Perhaps that other is a creature of his imagination, but it is still love.

  The drone disappeared for a while, but it is back now, hovering close to my chair. Sometimes the robots like to make it difficult for the package to land. They like to test the drone. Perhaps they too are looking for signs of life in unlikely places. But then the package drops close to my chair. Rose-Q is nearby, but she hasn’t noticed. I make myself sit up, force myself to stretch towards the package. I don’t want to stand; that would attract Rose-Q’s attention. I stretch so that my stomach hurts and my arms ache, but I manage to pull the package slowly towards me. And then, quickly, quietly, I slide it under the chair. It must wait until I am truly alone.

  Crow

  JUDITH RUNS ME a bath. She justified it to Ed by listing my (actually quite minor) injuries, but I think it’s probably a reward of some sort. Something to do with the Time Locked box in the shed and my promise to retrieve the one I brought with me. It’s a big, big old-fashioned bath, that seems to belong to another country altogether. Which is an odd thought, seeing as this is a whole other reality, but, you know, it’s still Barlewin to me. The bathtub has its own feet and everything. I’m ridiculously excited; I haven’t had a bath in a long, long time. Not since I was a baby, in fact. I mean, who has the water? I suspect Ed and Judith make use of the water tower, although I don’t know if it’s still actually a water tower. I don’t really care—I’m in a bath. There’s bubbles and everything. I try not to think that I’m actually sitting in a soup of my own blood and scabs and dirt. There’s too many bubbles for that.

  I let myself relax for a bit, but my mind can’t stop whirring. The thought occurs that there should be a lot more than two people living here. I’m reasonably sure that in my rare, brief farm excursions, there were something like ten folks pottering around. Who exactly are Ed and Judith? It’d help, maybe, if I knew their surname. Something more about them. But I figure I’ve asked enough questions, what with Judith crying and all.

  There’s something about the name Olwin that niggles at me. A friend of our Olwin, they said. And then, as the bubbles collapse a bit, a conversation I had with Mac slowly presents itself and it all slots into place: Olwin Duilis. Eva’s original. The probable sender of the Time Locked box. The bath no longer feels so comfortable. These people are most likely Olwin Duilis’ parents. Unless, and this thought comes to me out of an unwelcome corner of my mind, life is really fucked up and they’re Mac and Eva, masquerading as contented farmers Ed and Judith. Unlikely. Judith could be a plumper version of Eva, I suppose: her cleavage is comforting rather than compelling, but it’s a possibility. On the other hand, I would’ve recognised Mac, surely. Age or no age. He would’ve recognised me. There’s no blue mark on Ed’s thumb, I’m almost sure of it. I need to calm down. Get a grip. I’m becoming totally paranoid. I sink into the bath a little more and ponder my allegiances.

  The thing I need is a plan. To get back home, hopefully. To get away from here, at least. I promised to go back up to the High Track, get the box I came in with. I’ll do that. It might be a way of getting back, you never know. It’s not like Ed and Judith hold the secrets to alternate reality travel. Not that I’d’ve thought Guerra-aka-the-Barleycorn-King does either and, if I’m getting Judith’s story right, that’s what they’re claiming. Different histories or no, it’s clear the Barleycorn King is key to this. I like that name, I’m sticking to it.

  The High Track, at least the High Track I know, is a loop. If you want, you can walk around the whole thing and come back to the place you started. I got the feeling that’s what those singing prophets were doing. ’Course, I could be wrong, the High Track here could be totally different. But there’s no point thinking like that. That way lies madness.

  So, the beginnings of a plan are beginning to bubble through my brain. That is, when it can be bothered functioning at all, given that the body it’s attached to is very much enjoying this bath, although intermittently reminding the brain that’s it’s been through a lot today and enough might just be enough. I’ll go up to the High Track, but this time, I’ll be a little more wary. For a start, I won’t let the Barleycorn King get anywhere near me, especially in the vicinity of stairs or railings.

  I lie back, put a washcloth over my face. Even my brain, possibly the most active but the least functional part of me, is protesting now.

  MORNING COMES ALL too soon. There is, of course, food to be consumed, wounds to be fussed over, plans to be discussed. Although there’s less of that than you’d might expect. Apparently, they’re leaving most of it up to me. I learn the times that the prophets do their rounds, I learn where the Barleycorn King is likely to be found and when. Although he’s an uncertain bugger, by all accounts. Ed, unexpectedly, offers me a gun. I refuse, much to his surprise. I’ve never liked guns; they have a way of pointing in the wrong direction, in my experience. Judith looks approving at this decision, and Ed somewhat proud. Not that I’m about to invite the Barleycorn King to engage in hand-to-hand combat. No, running away and hiding are my main strategies.

  But there’s one piece of equipment that I have accepted. Ed has devised a pair of gloves which, he claims, will allow me to carry the Time Locked box without problem. They look, I have to say, much like heavy gardening gloves. I am sceptical, but it’s the lining of the gloves that gives me cause for hope. Inside, instead of cloth, is a plastic substance which reminds me a little of the box itself. It’s weird to put on, so I keep the gloves in a back pocket—they’re not the kind of thing you want to be seen wandering around wearing.

  I have to admit they’ll be useful. My original plan involved a certain amount of wishful thinking that the box wouldn’t be jumping around in time anymore and, possibly, the vague idea of pushing it over the side of the High Track before it really caught hold of me. Possibly not the best plan I’ve ever had. Worse comes to worst, I could walk the box back to the farm Time Locked and wait for Ed to figure out how to unlock me. No, actually, there’s no way I’m going to do that. I take a moment to internally vow that things are not going to be allowed to get t
hat bad.

  Then I’m off and out and away from the farm.

  Once I’m out on the other side of the water tower, in among the market-goers, I feel like I’m almost home again. Everything seems alarmingly normal. It’s only when I’m up near staircase number 2—the closest to the box, if it’s stayed where I left it—that I see the eyes of Olwin Duilis staring at me, watching my progress.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask.

  She don’t see fit to reply.

  “I’m not doing this for you,” I tell her. “I want to get home.”

  She remains silent.

  “What were you thinking when you made that double?” I ask. “Did you know she’d go off, try and stay alive? Is that what you want?”

  Olwin Duilis stays as uncommunicative as ever. I fart around, trying to find the bottom of the staircase, and discover it hidden behind a vine artistically arranged over a wire sculpture that could almost be mistaken for a Tentie. Well, this is something new, something that isn’t here back home. I wonder if Guerra got rid of it, or it’s part of the whole mystery of the disappearing Tenties Judith couldn’t quite bring herself to talk about. I decide I don’t care.

  The stairs are noisy. They’re metal and it’s almost impossible not to clang as you make your way up. So much for the discreet entrance. The ascent also reminds me that my left knee could be in better shape, and, to be honest, that I’m not as fit as someone my age possibly should be. There seem to be more stairs here than on the other staircases, but I’m probably kidding myself. Nevertheless I make it to the top, take a moment to catch my breath, look around and am greeted by an empty High Track. It’s almost disappointing.