Doctor Scubbe unlocked another door and ushered them through. A workroom, filled with curious sounds. The bubbling and trickling of a row of aquariums. The fluting whisper of pigeon wings and their sweet, throbbing coos from the many cages that lined the walls. Worktables crowded with glass vessels of all sizes and shapes, flasks, pipettes, test tubes standing in groups or clamped to metal stands. Among these lay mechanical objects in various states of assembly, wires sprouting, inner workings revealed—radios, hair dryers, rifles, headphones. Gia even spotted an electronic food processor just like the one Mandy used.
Nico would love this! Then she wondered at herself. Nico was missing and might be in danger. Had she really forgotten that already?
A whirring squeak drew her attention back to the cages and she saw that not all of the cages contained pigeons. There were snaartjies here too and paddawagters, as well as other creatures she did not recognise but guessed were magical.
“So this is my own laboratory,” said Doctor Scubbe. “Although many of these experiments are actually the work of cadets. Anything that needs somebody to keep an eye on things through the night tends to happen in here. This lot over here is by Mantjies, actually,” he gestured at one of the tables. “He’s doing some very interesting work.”
The table he indicated was one of the few neat spots in the room. It was covered with sheets of paper on which objects had been laid out with obvious care. Gia was not near enough to see clearly, but she spotted a row of what appeared to be canisters of some kind.
Just beyond this table was another door—a metal door, with an aperture at eye level and a box where the doorknob should be. The aperture was closed by a sliding panel and there was no sign on it, or any other clues to what the door might lead to.
I wonder— But she did not have time to pursue her thoughts. Doctor Scubbe was moving round the room, explaining the various experiments.
“Time was, we used to be mostly involved with defence. Making new kinds of wards, for example, or antidotes to werewolf bites. That’s good as far as it goes, but the Belle Gente aren’t sitting around waiting for us to make ourselves safe. We’ve got to do a bit of pre-emptive defence. Weapons, in other words. And of course, surveillance.” He pointed at a row of tiny disks, the size of buttons. “As you might know, standard electronic equipment often fails in the presence of strong magic. So the normal recording devices and microphones simply are not good enough. One of our projects is to work out ways to get around that particular problem. So. Anyone have a question so far?”
Vetkoek, who seemed to have been waiting for just this opportunity, immediately burst out with, “Oom, I mean, sir, is it true that you were in the recces?”
Doctor Scubbe snorted. “Been listening to the skinner in the barracks, have you? What’s your name, cadet?”
“Vetkoek— I mean, Cadet Becker. Monty Becker, sir.”
“Vetkoek, hey? And are you interested in this kind of thing?” Doctor Scubbe gestured at the laboratory.
Vetkoek shrugged. “Well, I’ve never tried, sir, but I’m a pretty good shot. And I know how to make a silver-salt bomb.”
“Sounds like we’ll find a use for you, boet. Any other questions? You, there with the glasses.” He nodded at Pote, who had his hand up.
“Are these things like, top secret, sir?”
“Well, some of them,” said Doctor Scubbe. “We really keep the sensitive stuff at another place, but Captain Witbooi isn’t one of those guys who is so set on security that it gets in the way of efficient research. For example, Cadet Mantjies is working on some pretty important projects and he’s only a second-year cadet. You’ll find that if you’re good enough, you get to do the fun stuff. Yes?”
Cadet Motsepe had her hand up. “What are all these animals for, sir? Experiments?”
“Good question. Experiments, yes. We see how magicals react to different substances. Or use parts of them, or their venom. For antidotes, for example. That kind of thing. These are just the little guys. We test the bigger chaps through here.”
He reached over and pushed open a door. Gia caught a glimpse of a small room, floor and walls tiled gleaming white and in the middle, something like a dentist’s chair.
The Doctor’s chair. This must be what Govender had been joking about.
She suppressed a shudder. It was all too easy to imagine what it must be like to sit in that chair, arms, legs and head restrained by the wide, black straps.
“Doctor,” said Cadet Lee from the door. “The first school group has just arrived.”
-oOo-
The school children had clearly taken the “don’t touch” lecture to heart. They stood with their hands behind their backs, staring wide-eyed at the feline display, listening to a senior cadet who was telling them about the dangers of mucklestings.
“We’ll just stay back here for the moment,” whispered Cadet Lee. “Too many of you to go join them in the corridor.”
Was I ever that small? Gia wondered. The children giggled at something their guide said then went quiet again.
“This is a well-behaved lot,” Cadet Lee said quietly. “Okay, here they come. Let them go ahead into the display area then we’ll follow after. You guys just spread out in the space. Stay in earshot, don’t crowd the kiddies or stare at them too much.”
The children walked down the corridor two by two, holding hands. Judging by their uniforms, there were two groups here, from two different schools and three teachers brought up the rear, two men and a woman.
“So, how many of you have a tank of skeekers at home?” the cadet guide asked.
One of the teachers had lagged behind a little. As Gia watched him, he looked up and caught her eye. At first she thought nothing of it, but to her surprise and increasing discomfort, he continued staring at her. He had pale, bony face framed by a straggle of reddish hair and small eyes that blinked through thick-lensed glasses. Gia was sure she’d not met him before. She looked away and stepped behind one of the display cases, so as to be out of his line of sight. But soon a voice spoke close behind her.
“Well, well.” The red-haired teacher had come around behind the display and was now quite close to her. “Shush,” he warned, an ironic smile glinting in his eyes. “Don’t draw attention now. They’re all nicely distracted.”
“I’m sorry? Do I know you?”
“Oh Gia. How quickly you forget.” He took off his glasses. With a prickle of horror, Gia saw his eyes were changing colour, from washed out grey, to blue, to black. “Ochre,” she breathed. “You’re Ochre, aren’t you?”
Ochre, the shape shifting Belle Gente agent. How had he gotten into the very heart of Valkenberg undetected? He seemed to guess her thoughts. “Each of those teachers thinks I’m with the other school’s group. Piece of cake. But I can’t keep it up for long. I’m just here to give you a message. You’re to go on doing what you’re doing, keep your ears and eyes open. Don’t write anything down. Keep it all in your head, right?”
“But—”
“About a hundred metres to the left of the main entrance there’s a drainage ditch that leads down to the Liesbeek River. If you follow that ditch all the way to the perimeter fence, there’s a dip where it meets the fence. If you can get into it without being seen, it’s a fairly safe place to hide. Tomorrow, midnight, go down there and wait as close to the fence as you can without electrocuting yourself. Somebody will meet you there. Got it?”
Gia nodded.
“Thank you,” said Ochre in a louder voice. “I think I can find it now. I do get so anxious if I don’t know the location of the nearest men’s room.” He gave her a friendly nod and walked away.
-oOo-
Ochre’s message had left Gia shaken, although as far as she could tell, nobody had noticed her speaking to him. It was difficult to continue as if nothing had happened. That morning’s news about Nico’s disappearance and the death of the constable who’d been accused of spying still drummed in her head.
What if somebody figure
s out there was an extra teacher and starts investigating? She felt herself seething at the thought of Ochre’s amused expression. He’d risked exposing her by coming into Valkenberg and yet he’d seemed amused by the whole affair, as if it were a game. At least now she knew that she’d soon be speaking to a Belle Gente agent and might have a chance to find out what had happened to Nico.
But by now, surely Granny and the caretaker will have found him. They won’t just let somebody steal Nico out from under their noses.
She forced herself to remain calm, to concentrate on her tasks for the rest of the day. Making friendly conversation at lunch. Sitting through another dreary data capture session.
At last it was evening and she was back in the dormitory. After only a few days, the girls already had an end-of-day routine. Once Cadet Jooste had made her announcements about the next day’s activities and completed her evening inspection, they congregated on and around one of the beds and chatted until lights out. The previous night they had started talking about why each of them had joined the Youth Brigade. Lights out had interrupted their stories, but they picked them up again now.
“Whose turn is it?” said Cadet Mayer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She had what Gia thought of as a head girl manner, taking charge of the conversation with an unconscious arrogance. “What about you, Isaacs?”
Everyone looked with interest at Isaacs who, so far, had spoken only the bare minimum. The bruise on her face had almost faded now, but she still retained some of her wary manner.
“Why did you decide to join the brigade?” asked Mayer. Isaacs said nothing. Seeing the two of them facing one another, Gia was reminded irresistibly of two cats: Mayer, pretty and neat, was a sleek Siamese with a bell on her collar. Isaacs was a street cat, of course, with a chewed ear and a kink in her tail.
At last, Isaacs broke the silence. “So, I come from Lavender Hill,” she said, her voice unexpectedly soft. “Any of you been out there?”
Gia thought of the glimpses she’d seen of Lavender Hill, driving through on the way somewhere else. There had been no trees, only rows of dusty shacks and houses hardly better than shacks. Blocks of flats, all identical, scrawled over with gang signs, windows broken or boarded up.
“Lavender Hill,” repeated Isaacs. “I lived there with my mommy and my granny. Went to school and everything. My little sister and my brother too, but he always running around. My mom was a domestic, you know, so we had some money coming in, things were not too bad.
“Well, one day, this woman came. Needed a place to stay. She was a—you know. Ikwerekwere. A foreigner. She had some long story about a hospital and I don’t know what-all. Anyway, Mommy took her in, said she could sleep on the floor, gave her food.”
Everybody watched Isaacs who sat, tilting her head back, remembering. A cricket started up outside the window, shrill over the quiet hum of the evening traffic.
“Granny did not want her. Said she stank of toordery. Mommy and Granny had a fight about it. But in the end that woman stayed. Slept there. All curled up on the floor.” Isaacs wrinkled her nose. “That night, I don’t know what happened, but she started dreaming, that woman. I saw it. Little dreams came out of her ears. Little sparks. I didn't know what to do but anyway, it was too late by then. The curtains caught fire. It was so fast.” Isaacs shook her head, eyes staring into the past. “I should have— Anyway. I didn’t. Next thing the whole shack was on fire.”
For a long moment, Isaacs sat perfectly still, looking down at her hands. When she went on, her voice was louder, matter of fact. “They all burned up. Mommy, my Granny, my brother and all. I got out with my sister, but she got badly burnt. It was not like a normal fire. Nothing we did stopped it burning. And next thing the neighbours, they started saying I am a witch, because I survived the fire. I got away, got my sister away.
“Anyway, we lived on the streets. It’s not that bad, if you know where to go. But my sister was never right. I tried taking her to the hospital but it was no good. And last year, she died. After that, I got involved in some—bad stuff. But I got caught and I thought that was it for me. But Captain Witbooi, he saw me in the cells and we got talking. He told me about this place. Gave me a chance.” She nodded. “He told me I could be useful. He told me about fighting the magicals. That’s why I’m here. To get rid of all that—” She pursed her lips and, for a moment, Gia thought she was going to spit. “That magical rubbish. Clean it all out. So that’s why I’m here at the Youth Brigade.”
For some moments nobody said anything. Then Motsepe gave a deep sigh. “I wish I could phone my mom. Why don’t they let us phone home?” She didn’t seem to expect an answer and nobody gave her one.
For a while they sat in silence and Gia wondered what would happen if somebody asked her why she’d joined the Youth Brigade. A small part of her wanted them to ask, even if she could never tell them the truth. There was something about the way all of those girls had listened to Isaacs, accepting her story, accepting her.
But before Gia could decide how to start, Mayer sat up and brushed her hands over her lap as if she were flicking off crumbs. “Well,” she said. “Maybe it’s time to go to bed. It’s nearly time for lights out anyway. Clarke, you were sniffling a lot today. Are you getting a cold?”
The skinny redhead looked startled. “No! It’s hay fever. I think all those zoo creatures set me off.”
“Okay, then,” said Mayer, sliding off the bed. “Hope it doesn’t get any worse. Remind me tomorrow, we’ll get you some antihistamines. Bedtime guys, early start tomorrow morning, as usual.”
Kidnapped
He was in a washing machine.
No. If he were in a washing machine, he’d be wet and there was no water here. It was dark, though and it rocked and roared. There were bits of light every now and then that stabbed in and swept towards him in a teasingly familiar way. His head ached, but it ached less than it had. He could bear to open his eyes now.
Nico realised he’d been hearing voices for quite a while, mixed into the droning rush of sound. He could hear the words now, but as usual when he was not concentrating, the words came to him as a stream of shapes and colours. One voice was low and drowsy, the other much higher in pitch. One dark brown and dryish damp like old coffee grounds, the other a curling wisp, lemony white and sharp as a blade. He concentrated, forcing the shapes into words.
“Why didn’t you just leave him there?” said the sharp voice.
The brown voice rumbled something.
“Well, that’s just stupid,” said the sharp voice. “Now we’re stuck with him.”
Nico was awake enough to make sense of his surroundings. He was in a car of some kind. A car without seats, with a metal floor below him and bundles of things all around. The lights were the beams of streetlights or headlights slipping in through a narrow window as they drove past.
How had he got here? Nico closed his eyes again, half hoping he’d fall back into that black, dreamless place. Instead, he felt more awake than ever, conscious of the cold metal under him, of the pain. He felt the back of his head with one cautious hand. It was sore and swollen there and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying.
What was going on? The last thing he remembered—
He frowned. The last thing he remembered, he had been sitting at the supper table—no. After that. In bed, with Pouf sleeping on his legs. He’d reached out with his mind to link with his mother. Nico’s eyes came open again and, for a moment, he forgot where he was, forgot even the thumping pain in his head.
There had been lights. Tiny lights like jewels set into crumpled velvet. He was high up, the wind buffeting his wings as they spread to catch it.
He had been with her, his swan-mother.
It had been exhilarating and at first he’d flared with the wild joy of it, everything stripped away to a simplicity of cold wind, dark sky and the lights. But there had been pain, too. A wordless pain that bled her strength and tethered her to the place she longed to leave.
&nb
sp; The view had tilted and changed as the swan descended. A stream of lights that could only be a freeway swept past beneath and moment later, roofs and streets and then down onto a grassy slope. The shock of recognition had thrown him out of the mind link, back into his bed. He knew that place.
And then? It seemed like a dream now. He’d been so sure of himself, sure what he had to do. His mother was not gone after all. Mandy, Gia, his father, they were all wrong. He, Nico, knew exactly where she was. The colours and shapes of things had looked strange through the swan’s eyes, but even so, there was no doubt about it. It was the quarry park.
He’d seen it clearly, the steep slopes of grass and the place that looked as if a giant had bitten a chunk out of the earth. He’d got out of bed and dressed as fast as he could, pulling his clothes on over his pyjamas, thrusting his feet into his shoes. The front door had been locked, of course. He remembered standing there, staring at it, wondering if he could move the little bits of metal inside the lock with his mind, but not knowing where to start and too impatient to try.
The bathroom window had been easier to open. It was the one window that did not have burglar bars. It was frighteningly high and for a moment he’d hung there, halfway out and nearly lost his nerve. But the thought of his mother, so close and knowing that she might not stay in the park gave him the courage he needed. The drainpipe was old and sturdy, and securely bolted to the wall. He’d half slid, half climbed most of the way down then fell the last bit.
And then?
Nico lay, rocking from side to side, his body so tight with fear it was hard to breathe. The voices had stopped speaking, so all he could hear was the rumble of the engine and a thudding that sounded like windscreen wipers. It must be raining.
It had not been raining when he’d stood out there in the street, looking up at the little bathroom window so high above him and realised that there was no way back. When he’d linked with the swan, he’d been utterly sure of all the directions. He had felt the moon pulling on him and the prick of each of the stars and had even felt the dull, droning buzz of the sun on the other side of the earth below him. But standing in the street at night he had only the faintest idea of which direction to head for. Almost, he’d gone round the front to the studio door where he knew his father still worked, but that would have been the end of it.
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