Shadowland: Book III of the Brotherhood of the Conch

by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

  Anand would have loved to ask Nisha what she thought of the war between the scientists and the magicians, but they did not get another opportunity to be by themselves. After a brief lunch of soup that was almost as tasteless as the morning’s meal, they were made to work in the rice paddies, crouching in water that came up to their ankles to plant seedlings, and then, when an exhausted Anand was hoping for some rest, they were sent to the packing shed. As he washed and dried the luscious produce and arranged them in pretty baskets to be consumed by some rich and unthinking councilman, Anand used the last of his strength to cautiously send out another Search arrow. This one was directed at their potential rescuer, someone who could get them out of the rehabitational and to the conch. Come quickly, it entreated.

  5

  SCIENTISTS

  Anand was awakened from uneasy sleep by a dig in the ribs with a tubegun. The guard at the other end of the gun yelled at him to hurry and clean himself up. He needed to be in the Showroom in exactly five minutes. Muscles still aching from yesterday’s labor, Anand stumbled groggily into the showering area where, along with several other boys, he stripped and was sprayed with a stinging black liquid soap. He washed it off the best he could, shivering under the jet of cold water sprayed by a different machine, then dressed once again in an ill-fitting uniform that was tossed at him. Guards herded the boys to a large room filled with other Illegals, snatched off their masks, and locked them in without further explanation.

  The room was empty except for a set of bleachers on which everyone was sitting, and several vents that noisily pumped in air. Anand scanned the faces anxiously, relaxing only when he found Nisha’s. She sat on the top row of the bleachers, and though there wasn’t much space, he climbed up and squeezed himself in beside her. Only then did he notice that the bleachers faced a large glass wall. He couldn’t see through it, but he had a feeling that they were being watched. Around him, the youths who were veterans of the rehabitational—including B—were sitting up attentively, hiding their dispiritedness and making an effort to smile. Anand could think of only one reason why they’d do that: From the other side of the glass, prospective employers were observing them. Now he understood why their masks had been removed.

  Anand’s heart beat unevenly. He tried to make himself look docile and contented. Although he did not dare to use his mental powers, he wished as hard as he could that Nisha and he would be chosen. Once before, when he had been a poor boy washing dishes in the slums of Kolkata, wishing had helped change his life, bringing him in touch with Master Abhaydatta and the Silver Valley. Maybe it would work again.

  Soon afterward, two guards ushered them single file to the room next door where a rehabitational officer was speaking to half a dozen men and one woman. The men were plump and prosperous-looking and were dressed in elaborately embroidered, silken uniforms decorated with braids and medals. The official must have said something funny, for they burst into laughter just as Anand entered. But the woman, who wore a simple white bodysuit, looked impatient. With her spectacles and her creased brow and her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, she seemed to be all business.

  One by one, the youths were instructed to stand in front of a machine that took up one side of the room. The machine would shine a ray of light into their eyes and beep in a particular tone. Then lines of information would flash on its screen. Anand guessed this to be the person’s criminal record. The employers would examine it closely, make notes on pads they carried, then shake their heads or give a nod. The rejected youths were taken back to their cells, their shoulders drooping. The lucky ones who received a nod were sent to the back of the room to wait anxiously for the employers to make their final selection.

  When B approached the machine, it went wild, clanging and flashing. An entire screenful of data appeared, several areas highlighted in red. The clients looked annoyed, and the woman exclaimed, with some asperity, “Don’t you know by now that we never hire magicians? You shouldn’t waste our time with the likes of him.” The official apologized profusely at the oversight and barked at the guards, one of whom grabbed B roughly by the arm and dragged him away. Anand hoped they wouldn’t hurt him. But he did not have too much time to worry about B, because now it was his turn to approach the machine.

  When Anand stood in front of it, the machine made a soft chittering sound and the screen remained blank. The employers were most intrigued by this development, whispering excitedly among themselves and ordering the official to run the test again. When the results were the same, they made him stand by himself to one side. Not surprisingly, the machine had the same response to Nisha, and she was sent to join Anand.

  What would happen to them now? Anand wondered. Would they be able to make the employers believe that they were from the Outer Lands, whatever those were? Would this increase their chances of employment—and thus perhaps freedom—as B had told them? But what if they were asked to describe their home? Even if they made something up, their accounts would differ. Then surely the officials would realize that they were magicians and imprison them forever in the bowels of Rehabitational 39. He felt an urge to chew his nails but forced himself to remain still. It would not do to give away his nervousness.

  Fortunately for him, their potential employers were too busy arguing to ask them any questions. Anand realized they all wanted to hire them.

  “You got first pick the last time,” one of the men accused another. “It’s my turn now.”

  “I can pay more,” the third, most elaborately dressed man told the rehabitational officer.

  The woman, who had been quiet until then, spoke. “M-81,” she said in a cool, clipped voice to the elaborately dressed man, “you know it’s illegal to deviate from the flat fee the rehabitational is supposed to charge for all its inmates. If the council came to hear of your offer, they might not look upon it kindly. And they might wonder if perhaps you had more money than was good for your moral well-being.” The man paled visibly and started to apologize, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. To the officer she said, “You know that I have the highest priority, since I have to replace two sick workers—workers that we’d hired from you, I might add—who were supposed to be helping at the banquet the scientists are holding tonight inside Futuredome.”

  She was a scientist. And she was going to take whomever she chose inside Futuredome, where the conch was locked up. The blood in Anand’s temples pounded so hard that he was afraid everyone in the room would hear it. He kept deathly still, afraid that any response on his part might make the scientist change her mind.

  “Sign them to my account,” the woman said in a voice that expected immediate obedience. The officer hesitated, glancing at the other clients, who looked furious. But in the end none of them dared challenge the scientist.

  “The lease has been recorded. They’re yours for two days,” the officer said once the formalities had been taken care of. He handed her several gadgets, including a blue tube—to keep them under control, Anand guessed—and said his good-byes with some relief. The woman nodded curtly at him and left the building without bothering to check if her newly hired helpers were behind her. She didn’t have to. As Anand discovered when he lagged behind for a moment, the collar stung his neck if he was more than a certain distance from her.

  Outside, the woman clapped her hands and the back of a white vehicle swung open. Anand observed the vehicle with some curiosity, wondering how it would move, for it had no wheels. The woman motioned impatiently for them to get inside. Like the bus earlier, this vehicle’s walls were also made of glass for easy surveillance. The scientist got in the driver’s seat and pressed a few buttons, a motor purred smoothly, and the vehicle lifted off the ground and glided forward. They were free of the rehabitational—at least for two days—and on their way to Futuredome and the conch!

  * * *

  Having visited the Farm, Anand thought he knew what domes were like, but as the scientist’s van approached Futuredome, he realized that this one was unique.
Unlike the other domes, it had a shiny, highly reflective shell, so no intruders could look in. However, clearly those inside could see out, for hardly had their vehicle approached what appeared to be a solid wall when it sprang open—like jaws, Anand thought—and then snapped shut behind them. They were inside what looked like a large, windowless warehouse. Immediately, a host of heavily armed guards surrounded them. Unlike the guards outside, however, they didn’t wear masks. Somehow, the scientists had purified the air inside the dome so that its inhabitants could dispense with those irritating breathing devices. The scientist climbed out and removed her mask, too, throwing it, with apparent relief, into the back of the van. She gestured to Anand and Nisha to do the same, then strode up to the leader of the guards, who gave her a deferential bow, confirming Anand’s suspicion that she was an important person.

  “Please step this way, Dr. S,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble, but I must follow procedures.” The scientist stepped into a rectangular box the size of a small room. Anand guessed it was some kind of scanning device to ensure she wasn’t carrying any contraband items into the dome. Once she was cleared, Nisha and he were shoved in. The machine sent a tingly sensation through him, then emitted a series of chirps indicating all was clear. Next, a guard moved them on to a different machine, which scanned their eyes and confirmed their lack of records. Finally, the chief guard passed the papers the scientist carried through a third machine to ensure that they weren’t forged.

  Watching all this, Anand’s heart sank. Even if he were lucky enough to find and rescue the conch, how would he smuggle it out past so many guards? And if he failed to rescue it this time and needed to come back into Futuredome, he would never get past this fortress of machines on his own. He sneaked a look at Nisha; she met his glance, lips pursed in grim determination. He could almost hear her pragmatic, no-nonsense voice. One thing at a time! In the past she had helped him get through situations as seemingly impossible as this one—when the sorcerer Surabhanu, transformed into a serpent, had attacked him, or when the evil jinn Ifrit was about to burn down the Nawab’s court. The memories heartened him. He would worry later. Right now he needed to keep track of the road Dr. S was taking, so that if necessary he and Nisha could retrace it.

  * * *

  As the white van made its way out of the security station and into Futuredome proper, Anand stared in openmouthed surprise. He was seeing something he had taken for granted every day of his life back in his own world: the sun. For inside Futuredome, the sun shone down cheerfully from a blue sky where a few lazy clouds wafted by. If he had not traveled through a dreary wasteland just a few minutes back, Anand would have believed it to be the real thing. How had the scientists been able to create such an amazing illusion? He felt a grudging respect for them but also a deep disquiet: People with such powerful abilities would be hard to outwit. At the same time, he felt the stirrings of anger. They had wasted their abilities on providing frivolous luxuries for the rich and powerful of Coal—but what about the common people? Talking to B had made him realize how harsh their existence was.

  The streets of Futuredome were wide and bone white. They looked brand-new—probably because they were only used by hover cars, thought Anand, glancing at the vehicles that glided around him. There weren’t many of these, nor were there any pedestrians on the pristine sidewalks. Perhaps most people were at work. All the drivers they passed seemed to know Dr. S. They touched their foreheads or joined their palms respectfully in greeting, though to Anand their smiles looked forced. Were they afraid of her, or just of scientists in general? She gave the briefest of nods in response—she wasn’t one to waste her time on social niceties—and headed for a group of steel-gray towers located at the center of the dome.

  They were passing a residential neighborhood consisting of perhaps a hundred cheerful multistoried buildings, each exactly like the next, painted in a design of airy pastels: pinks, greens, the palest mauves. There was something about the colors that made Anand’s worries recede. A sense of sleepy well-being filled him. Even the danger that engulfed the conch didn’t seem to matter. No doubt things would work out for the best; things always did. Next to him, Nisha, too, looked unusually relaxed. As he stared at her, she gave him a woozy smile.

  A warning bell went off in Anand’s mind. In the valley, he’d taken lessons in Colorpower. He’d learned how, when colors were arranged in particular combinations, they had specific effects on the mind. The colors of the buildings in Futuredome were arranged in a sequence that would discourage inhabitants from asking questions. Was this a coincidence, or had someone purposely designed them this way so that the people who lived in them would be easy to control? He sneaked a look at Dr. S to see how the colors affected her, but she had slipped on a pair of dark glasses.

  She knew.

  If the scientists of this world were Masters of the subtle sciences, too—fields of study that earlier had been open only to healers and magicians—they would be that much more dangerous. What weapon could Anand possibly use against them?

  * * *

  At the tallest, sternest-looking steel tower, there were more guards, and of course more machines. Dr. S drove through a huge one that scanned her entire vehicle, then maneuvered the van up a spiraled ramp to a parking area. She parked in a prime spot close to the rooftop door, jumped out, and clapped her hands to release the young people from the van. A giant cable snaked up from the flooring and clamped itself to the front of her vehicle, powering it for its next use.

  The scientist addressed them for the first time, her tone brusque but not unpleasant. “I’ll take you to the waiting room. Wash up and get some rest. There’ll be fresh uniforms for you there. In a couple of hours, I’ll take you to the event, where someone will explain your duties to you. If you’re smart, you’ll do a good job. Keep in mind that the scientists don’t forget easily—nor are they quick to forgive.”

  They followed her into a glass box that Anand guessed was an elevator. He had never been in one before. In Kolkata, only the most affluent buildings had had them. In any case, he was sure they were nothing like this one, with a transparent floor that made his head spin when he looked down to what seemed like an unending shaft. Dr. S punched in a code, and the elevator plummeted so rapidly that Anand’s stomach gave a huge lurch and he had to clutch Nisha’s arm to keep his balance.

  The waiting area was on the lowest floor. It consisted of a number of locked rooms. Dr. S stopped outside one of these. Its door was transparent so passersby could look in, though Anand guessed that the people inside could not see out. The room was equipped with bunk beds, a bathroom, and a table for meals. Though spare, compared with the cells at the rehabitational it appeared luxurious. The inmates, gathered around a glowing sphere, were avidly staring at projected holograms.

  “As you see, the room is equipped with a Podsphere, which you may watch,” the scientist said, sounding friendlier than before. “What’s your favorite Pod show? I’ve turned your collars off for the moment, so you can answer.”

  When Anand and Nisha remained silent, she added in a kind voice, “Don’t be afraid!”

  “I’m not afraid,” Nisha retorted, stung. “We don’t have a favorite show because where we come from, there aren’t any Pods.”

  Anand cringed inwardly; Nisha shouldn’t have divulged that information! Instead, she should have pretended to be disoriented, perhaps even a little slow in the head.

  Excitement lighted up the scientist’s face.

  “That’s what I’d guessed! You’re from the Outer Lands! Come with me—no, no, you don’t have to stay down here with the other workers. I want you to tell me all about your home.”

  A nervous Anand followed Dr. S and Nisha back into the elevator. They were in trouble. When Dr. S questioned them, how would they get their stories to match? She was smart. She was bound to become suspicious. And if she guessed where they really came from, and what they planned to do, it would be disastrous to their qu
est.

  Behind the scientist’s back he glared at Nisha. Now look what you’ve done! his eyes said. But when he saw how contrite she looked, biting her lower lip to keep herself from crying, he could not bear to stay angry with her.

  * * *

  Sitting on a soft, silken couch, Anand looked around with amazement. The scientist’s apartment—for that’s where she had brought them—was spare and uncluttered, but the few pieces of furniture with their clean lines showed her fine taste. The open window invited in a cool breeze, and though Anand knew that no natural wind currents could exist inside the dome, he still enjoyed the freshness on his skin. He particularly liked the plant with small purple buds that sat on the windowsill. He had not seen any flowers since he arrived in Shadowland and had wondered if they existed in this world.

  “You like my plant?” Dr. S said, carrying in a platter of bread and fruit and a jug of juice. “We no longer grow flowers in Coal because we need to use all the space we have for food. But I came across these old seeds and thought I would try it at home. I’m waiting for it to bloom. My colleagues think I’m crazy for doing such things! Anyway, here’s some food. Help yourselves.”

  In spite of his nervousness, Anand was too hungry to hesitate. The bread was tasty enough, though unlike anything he’d eaten, and he didn’t recognize the juice, though it was very sweet. The scientists, it seemed, had come up with many hybrid foods. He did recognize the bananas, though they were gargantuan and tasted rubbery. But after the mush he had been subjected to at the rehabitational, he wasn’t going to complain! As he took an enormous bite, however, he couldn’t help wondering if it had been harvested by an Illegal youth forced to wear a muzzle.