The Cracks in the Kingdom

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  The air crackled and a woman’s voice — faint, distant — seeped into the room.

  “Good evening, everybody, and welcome. Welcome, especially, to the young people of Cello —” Then the static was back, loud as rainfall, followed by silence.

  “I guess the Magical North did not want us to get away with it!” the Princess exclaimed while Elliot’s companion explained to him in a rapid whisper that technology — especially telephone lines — rarely worked in this province because of the untamed ripples of magic.

  “I’ve heard,” Elliot nodded.

  Well, so had everybody heard. It was common knowledge. He fell out of love with her, and started wondering if she couldn’t circulate a little — share that wink of hers around a bit — and let him do his own thing.

  The cocktail reception was followed by a photo shoot and a Welcome Banquet, and Elliot continued to drift through it all in his scuffed, cracked boots. The noise never seemed to stop. Even during the banquet there was entertainment — dancers, musicians, clowns, mimes, and somebody who wanted to sing a tale about each of the provinces. Conversation shouted and rushed around him, up and over the crack and crunch of foods being broken, twisted, and consumed. Delicious, sure, but weird, a lot of that food.

  Much later he found himself closing the door of his guest room.

  The clamor still sounded in his ears, and he looked around at the pillows, drapes, cushions, paintings, mirrors, rugs, tapestries, ornaments, ornamental fireplace (with busy, cracking fire), and it seemed like there was a showbag on the bed, alongside cellophane-wrapped chocolates, and a fax machine — why a fax machine? — on a table in the corner, and alongside that some complicated device that seemed to be hung with coffee cups — what the — well, so maybe it was a coffeemaker.

  Also, there was an ornate telephone, which seemed pointless given the situation with phones in this province, and there were blues, golds, crimsons, whites, rich mahogany browns, and words like gilt, marble, silver jangled at Elliot’s head, all of it seeming to blaze and bustle at him, and he thought, Ah, for crying out loud, would you all just quiet down a minute?

  Even the floorboards were noisy: They were that polished, they were shouting to be noticed.

  Okay, take it easy, he said to them. I see you there. Still not planning to do anything more than walk on you.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and wrenched off his old boots, feeling sorry for them. Used to be, he loved and trusted them but now it seemed they’d let each other down, him and his boots. Things would never be the same between them again.

  He reached for the showbag sitting on his bed, and looked inside. There was a bunch of papers in there, as well as a name tag with a pin stuck behind it:

  The papers included a map of the Palace, a list of its recreational facilities, a Note on Room Service (apparently, fax machines were the only technology that could reliably bypass the magic, so if you wanted a cheeseburger in the night, you should fax the kitchen — at least that explained the machine on the table), some souvenir royal soaps (he’d bring those home for the Sheriff, a certified royalphile), and a Schedule of the Weekend Ahead.

  The Schedule was printed on white cardboard, thick as a chopping board. Well, maybe not that thick. Still. And it wasn’t so much white as shining with a pale silver gloss.

  The writing was beautifully manicured, he thought. Then he closed his eyes a moment. That wasn’t the word. There was another word. Stenography? Ah, he was too tired to think. Calligraphy. That’s what he meant. It curled all over the place, the writing. Flounced around like a drunk girl on a dance floor.

  He got past the calligraphy and studied the actual meaning. Cardboard sheets like this had been handed out to reporters tonight, so it must be the “official” version of the weekend ahead.

  He skimmed the Friday schedule — cocktail reception, photo shoot, banquet: that was all done, at least — and read on to Saturday and Sunday.

  10:00 A.M. Session 1 — Green Conference Room 1A

  Round table discussion: Is Cello a united Kingdom? Can the rifts between provinces be healed? What steps can the Young People of Cello take to heal them?

  Session to include getting-to-know-you games and team-building activities

  LUNCH

  2:00 P.M. Session 2 — Blue Conference Room 3B

  Round table discussion: Cello’s Environment: revegetation of the southeastern Nature Strip; should the Moving Mountains be anchored?; desalination of the Inland Sea; mining of the Undisclosed Province; the crisis in the Farms. How can Young People help with the Crops?

  How can Young People help with the Crops? He thought about his buddies back home and how they’d honk, shout, snort, and shriek their laughter at that. Nothing like the laughter here, which was like trying out the high notes on musical instruments (for the women) and beating a bass drum in slow, careful rhythm (for the men).

  He turned the schedule over and read on. More of the same “themed” sessions, interspersed with various Activities and Tours of the Vicinity. All the meetings took place in conference rooms with different colors — What were they doing, showing off about how much paint they had around here? Had there been a sale at the local hardware store? — right up to a final session on Sunday afternoon which asked: “What can Young People do about the Future?”

  That struck him as pretty funny too.

  He couldn’t stop laughing for a while.

  Then his mood turned grim again.

  Get through this weekend, he thought. Then the future can begin.

  * * *

  The next morning he woke to a quiet tinging, and opened his eyes. A woman dressed in a black uniform was in his room. She seemed to be building up the fire.

  “Good morning,” she said without turning. “Did you sleep well?”

  She straightened up then, and adjusted a tray table so it was suspended over his bed. It held a silver jug, a plate of pastries, a glass of juice, and a bowl of fruit. The woman opened the drapes, and bright stripes of snow-light dazzled his eyes, splashing color and shadows about the room.

  “I did sleep well,” he said, surprised.

  In fact, he’d slept the deepest, darkest sleep he’d known in years. This bed, he realized, and these sheets — he sat up, feeling them. It was like they were drenched in softness.

  Now he felt the side of the silver jug and it was hot. He breathed deeply and smelled rich chocolate. Touched the pastries: They were warm and golden.

  Well, he thought, scratching the back of his head. It was just a couple of days after all. Might not be so bad.

  2.

  The Green Conference Room was painted white, not green, and the table was rectangular, not round.

  Princess Ko stood at the head, a pile of folders and papers before her, alongside a silver bowl of mints.

  Two security agents stood against the wall behind her. Just beyond them was a closed door, so Elliot had the impression the agents were lined up waiting for the bathroom. It struck him that they were feeling very solemn about their bathroom wait, those agents.

  He looked around the table.

  Beside him was Samuel, the smiling kid from Olde Quainte, still dressed in ruffles, and with collars the size of sun hats. He seemed to be about twelve years old and had pale pink cheeks and a kind of stilled agitation — like a contestant on a game show ready to pounce on the buzzer.

  Opposite Elliot was Keira. She seemed older than Samuel, maybe closer to Elliot’s age, and today her red-gold hair was hidden beneath tight black netting. He remembered reading that those hair-net things were fashionable in Jagged Edge. Her face was all angles and perfect skin, and she was wearing a loose-woven sweater in an earthy color — it had a ragged look, but might have been made from the yarn of a capelbeast, in which case it was super expensive. There was tension about Keira too, but hers was more controlled. She leaned back, gaze fixed on the window.

  There was one other person at the table — a slight boy with dark hair and fine cheekbones, who grinn
ed at Elliot and raised a hand, as if they were old buddies. Now who was that? He was definitely familiar but in a weird sideways way, like someone Elliot might have seen as an extra on a TV show one day.

  “Welcome, everybody,” Princess Ko began, and that startled the room because her voice — even her face — were so different from how they’d been last night. All of it lower and calmer. Elliot had only met the Princess once before, briefly, and had almost forgotten how she was when she wasn’t performing.

  “I, for my province and my happiness, call your royal self a good morning, and welcome you in turn!” cried Samuel in a tumbling Olde Quainte accent, his ruffles and collars agitating in time with his voice. “Of course, you are already here — this is your home! — so welcome is perhaps not to order. However, as to a turnkey in a battleship, if I may begin the discussion? I, for one, believe within my heart, and its vessels and capillaries, that the Kingdom of Cello is far too divided, but I — in turn — believe that we, the young people of Cello, can heal the rifts! We can do it!”

  There was a silence.

  Keira leaned toward him. “I’m thinking maybe the schedule is fake?” she said.

  A shudder ran across Samuel’s face. His voice rumpled with almost-sobs: “Of course it is! I knew that! I was so taken up by its perfection, Princess Ko, of your —”

  “It’s all right, Samuel.” The Princess knocked her fist against the folders. “It is confusing. Even I feel nonplussed at times by my own farce. Thus, let us move directly to the real reason we are here.”

  She drew out a pile of stapled papers and handed these around.

  Elliot flicked through it. There were lists, pie charts, flowcharts, and bar graphs. He remembered that one thing he’d noticed when he’d met her before was that the Princess seemed to know what she was doing. He relaxed a little.

  “We are here,” said the Princess, “because my family has been abducted. I believe they have been taken through cracks into the World. The rest of the Kingdom does not know this. To them, you are nothing more than a public relations exercise. In fact, I have invited you here to help. These are my objectives.”

  She swung around, pointing to a whiteboard behind her. The female security agent took a sideways step, and pressed a button.

  Writing emerged on the screen: a list of bullet points.

  Elliot looked down. The list on the board was replicated on the first page of the notes. Overkill. He shrugged. Okay, so this would be like school.

  “One, I must rule the Kingdom.

  “Two, I must conceal the fact that my family is missing.

  “Three, I must conceal the fact that I am running the Kingdom.

  “Four, I must find my family, find whoever is responsible for stealing my family, punish them, and bring my family home.”

  She turned back, just as the writing on the board began to jumble — provincial magic getting under the skin of technology again — and gazed at them.

  “Did you consider making item Four into items Four, Five, Six, and Seven?”

  Princess Ko blinked, and looked at Keira.

  “What?”

  “It’s just, it’s actually four items in one, right? Find your family, find who’s responsible, and so on. Or is it like a four-pointer? Like, you have to get all the components if you want the full mark for that question?” There was a beat. “In the exam,” Keira added.

  Elliot was watching Keira. Her face was solemn but he caught a glint in her eye, and he turned to see how Princess Ko would take this.

  “Be aware of items One to Three,” Princess Ko said to the room — so she was going to ignore it — “but your focus is on item Four. On all its components. Find my family and bring them home — in under three months. I will now introduce you.”

  She pointed to Samuel, who bowed so low that his head thunked against the table. When he looked up, he was trying to hide his wince. It must have hurt, though. His eyes were tearing up.

  “Samuel has extensive knowledge of Cello’s history with a special interest in World-Cello interaction. He’s a member of every historical society in the Kingdom, and on the board of half of those societies. His school history teacher wrote a reference letter that was a firefly of dazzle.”

  Samuel blushed and bowed again, this time being careful to stop in time.

  The Princess waved a hand at Elliot.

  “Elliot was chosen because he found a crack in his hometown of Bonfire, and has been exchanging letters with a girl in the World.”

  This made an impression on the room. Samuel gasped, and swiveled so he was facing Elliot. Keira adjusted her headnet.

  “Incidentally, it was the Deputy Sheriff in Elliot’s hometown who deduced that my family had been taken to the World,” the Princess continued. “To him, they were anonymous missing people, not the royal family. It was impressive — but that is not the reason Elliot was chosen. It is simply interesting trivia.”

  Princess Ko now indicated the slight, dark boy across the table — the one who seemed familiar to Elliot.

  “This is the shadow member of our team,” she explained. “He is not formally on the Alliance and you will not mention him to anybody. Nor will you acknowledge him if you see him around the Palace. However, you may remember him. He is my stable boy, Sergio, and he played the role of my sister, Princess Jupiter, on the royal tour when the three of you were chosen.”

  That explained the familiarity.

  Sergio had bright eyes. He bounced around a little as if in time to a silent beat, then placed his elbows on the table. Now he looked ready for a cracking good game of cards.

  There was another silence.

  “As pleased as I am to see him,” faltered Samuel, “might I ask, Your Honorable Princess … might I ask why your stable boy is here?”

  Princess Ko looked just over their heads. “He’s my best friend,” she said.

  Well, that took courage, Elliot thought. To say that.

  Still, why exactly was the stable boy here?

  But she had moved on to Keira.

  “Finally, Keira has been chosen because she has expertise in technology and excellent vision.”

  Keira cracked her knuckles so loudly that both the security agents flinched. Elliot caught the flinches from the corner of his eye. He looked at Keira’s hands and saw that she bit her nails. She dragged her sweater sleeves down, covering them.

  “My province,” Keira said, looking at her sweater sleeves, “is crammed with technologists who see well. It’s a night-dwelling thing, the vision.”

  “You are also a motocross champion,” Princess Ko shrugged.

  “So, what, you want me to ride into the World and throw your family on the back of my bike?”

  The windows shadowed for a moment.

  “If you could,” said Princess Ko steadily, “then certainly,” and she pulled out her chair and sat down.

  “If it might please for you for me to ask for you a question?” Samuel said.

  Everyone disentangled this, then Princess Ko nodded.

  “You can ask a question.”

  “As to a wisecrack in pajamas, I note that the Queen — your good mother — addressed us, ever so briefly, on the telephone last night. Now, can you not simply follow the line of that telephone — I admit to being entirely unsure about the technology, but I believe there are telephone lines — and so, follow it, Princess, hand over hand, so to speak — until you reach your mother?”

  There was another silence, during which various people sighed deeply.

  “That was not real,” Princess Ko explained carefully. “Samuel, as you know, we have spent the last year tricking the Kingdom into believing the family is still here. That was an old recording of my mother.”

  Samuel gasped in admiration. “Ingenious,” he whispered, then gathering his voice again: “And your own conduct in public — some might even say — call yourself a forgiveness, but some might say you are stupid! Is that also trickery? If so, I am somewhat in the wilderness … but of cou
rse, a magician must not reveal —”

  “I cannot have people suspecting that I’m running things,” Princess Ko interrupted. “Nobody would suspect someone that stupid. Let’s get on.”

  She reached for a mint. Elliot noticed that her nails, unlike Keira’s, were perfectly painted — manicured, this was where that word belonged — her hands, perfectly steady.

  3.

  The second meeting took place in the Blue Conference Room, Level 3.

  It was identical to the Green Conference Room except that the Blue Room had green cushions on its seats. Confusing.

  Elliot was first to arrive.

  Apart from the security agents, of course. They must have already screened the room or whatever they did, and now were standing against the wall.

  “Hey,” he said to them, holding up the bread roll he’d grabbed on the way out of Lunch. The agents blinked and nodded ever so slightly — as slightly as a bread crumb — in response.

  Elliot raised his eyebrows at that, and moved over to the window, taking a bite of the roll. You could see the Palace moat from here — it was permanently frozen, he’d heard, and a few people were skating on it now. Staff, he guessed. This place seemed overrun with staff. Beyond the moat, a snowplow was reversing through the Palace gates, while a couple of guys in parkas directed it.

  A shape appeared beside him, and Elliot startled. It was Keira. She sure knew how to move stealthily. That was a night-dwelling thing, he guessed.

  “Snow here never melts,” she reflected.

  Elliot had been thinking the same thing. Most of Cello had wandering seasons, so you never knew when summer might give way to spring, or how long autumn would keep blowing down the leaves. Here in the Magical North, however, it was always winter.

  “It’s beautiful,” Keira said thoughtfully. “But they miss out on that cracking, snapping time when the whole world breaks into pieces.”