Galloglass

by Scarlett Thomas

  ‘Who’s she again?’

  ‘That Russian poet. She came to Dad’s stall earlier.’

  ‘She doesn’t sound very nice.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wasn’t Terrence Deer-Hart supposed to have repented after what happened with Skylurian?’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Effie. ‘And now he’s planning to kidnap me. Great.’

  ‘You could maybe try to sound a little bit more scared . . .’ said Maximilian, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m sick of being scared,’ said Effie. ‘Anyway, he can’t kidnap me while I’ve got this.’ She touched the sword on her necklace, but didn’t say the magic word that would make it materialise. ‘We’re stronger than he is. There’s nothing to worry about. He’s small fry. And anyway, it sounds like he’s going to be kept busy writing that terrible book about whoever he was talking to.’

  Maximilian frowned, but didn’t say anything. He’d got out his Spectacles of Knowledge and was putting them on in place of his normal glasses. He’d been trying to wear them more often, but it was exhausting being bombarded with TMI all the time. The spectacles seemed to think that Maximilian wanted to know literally everything about everything: he couldn’t even look at a boring wall without being told about its construction materials, precise dimensions and the names of the people who built it. Sometimes Maximilian wondered if the spectacles were doing it out of spite, or jealousy, ever since it turned out that scholar was his art rather than his kharakter.

  ‘Right,’ said Maximilian, seemingly to the air. ‘A map of the university, please? No – not its entire history! And not so many pages . . . Come on – just a user-friendly map, please. No, not the thing they give out to children on Open Days. Just . . . Look, forget it. Can you give us directions for the quickest way to the chapel?’

  It wasn’t always fool-proof asking the spectacles for directions, because they didn’t always send you via the most direct or normal route. They seemed to like everything to be as educational as possible and so would often plan an elaborate ‘historical tour’ when you simply wanted to go from A to B. Once they went through a period of turning everything into a ghost walk, which was quite creepy even for Maximilian. This was why computers had been so useful, in the days when they still worked. They didn’t think for themselves, or get in a huff about anything.

  ‘OK, follow me,’ said Maximilian to Effie.

  The route the spectacles devised only took five minutes, for which Maximilian was grateful. The university’s multi-faith chapel turned out to be a separate building that was made from very old stone. Just as the spectacles started telling Maximilian exactly what kind of stone it was, and precisely what was intended to happen in a multi-faith chapel, and some of the finer points of Jainism and how Jains, who were members of a Buddhist sect who would not even kill insects, differed from Janeites, who liked to dress up as characters from Jane Austen books, Maximilian took them off and put them away.

  Effie pushed open the heavy wooden door to find a small empty chapel with wooden seating and waxy candle-holders. Large stained-glass windows turned the dull outside winter light into something softer and more peaceful, with all sorts of lovely colours dancing through the air.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Maximilian.

  Effie shrugged and looked around. Then Lexy emerged from a door just beyond the quire.

  ‘There you are!’ she said. ‘Come on, the meeting’s already started.’

  ‘What meeting?’ said Effie.

  She and Maximilian followed Lexy through the door and into a windowless room lit by many candles. The main thing in the room was a huge wooden table. And around it sat various people, including Dora Wright, Laurel Wilde, Mrs Beathag Hide, Festus Grimm, Leander Quinn, Professor Quinn and, at the head of the table and currently speaking, Pelham Longfellow.

  Wolf crossed the threshold of the strange, spaceship-like building. He half expected it to take off, to carry him deep into outer space, like in films from the past. But nothing happened. There was a large silver and white atrium, with a high ceiling and many levels of gallery-style corridors, with lots of what looked like office doors. To Wolf’s right was a reception desk, with no one behind it. The reception desk was made out of white plastic, as if from another age. Had Wolf gone back in time? No one used plastic like this any more. It was illegal, had been for decades.

  ‘Yarright?’ said a man’s voice, suddenly. The owner of the voice emerged from a door behind the reception desk. He was wearing a white shirt and, bizarrely, a pair of silver trousers.

  Great. A different language.

  ‘Eye spect yoore looookun for le programme,’ said the man. It was English. Sort of. Just. It was a Borders dialect, Wolf realised. He was still in the Borders, more or less. Good.

  ‘Yes,’ said Wolf.

  ‘Nahm?’

  What? Oh, name. ‘Wolf Reed,’ said Wolf. The man wrote it down on a list. He made Wolf a name badge which had, as well as the words WOLF REED, a strange sort of barcode on it.

  ‘Tek a seet ear, laddie, and wait to be callt.’

  Wolf couldn’t possibly sit down, so he paced around the reception area. What would he say if . . .? What would he do if . . .? But he had no idea what was going to happen.

  Wolf heard a sort of electric whooshing sound and turned around. A girl a bit older than him had come through the same door as Wolf. She must have worked out the thing with the code as well. She was dressed a bit like Wolf in casual clothes from the present day, except when Wolf looked more closely he could see she had trainers with plastic on them. So not from Wolf’s world, then. Maybe somewhere abroad.

  She looked at him. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hi,’ he said back.

  ‘Do you have any idea what we’re supposed to do?’ she said. ‘I was told to be here by noon. I don’t even know what this is.’ She opened her arms as if to take in the whole vast structure. There had to be at least a hundred levels. Over in the far left-hand corner Wolf noticed a glass elevator.

  ‘I have no idea either,’ said Wolf. ‘I think you have to sort of check in with him.’ Wolf watched her walk up to the reception desk and saw she was also given a name badge. Eventually there was a crackle and a voice came over a Tannoy.

  Would Mr Wolf Reed proceed to Level Seven. Mr Wolf Reed to Level Seven, please.

  Wolf shrugged at the girl and started heading for the lift.

  Then the same metallic voice spoke again.

  Ms Lucy Dare to Level Seven, please. Ms Lucy Dare to Level Seven.

  Lucy hurried after Wolf and they got in the elevator together.

  ‘Do you know why you’re here?’ Lucy asked Wolf, as the glass doors shut.

  Wolf pressed the button for Level Seven.

  ‘I’m looking for my sister,’ he said. ‘A man rang and told me to come here. What about you?’

  ‘My mother,’ she said. ‘She’s been moved to a new clinic. I was told to come here to get the address.’

  ‘Did whoever spoke to you mention anything about a programme?’

  ‘No,’ said Lucy. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Wolf. ‘But I don’t like the sound of it.’

  ‘You may approach,’ said the long-haired black guinea pig in the cage on the table at the back of the shed.

  Neptune didn’t particularly feel that he needed to be invited. He was already padding towards the table, and then leaping up onto it, wondering what kind of latch was on the guinea pig’s cage. There was no latch that Neptune could not undo. He was unusually gifted in that respect. But as he approached the door of this cage his appetite seemed to diminish. And why did he feel so . . . so . . . Why had his legs stopped working?

  ‘Sit,’ said the guinea pig.

  Neptune sat down. Given what had just happened to his legs, he had little choice.

  ‘I expect you came here hoping to eat me,’ said the guinea pig.

  Neptune looked sheepish. That didn’t mean he looked like a sheep – which would be
stupid for a cat. It just meant he looked a little bit ashamed of himself. His furry head drooped. It was one thing eating guinea pigs quickly, after a brief struggle, but weird and embarrassing having one actually say it directly like this. And one of the main things people (and cats) do when they are embarrassed is simply lie.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Neptune. ‘Why would I do such a—’

  ‘We both know you are lying,’ said the guinea pig. ‘But it hardly matters. Your insatiable hunger brought you to me, which makes it neither a good thing nor a bad thing but simply a useful thing.’

  Neptune had no idea what the guinea pig was talking about.

  ‘But your hunger wasn’t why you left home, was it?’ said the guinea pig. ‘Not directly. You didn’t leave home simply to find sensual pleasure and to eat new things. You left for a far nobler reason. You had a different kind of hunger. Yes.’ The guinea pig nodded wisely, and then closed its eyes for a few moments. It looked tranquil, almost as if it had gone into a very deep meditation. Neptune wondered again about eating it. But his legs still wouldn’t move.

  ‘You need to focus your mind on higher things,’ said the guinea pig, without opening its eyes. Its voice was sort of whispery but loud, and very spiritual. Neptune found himself listening, despite himself.

  ‘There is more to life than pleasure and eating,’ the guinea pig said. ‘You left home to solve a mystery. Yes, I can see it now. You are a true seeker. A hunter. Domestic animals don’t often epiphanise, but I can see that you are going to. You want to know about the lost cats. You have a deeper, nobler hunger. You need to learn to focus and channel this hunger, not the more obvious, basic kind. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Sort of,’ said Neptune. ‘I do want to change. I want to learn.’

  Bizarrely, he almost meant it.

  ‘Good. You want to be a true hunter, one who quests for knowledge, rather than experiences or mere things?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Neptune, and this time he did mean it. A strange feeling came over him. One he had never really experienced before. Everything felt peaceful and light, and he realised not only that there were Higher Things, but that the world of Higher Things was much more interesting and pleasurable than eating guinea pigs. You just had to trust it, and know how to approach it.

  Neptune did not know how to approach it.

  He wasn’t sure if he trusted it.

  The feeling went away.

  ‘Yes,’ said the guinea pig. ‘You have felt it, I can tell. You have felt the Flow. Just briefly, I expect.’

  ‘I want to go there,’ said Neptune.

  ‘What makes you think it’s a place?’ asked the guinea pig. A slight smile began to appear under its lopsided whiskers.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Neptune. ‘But I do. Tell me what to do.’

  ‘You may come closer,’ said the guinea pig. ‘Open my cage.’

  Neptune didn’t quite trust himself to do this. What if he just forgot himself and . . .? He had the feeling that eating such a wise creature might mean he was never again able to experience the Flow, whatever it actually was.

  ‘Come on,’ said the guinea pig. ‘I won’t bite.’

  Neptune did as he was told.

  The guinea pig shuffled out through the cage door and sniffed the air.

  ‘Of course,’ it said, ‘I can leave whenever I like. But I enjoy living with these people. The little girl is called Molly. She grooms me nicely. But we all know that the best way to be groomed is by another mammal. With teeth. Will you groom me?’

  Neptune gulped. He could smell the guinea pig’s blood. He could almost taste its warm flesh. It would be tender and . . .

  He remembered what it had been like in the Flow.

  His legs worked again. He stood up and walked closer to the guinea pig. The guinea pig closed its eyes. Could Neptune really do this? He tentatively licked the guinea pig’s head. The fur was softer than he’d thought. He rasped through it once again, with his sandpapery pink tongue. The guinea pig let out a little sigh.

  By the time Neptune had finished, the guinea pig had a miniature Mohican and was comfortably damp all over. Neptune had de-fleaed the guinea pig as well, and removed a few stubborn tangles from the fur at the base of its spine, an area guinea pigs find almost impossible to groom themselves.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the guinea pig. ‘You will feel the Flow again soon. And you will find what you seek. But you must not give up searching when things get difficult.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Neptune.

  ‘Good,’ said the guinea pig. ‘You must now look for the cat they call Malvasia. She doesn’t live far from here. You will need to hurry. I can feel that things are changing in the ether. You may be the only two left.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Neptune.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the guinea pig. ‘That’s by far the best grooming I’ve had for a long time.’

  ‘Thank you for showing me the Flow,’ said Neptune.

  ‘You found it all by yourself,’ said the guinea pig. ‘Now go. Speak to Malvasia.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Neptune again, as he jumped down off the table. ‘I hope we meet again.’

  12

  Pelham Longfellow stopped speaking when he saw that Effie and Maximilian had come into the room. His eyes met Effie’s only briefly, and then he looked away. Was that disappointment Effie had seen, just before his gaze left hers? Now he looked down at the table and fiddled with a stack of papers in front of him.

  ‘The children are all here now, I see,’ he said.

  ‘You’d better join us,’ said Festus Grimm to Effie and Maximilian. ‘I think there are just enough chairs. Get some from the back.’

  The last time Effie had properly seen Festus had been several weeks before. He’d been annoyed with her for ruining his investigation into some con artists in the Edgelands Market that he’d called ‘vile galloglasses’. And obviously the last time she’d seen Pelham Longfellow she’d been fleeing from Truelove House after overhearing them talking about her being a galloglass.

  ‘I would like it to go on record once again,’ said Pelham, as Effie and Maximilian got chairs and looked for places around the table, ‘that I don’t think it’s a good idea to have children involved in this.’

  ‘I’m not convinced that we have a choice,’ said Mrs Beathag Hide. ‘They cannot be bound as we can. It’s a loophole that I think we have to exploit, or else . . .’

  ‘Surely it is the Diberi who exploit loopholes,’ said Pelham Longfellow.

  ‘That is true,’ said Leander. ‘And we’re supposed to be the good guys, right?’

  ‘We should start from the beginning,’ said Dora Wright. ‘The children should know who we are, and why they are here. Then they can make their own choice. It is important that everyone follows their own heart.’ She touched her chest gracefully, her fingers adorned with diamanté rings.

  ‘Agreed,’ said a tall, beautiful American woman who looked faintly familiar to Effie. Hadn’t she been there on the night of the Sterran Guandré when Skylurian Midzhar had been buried alive? Hadn’t she been Albion Freake’s wife?

  Effie caught Maximilian’s eye as they arranged themselves at the large table. Maximilian shrugged almost imperceptibly, as if to say ‘Don’t ask me’, but Effie could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow. What were they about to find out?

  Effie found a space next to Leander, and Maximilian sat next to Professor Quinn. He looked small next to her. She was a large, striking woman wearing a dark green silk dress with a vast burgundy felt cape resting on her shoulders. She had around her neck a silver vial similar to the one Maximilian wore, and diamonds dangled heavily from her small ears. You could tell she was Tabitha’s mother, although of course she was a lot nicer.

  ‘You already know some of us, I believe?’ said Pelham Longfellow. ‘But I’ll go around the table anyway. I’m Pelham Longfellow, obviously. This is Beathag Hide, Festus Grimm, Laurel Wilde, Dora Wright, Frankincense
Heart, Professor Calico Quinn, Leander Quinn and Claude Twelvetrees. We are all members of the Gothmen.’

  The children looked at one another and exchanged frowns and shrugs. No one had heard of the Gothmen. The word was almost familiar to Effie in some way. Had she heard it somewhere before? She touched the caduceus in her hair, but could not get an exact translation. Gothmen. Gothmen. Hmmm.

  ‘Gothman is Rosian for “friend”,’ said Pelham Longfellow, seeing Effie touching the caduceus. ‘Gothmen is a kind of patois word – a combination of English and Rosian. We are not all men, obviously.’ He frowned. ‘We’re a group with connections in the Otherworld but we mainly function here in the Realworld. We—’

  The tall, beautiful American woman who had been introduced as Frankincense Heart interrupted. ‘We’re spies,’ she said. ‘Following the Diberi.’

  Raven shot a surprised look at her mother. She took in – for the first time – her mother’s new way of dressing. The long charcoal silk gloves, the tiny diamond dagger pin in her lapel. So this was what she’d been doing every evening?

  ‘We are more than mere spies,’ said Mrs Beathag Hide. ‘We also take action.’

  ‘Well, someone has to,’ said one of the two younger adults around the table, Claude Twelvetrees. He looked like a student, in his patched tweed waistcoat and crumpled white cotton shirt. His messy dark hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it to one side with an ink-stained hand. Effie noticed that Leander was gazing at him intently, with a strange, confused look in his eyes. ‘No one else cares about the Diberi any more. Especially not the Guild.’

  ‘The Masters still care,’ said Pelham. ‘And everyone in Dragon’s Green is very aware of the threat posed by the Diberi. Perhaps none more so than the Trueloves.’ He glanced at Effie for a millisecond and then looked away. ‘It is, after all, the Great Library that they most want to attack.’

  ‘Who exactly are the Masters?’ asked Maximilian.

  ‘Our only friends,’ said Claude, with a wry half-smile.

  ‘We are affiliated mainly with the Masters,’ explained Festus. ‘They believe in the peaceful integration of all worlds.’