The Memory Keepers

by Natasha Ngan

  Alba opened her eyes and let out a cry of wonder.

  The world had turned green and golden. Gone was Seven’s memorium, the blue metal cabinets and old memory-machine and swirls of dust. Instead, sunlight filtered in through the canopy above her head, where huge, twisted trees arced into the sky. All around came the rustling of leaves and animals nosing through the undergrowth. From unseen depths sounded the cackling of monkeys – monkeys! – and a rushing, watery noise came from up ahead, beyond the thick tangle of vegetation.

  Alba could scarcely believe her eyes. And not just her eyes: every one of her senses had come alive. Sounds, smells, even the taste of greenness in the air and the feel of the heat on her skin.

  It wasn’t like a dream where you were slightly detached, numb from it all. It wasn’t even like a memory. It was like a moment, a string of moments, and you were right there in it, living it as it happened, everything vivid and real and –

  ‘Oh!’

  Without meaning to move, Alba started forward, as though something was pulling her. She slipped on the leafy ground. Regaining her balance, she began to walk, falling into a steady rhythm, feeling a strange need to be moving in this direction. A light pressure at her back pushed her on.

  ‘I’m in a memory,’ she said out loud to herself, laughing with amazement. ‘I’m in someone else’s memory! And I’m walking because that’s what they did!’

  It didn’t feel restrictive. It felt simple. Instinctual.

  As Alba walked on, the rushing sound grew louder. After a few minutes it soared into a roar, and then with a suddenness that drew her breath away, the forest opened into an enormous clearing, a huge, tiered waterfall cascading down in a shining white-blue torrent.

  ‘Oh lords,’ she breathed, coming to a stop.

  The view was incredible. Golden sunlight filled the clearing, the sky above such a pure, clean blue it seemed to be made of glass. The river poured down through the centre. Each of the waterfall’s tiers had a wide basin where the water pooled, gurgling and splashing in and over itself. Rocks lining the edges glistened with moss.

  A need grew inside Alba. A hot, playful feeling that teased a grin onto her lips and made her heart start to race. All of a sudden, there was nothing more she wanted to do than to be in the waterfall.

  To jump.

  Alba ran. Steady at first, then picking up speed, breaking into a sprint towards the lip of the cliff, running and running until she was at the edge, pushing off with one foot and leaping into the sky.

  I’m flying! she thought, heart soaring. I’m flying.

  Then the water burst open as she slammed down into the middle pool of the waterfall, going under so hard and quick she didn’t even have time to be scared.

  Alba gasped as her head broke the surface moments later. The rush of the water cascading in from above roared in her ears, but apart from a slow, tugging current that was trying to pull her towards the edge of the basin, the water was gentle here. Treading to keep herself afloat, she swiped a hand across her forehead, pushing back the hair glued to her skin. Her clothes were heavy. Following another instinctive urge, she swam to the side of the basin where the cliff ran down alongside the waterfall, and climbed out. Tugging her jumper and trousers off her body, she threw her soaked clothes to the ground, not even caring that she was naked and might be seen at any moment.

  Because how could she care, when she felt like this? So weightless. So free.

  Alba realised that, for the first time ever, she was free.

  It was the absolute best feeling in the world.

  She slid back into the pool. The water was silk on her body. Sighing, she eased down until she was submerged up to her neck, and closed her eyes. Sunlight poured over her face.

  She never wanted it to end. The memory was glorious. It was a million times better than anything she could have imagined. The sounds of the water and the rainforest pulsed in her ears, raw and beautiful and so alive it made her want to cry.

  And she did. Floating there in the middle of a waterfall in a place that must have been miles and miles away from her home, and possibly years and years away from her present, Alba cried, and for the first time in her life it was from joy.

  21

  SEVEN

  They barely spoke on the way back to North. Seven didn’t mind; Alba was less annoying when she didn’t talk. And it was a weird kind of nice, walking quietly through the darkness with someone at his side, their footsteps falling in time. It felt almost as though they were friends.

  The night was at its deepest when they arrived back at Alba’s house, shadows swallowing the estate and making them stumble on the uneven ground. Above, the sky was a hard edge of black. The moon had disappeared. The wind that had earlier been refreshing now had a biting edge: winter was on its way.

  Alba squeezed her arms around her chest as they stood at the edge of the cluster of elm trees. The house was white and silent before them. She stared at it, biting her lip. Something about that movement gave Seven a funny, twisty feeling in his stomach. He realised yet again how pretty she was, then scowled, angry with her for making him think it.

  ‘Soooo … ’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He grinned. ‘Your first time in South. Bet you’re wishing you were born on the other side of the river now, huh?’

  Alba didn’t reply, still staring at the house.

  Seven’s grin faded. Annoyance buzzed through him. Sure, he’d only done it to stop her telling her father about him, but he’d taken her skid-surfing, for eff’s sake. He’d shown her the most precious thing to him – his memorium – and she couldn’t even say thank you.

  He was just about to leave (what did he think was gonna happen? That this stuck-up North princess would show her gratitude by rewarding him with all the riches he could have ever dreamed of? That there was any other way for this weird situation to end other than her walking back into her golden North life, and him crawling back to South?) when Alba spoke.

  ‘Will you take me memory-surfing again?’

  Seven blinked, shocked.

  ‘I – I know you’ve kept your side of the deal,’ she went on, ‘and I won’t tell my father about you breaking in, or any of this. I promise. But … I really enjoyed memory-surfing. I’d like to do it again with you. If you don’t mind,’ she added in a whisper.

  As if I could say I do, Seven thought, on the verge of scowling, but (much to his surprise – and pride) something warm in him was unfurling at the thought of seeing her again, at how she’d said with you.

  At the thought that maybe, maybe this was what it was like to make a friend.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, he shrugged. ‘Sure. Whatever. We should probably leave it a week, though. You know. Don’t want to make it too obvious or anything.’

  Alba’s smile was as bright as sunshine. ‘Oh!’ she cried happily. ‘Yes! Yes, of course!’ And before he knew what was happening, she lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck.

  Seven froze.

  For one long, long moment, neither of them moved. Alba stood stiffly against his body, her fingers only just meeting at the base of his neck, her face pressed into his chest. Every inch of Seven was still apart from the shuddering of his heartbeat, quick and fast, racing against his ribcage.

  He’d never hugged anyone before. No one had even touched him in any way that wasn’t trying to cause pain. Well, Mika hugged him all the time, but she was so small she could only wrap her arms round his legs, so he wasn’t sure that counted.

  Now Alba’s body was pressed up against him, their hearts thudding together, the wind whipping around them, and Seven had no idea what in the effing world to do. He was so stunned he couldn’t even think of a joke.

  That had to be a first.

  22

  ALBA

  What in heaven’s name was she doing! One minute she’d been looking at the polished white façade of her house, thinking about cages and walls and the taste of freedom she’d had that night, and the next her arms
were looped round Seven’s neck, her senses filled with the sweet, minty smell lacing his skin and his hard body against her.

  Never in her life had Alba been this close to a boy. Oh my word: she was touching him. No, not just touching, grasping, embracing him, their bodies pressed together, not an inch of space separating them. Alba couldn’t breathe. She could barely think –

  Something moved near the house.

  Footsteps.

  Then a voice.

  ‘Pearson. What’s so important it couldn’t wait until morning?’

  Alba jerked away from Seven, her eyes flashing wide. Seven was still frozen to the spot, arms hanging stiffly at his sides, but his eyes were wide too, and she saw the fear in them, the same fear that had suddenly clutched her own heart.

  That voice.

  It was her father.

  Luckily they were still hidden in the deep shadows under the elm. Instinctively they shrank back, pressing against the thick trunk of the tree. Alba’s heart thudded. She craned her head to look out under the dancing leaves and saw the tall silhouette of her father crossing the lawn. There was someone with him: a stocky figure.

  It was impossible to tell who it was in the moonless darkness of the night, but her father had called him Pearson. It must be Russmund Pearson, Head of the London Guard.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. Her father and Russmund Pearson! Just metres away; the last two people in the world she’d want to come across Seven.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ said Pearson. ‘My driver is waiting round the front. But there is something we need to talk about, Alastair. Privately.’

  Their two figures stopped just short of the elms.

  ‘You know my house is devoid of surveillance for this very purpose. What is it we need to discuss?’

  ‘TMK.’

  The letters shivered in the air like spun silk. Alba bit her lip, her heart speeding up.

  ‘What happened?’ asked her father.

  ‘Two of our TMK Candidates died during Phase Nine training this week. Neuro-haemorrhages while surfing. That leaves us with just one Candidate in training.’

  ‘So the active TMK total is down to just three.’

  ‘Yes. And with a rate of fifteen surfs on average before neuro-haemorrhage, we need new Candidates within a month. Or else –’

  ‘I understand. Speak to Vallez – the current system is unsustainable. His Science team need to sort it out, and fast. In the meantime I will let Recruitment know we need a higher intake of Candidates.’

  Pearson said, ‘It’s getting more and more difficult to keep this quiet, Alastair.’

  ‘Things will be even more difficult for us if we don’t.’

  There was a long, tense pause. Then Pearson nodded, turning away, his footsteps muffled on the grass as he headed round towards the front of the house. Alba’s father followed him a few moments later.

  When they’d been alone in the quiet grounds long enough to be sure both men were gone, Alba and Seven peeled away from the tree.

  ‘What the eff was that about?’ Seven whispered.

  Alba shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, not adding what she was thinking –

  But I don’t like the sound of it.

  Not one bit.

  23

  SEVEN

  ‘What’re you looking so smug for?’

  Seven scowled. ‘Always nice to see you too, Loe.’

  He was slouched on the ground in a corner of the market, back resting against one of the wrought-iron pillars dotting the tall, arched hall. There had been a skid-thief crew leader’s arrest the day before: Murray, a tall, bony man with a shaven head Seven had never spoken to, who had been caught during a thieving job. Carpenter and the other remaining skid-thief crew leaders had decided to avoid Battersea Power Station in case its location had been compromised.

  This week’s meeting was taking place instead in Borough Market, a domed glass and metal structure set on a busy South street near the river. It was open at both ends. Hawker stalls and market booths clustered amid rows of benches, everything painted an ugly shade of green.

  By day, the market was one of the busiest in South, selling fresh meat, fish and vegetables, but it was also a hive of activity late into the night as a popular meeting place. By eleven this evening, the hall was packed. Over the chatter and raucous laughter, a Screen fixed high in the middle of the market blared its news, bathing the hall in a shifting sea of colours.

  Seven had been watching the crowds for hours, lost in thoughts.

  It had been six days since he’d taken Alba to his flat to skid-surf, though it felt more like six years. Time seemed to move even slower that week than it normally did, as though some laughing god above kept turning the world’s clock-hands back, just to watch Seven suffer. The worst part was, Carpenter hadn’t gotten in touch with any more thieving jobs, so there was nothing to distract Seven from thoughts of Alba (and there were a lot of those. An awful lot more than he’d like to admit).

  He wondered whether she was also finding it hard to adjust to everyday life again after their secret meeting. Whether the magic of skid-surfing for the first time had changed her world too, the way it had for him.

  And, of course, whether she was still wondering what the eff her father had been talking about with that man outside their house.

  Nothing about Seven’s life had felt properly real since that night. Everything seemed a little faded, the colours not quite right. And at the same time it felt as though that night with Alba never happened. The world would make much more sense if it hadn’t. A criminal from South and a stuck-up North princess couldn’t ever be friends …

  Could they?

  ‘You’re doing it again.’

  Seven started, looking round to find Loe staring at him from beneath her choppy bob, a knowing glint in her eyes. She crouched beside him. She was wearing a tattered T-shirt and ripped black jeans, tight on her scrawny body.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Smiling.’

  Seven rolled his eyes. ‘Just because you’re angry all the time doesn’t mean the rest of the world has to be.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Loe smirked. ‘Someone’s on their period.’

  Yeah – you, he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. You had to pick your fights with Loe (which basically meant don’t try and fight at all).

  ‘Where’s Mika?’ he asked instead. ‘I haven’t seen her yet.’

  ‘Carpenter’s teaching her how to steal properly. Said she’ll need to start now if she’s ever gonna be a skid-thief like us.’

  Seven raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that what you want her to be?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Loe shot him a hard look. ‘What else is there for her?’

  She was right, of course. What future was there for a young South orphan, and a female one at that? Seven knew Mika was lucky to have been taken in by Loe. There were worse things she could do to earn money than skid-thieving.

  No one knew what had happened to Mika’s family. Why she’d been wandering the riverside streets near Loe’s place in Bankside two years ago, just a toddler, barely able to walk. Loe had never told anyone. She’d just turned up with the girl at the skid-market one day and glared at anyone who looked as though they were even thinking about asking.

  ‘Anyway.’ Loe elbowed Seven in the ribs. ‘What d’you think about the whole Murray business?’

  ‘Oh, just overjoyed, of course.’

  ‘Seriously, you idiot. Do you think Carpenter’ll be next?’

  ‘No way,’ Seven said quickly. ‘He’s smarter than the other crew leaders. He won’t let himself – or any of us – get caught.’

  Loe looked away, tongue playing with the loop through her lip. Her guard had slipped for a moment, and Seven could see how worried she was. He felt a warm flash of affection for her, then inwardly grimaced.

  His brain must be malfunctioning. First Alba, and now Loe? He was going soft.

  ‘You really think that?’ she asked quietly.
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  ‘Yeah. When has Carpenter ever let us down?’

  Before she could answer, a shrill voice danced towards them, bursting with excitement.

  ‘Loe! Loe! Loe! Seven! Seven! Seven!’

  Loe rolled her eyes. ‘I swear, that girl has a tracker on me or something.’ But her face softened all the same as Mika ran into view, a bush of fuzzy black hair weaving in and out of legs and tables. Loe pushed off the floor and mussed Mika’s hair. ‘What now?’

  Mika jiggled on the spot. ‘Carpenter wants you,’ she said to Seven. She giggled. ‘Maybe he wants to teach you how to steal, too.’

  Loe sighed heavily. ‘What d’you think we all do for a living, Mika?’

  ‘I know what you do.’ Mika hid behind Loe’s legs. She pointed at Seven and sang gleefully, ‘Your job is fancying him –’

  ‘MIKA!’

  Loe’s roar was so loud her voice cut through the noise of the market crowds, practically cleaving the air in two.

  ‘Oops!’ screeched Mika, and she threw her hands in the air and ran back into the crowds, her giggles floating around her like a cloud of technicolour bubbles.

  There was a heartbeat of tense silence. Then, throwing Seven a thunderous look that practically hissed Don’t you even dare, Loe stormed off after Mika, her cheeks flushed so dark they were almost purple.

  ‘How was that my fault?’ he shouted after her.

  In his head, he took back his earlier affection for Loe. He might be going mad, letting himself care about a stuck-up North girl like Alba, but to feel anything other than anger and annoyance towards Loe, Seven would have to go completely insane.

  24

  ALBA

  It had been the longest week of her life. Not even a million lessons with Professor Nightingale could have felt longer (not that she’d care to try it to find out). Alba spun through minutes like Alice floating down the rabbit hole – Carroll’s Wonderland books were her favourites – drifting in a current separate to the rest of the world, things slipping by, unable to touch her. And the worst part of it was, it wasn’t over yet.