by Angie Sage
Feeling very sad about the boy, I gaze at the golden eagle teapot and I think of Mama who always said I brooded too much: like a fat old hen on a stale egg, Maximillian, I hear her voice drilling inside my head. Oh. This house is still full of Mama. There is no escape from her here. I long to fly back to Parminter, but I cannot leave until I have searched every room just to be sure. And so I get up from my nest and begin.
The floor below the attic has three locked rooms full of Mama’s things, so I go straight down to the floor above the entrance hall. I check the large room at the front and then the smaller one at the back, both deep in thick blackness. My poor house feels so strange. The tarry windows deaden the sounds from outside and the silence inside is eerie. I find I am creeping on tiptoe as though I am an intruder who expects to be discovered at any moment. Memories of Mama haunt me. I hear her taunting words and her laugh, so sharp it cuts the air. I stop dead. I think I am going crazy. Because I swear Mama’s laugh is for real.
No. It cannot be.
My legs have lost all strength and I lean against the wall, trembling. I talk to myself sternly in the brave voice of Parminter. Maximillian, it is nothing. The silence and darkness of the house has unbalanced you. That is all. And then I hear Mama’s laugh again. It is like the smashing of china: bright, sharp and oh-so-full of destruction. It is Mama’s laugh. It is real. And it is just outside the front door.
K
We are outside Maximillian’s house and someone has stuck thick, tarry cloth over all the windows. Across the steps leading up to the front door, which is also covered in tarry cloth, is a strip of yellow tape with the word Fumigation written on it. I feel sick. I think of Maximillian lying in there, alone, and . . . dead. And all because we came to his house and he helped us. I do not believe things can get any worse now. I really don’t.
Madam Guardian is out of her box and staring up at the house. “So you really were here?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “But it wasn’t like this.” I point at the blind, tarred windows. “It was just . . . a normal house.” I am finding it hard to speak. I can’t stop thinking about Maximillian.
Naturally Madam Guardian does not notice. “So how do you know this is the right one?” she asks sharply.
“The blood.” I point to the splodge by the entrance to the alley by the corner. “That’s from Jonno’s foot. We ran up the alley there at the side. To a gate.”
She laughs a little crazily and I think of a cracked bell lying at the bottom of an empty well. “Why should I be surprised?” she mutters to herself. “Filthy Roach. Nasty little two-faced traitor.”
I am pleased to hear that Maximillian too is a traitor. It makes him feel almost part of the family.
She sniffs. “I can’t smell anything. Was this house actually fumigated?” she asks her bodyguards.
“No, madam,” the taller one replies. “It was sealed in error. Apparently it is the house of a Protected Person.”
She laughs. “Well, he’s not protected now, that’s for sure.” She tells the bodyguards to free the door, and they run up the steps, expertly split the tarry cloth and peel it back. They wait, alert for trouble, as Madam Guardian walks up the steps, pulls a key from her pocket and opens the front door like she’s done it a thousand times before. A bodyguard hands her a flashlight and she strides inside. A moment later she pokes her head out and says to me, “Don’t stand there like a gaping fool. Get up those steps. Now.”
And so I walk up the front steps, and once again, I am inside Maximillian’s house.
M
I hear the key in the lock, fast and efficient, not bumbling like Minna Simms. Clickety-click the lock turns and the front door opens. I feel the disturbance of air sweep into the house and see the glare of a flashlight beam shine up through the balustrades, throwing their giant shadows upon the wall in front of me. And then I hear it: the voice of Mama inside. “Don’t stand there like a gaping fool. Get up those steps. Now.” I feel ill. How many times has she said those very words to me? I hear quick, light steps and someone else walks in. “So. This is definitely the house?” I hear Mama ask.
“Yes, madam, it is,” comes the reply. If the voice of Mama was not shock enough, the second voice sends me into turmoil. For who do you suppose it might belong to? My Kaitlin Drew.
I am in a whirl of confusion. What is Mama doing here? Why has she brought my Kaitlin Drew with her? I am now lying in the corner of the landing in a state of near collapse. Those of you with good mamas, like Parminter, will not understand my dismay, so let me explain what is in my thoughts.
First: I do not wish to see Mama.
Second: Mama is not a kind person and I am very afraid for my Kaitlin Drew.
Third: I am jealous. Kaitlin Drew was my friend. Mine. But now Mama has taken her away from me, just as she has taken so many other things.
Fourth: This is the most terrifying thought and it blanks out all the others. In a moment Mama will go down to the basement. This is always the first place she goes when she comes home, for there dwell the things she loves the best. And then she will discover what I dread the most.
K
Madam Guardian is acting very oddly. She is going down to the basement even though I have said that Tedward is in the attic. I stand in the darkness watching her flashlight beam moving down the stairs and I think of this morning, when I too was going down those stairs. I remember how free I had felt, how daring, how in control of my life. Now I know how stupid I was to think that, because no one is free in this city. No one. Not even Madam Guardian.
There is a strange silence in the house as though all is suspended. And in that silence I hear the soft Roach rasp of breath. And suddenly I know—Maximillian is here. Alive! I long to call out his name but I don’t, because it seems to me he is hiding from something he is very afraid of. And it doesn’t take much to guess who that might be: Madam Guardian.
Suddenly, from the basement, I hear a piercing, blood-chilling scream. And from the landing above comes a soft, low groan.
M
I cover my ear tubes and fold myself into my wing cases. I cannot bear it. I hear Mama telling my Kaitlin Drew that she will search the house “for that filthy Roach” from top to toe and she will find me and when she does I will regret the finding of me for the rest of my life. Which will not be long. And then, as I rock in my carapace trying to blank out the drilling of her voice, I hear my Kaitlin Drew say, “Madam. It was Enforcers who smashed the pots. Not a Roach.”
“Pots?” Mama screeches. “Pots? They are irreplaceable eighteenth-century Meissen porcelain. They are works of art, girl. Irreplaceable works of art. They are . . . they were . . . my life. All I asked of him was to keep them safe. That is all. Just one little thing. I will kill him for this. I will kill him. Where is he? Lurking in some nasty little dark corner like the sly, underhanded Roach he is, no doubt.” I see the flashlight beam wave crazily around the ceiling and I know that Mama is making the windmill thing with her arms that she does before she hits something. I shrink farther into my carapace and hope that Mama will kill me soon. I cannot bear this. I cannot.
K
A cold shiver runs through me. Suddenly I understand why Madam Guardian was so shocked that this was the house Jonno and I had come to, and why she ran off to the basement as soon as we got inside. I particularly understand why Maximillian is hiding in the darkness in abject terror. It is because Madam Guardian is Maximillian’s mother. This is the woman he calls Mama. When he told me last night, with tears in his eyes, that his “Mama” will kill him because of the smashed pots I thought he was being melodramatic. But now I understand. He was right.
I think of Maximillian being so alone and frightened and my heart is breaking. Even though I have lost my family, I will always know they loved me. Maximillian has never had that. I don’t know why I care so much about him, but I do—and right now I would do anything to protect him. And so, yet again, I lie to his awful mother. “Madam,” I say. “There was no Roach here. Th
e house was empty.”
“Don’t lie to me, girl,” Madam Guardian almost spits in fury. “Your brother Tomas, the traitor Enforcer, reported a Roach in residence who fed upon your brother Jonathan.”
And this time I don’t need to lie. “But my brother Jonathan is alive and back in the SilverShip crew quarters,” I say. “As you know.”
Madam Guardian is quiet while this sinks in and I look at her, trying to catch any resemblance to Maximillian in her, but I see nothing. Then she sighs and says, “Very well, go and get what we came for. If you have brought me here under false pretenses you will regret it bitterly.”
“Yes, madam,” I say quickly. “Please may I borrow your flashlight?”
“Oh, for Orb’s sake,” Madam Guardian says irritably, and hands it over. And then I run up the stairs. I’m going to have to move fast.
M
My Kaitlin Drew comes up the stairs, racing past me, the beam of light casting me into deep shadows. I lie low, hardly daring to breathe. There is no more than a few feet of darkness between me and Mama, and even though I know that Mama has no sense of another’s presence whatsoever, I still fear that somehow she will detect that I am lying just a few feet above her head. So, like the sneaky lowdown snoop she used to call me when she would find me in a place she had not expected, I stay totally still and listen to Mama’s sounds. I hear sniffs, the blowing of her nose—which is a thing that disgusts we who are Roach—and then a sobbing whisper, “My cherubs . . . oh my poor, darling cherubs . . .”
Oh, how I wish I had the golden eagle teapot by my side. I imagine walking down the stairs with it and giving it into her waiting hands. I imagine Mama gazing at me with wonder—no, I must be realistic here, gazing at the teapot with wonder. And then, I tell myself, all would be well between us. But the stern yet wise voice of Parminter comes into my head. Maximillian, it says. You do not have the teapot by your side. And even if you did, it would make no difference.
That is an uncomfortable thought and so I decide not to think it. Instead I listen to the sound of my Kaitlin Drew in the attic and I wonder what she is doing.
K
I must be quick. Luckily I see Tedward at once, sitting perkily on my nest of blankets as though he is waiting for me. It’s odd that Jonno seems to have quite happily left him behind. Maybe the smell got too bad even for him. I flick open my pick tool, pry out the DisK from inside the beam and then, remembering what Mom told me about who we could trust with it, I scribble a note as fast as I can, and wrap the DisK in it. Now I need something to make Tedward heavy. But what? And then, on the floor I see the doorknob, just lying there. I snatch up the brass ring it rests on, shove that into poor old Tedward and pull the stitches closed. Tedward’s lighter than he should be with the DisK, but it’s the best I can do. Then I’m out of the room with Tedward and the DisK and running down the stairs.
There is someone I have to see.
M
I hear my Kaitlin Drew running down the stairs and I am wondering if I dare make myself known to her, when her flashlight beam catches me in its glare and she very deliberately drops it so that it rolls away from us and we are in darkness. And then she is kneeling beside me, her hand upon my carapace. I am so happy to see her, despite the fact she is clutching that foul bear, the stench of which makes my head swim. She presses a small package into my hand and folds my fingers around it. Then my Kaitlin Drew kisses the top of my head and she is gone, clutching that bear, racing down the stairs to Mama.
“What were you doing up there just now?” I hear Mama say suspiciously. Like her teapot, Mama is both eagle-eyed and eagle-eared.
“I dropped the flashlight,” my Kaitlin Drew replies, breathless and all eagerness. “And then I dropped Tedward. But here he is.”
“What vile mess is that?” I hear Mama say, and for once, I cannot disagree.
“It’s blood from Jonno’s nosebleeds. And he was sick on it. Twice. It’s so revolting that no one would touch it.”
I hear a grudging admiration in Mama’s voice. “Very clever. No, don’t give it to me, girl. Hand it to one of the guards when we get out of here.”
I listen to their footsteps along the hall, then the slam of the front door and they are gone. I lie in the darkness for some time, not daring to move. I feel most peculiar. At first I think it is fear because of Mama’s anger. But then I realize this is not so—what I feel is sadness. Sadness because my Kaitlin Drew has gone, and I will never see her again.
Chapter 23
The Return of the Prodigal
K
After I handed over Tedward, Madam Guardian took off like a rocket in her walking chair—now a sprinting chair—and I was marched back through the Gateway to the Future.
I’m in the crew quarters in my cabin now and it is weird; I feel like a completely different person from when I was last here. And yet it is only twenty-four hours ago that we were summoned to the refectory for lockdown while they searched the ship and I knew then that they were homing in on the DisK. Their mistake was to leave us in darkness. They think it subdues us, which is true. But it also gives us freedom. And time for your best friend to hide you—and your annoying little brother who will not let go of his bear—in the rubbish cart.
I didn’t hear my cabin door lock, so I try it to see if it will open. To my amazement it does. This is, I guess, because of my three stars. I step out onto the deserted walkway and wonder if I can get as far as the refectory without being stopped. As I head toward its double doors at the far end I hear voices drifting up from the recreation area below. It’s the Bears—Jonno’s tribe—and they are singing “What Shall We Hunt Today?” I stop and listen to their song where each one adds an improbable creature to the list. It’s silly, but they love it. I lean over the rail and see Jonno laughing with his friends, and I smile to see him happy.
J
“Turtle!” I shout as loud as I can and all the Bears yell back at me, “Turtle!” And I laugh and my best friend, Leon, makes a turtle face and I wave my hands like turtle flippers and we sing the hunting song. It’s my favorite. And then I see Katie leaning over the walkway looking down at me and she has three stars. It’s not fair. I’ve only got one. And she ran away and now she has three. But then Leon shouts out, “Aardvark!” and we all laugh and when I look up again Katie has gone. And I think maybe I dreamed her.
K
I am in the refectory and no one stopped me. It feels quite weird. I go to the counter and take a box of neon yellow “orange” juice and too late I see Mattie in the far corner. “Hey, Kait, come and sit down!” she calls over. So I do, with a heavy heart.
Mattie is studiedly casual. “Very impressive,” she says, pointing to the stars. “You must have done something right.” She grins. “For a change.”
“Dunno what,” I say, taking a gulp of liquid artificial sweetener.
Mattie is cryptic; she knows this is not a safe place to talk. “So the stories of your escape with Jonno are greatly exaggerated?” she says.
“Yep,” I say. Because I imagine they are.
“Well, it’s nice to have you back. And three stars gets you access to all cabins. So how about you come along to mine?” She leans forward and says in a loud whisper, “I have chocolate.”
“Ah . . . okay, then,” I say. I’m dreading it, because I am going to have to tell her about Tomas.
“It’s not compulsory, Kait,” Mattie says, and she gets up and strides out.
I feel bad. I sit waiting for the sweetener rush to give me some courage, and then I do what I know I must. As I head out of the refectory, a group of younger Seeds sitting by the doors notice my three stars and a look of respect crosses their faces. I could get used to this, I think. It’s seductive, being at the top of a system. I tell myself that I must savor it while it lasts, because soon enough they’ll discover that Tedward contains nothing more than a bit of old doorknob. And then I will be in the kind of trouble that not even three stars can fix.
The sliding door to
Mattie’s cabin swishes open and I see Mattie sitting at her desk, drawing in her regulation notebook. She looks up, surprised, and smiles. “Hey, Kait. Come in.” So I do.
Each cabin has a desk, a chair and a sleeping platform. I sit on the platform and Mattie puts down her pencil, leaving her book open. She has been drawing a likeness of Tomas and it’s very good. “I don’t want to forget what he looks like,” she says in a low voice.
Tomas’s face has the same distant, fixed expression that I saw only a few hours ago when he looked at me through the one-way glass. I feel tears welling and Mattie notices. “You miss him too,” she murmurs. I nod. “When we were first in here, I used to feel some connection with him,” she says. “I’d get a sense that, you know, he was out on patrol or sitting in some boring lecture or just asleep and dreaming of . . . of us. But that faded. Until today.”
I take a deep breath. “Mattie . . . ,” I begin, and then I lose my nerve and stop.
Mattie gets up and suddenly bizarrely cheerful, she says, “Hey, how about a game of Table-Top?” As she says this, she is picking up a ball of the bright orange sticky stuff that they use to stick up notices around here, and pulling it about to activate it.
“Huh?” I am confused. Table-Top is a game down in the recreation area. You have to try and get a succession of silver balls to run through a moving maze. It’s okay, but it’s not a thing Mattie and I do. Mattie holds my gaze and I realize she is up to something. I don’t know what it is, but I play along. “Okay,” I say. “Best of three?”
“Best of five.” Mattie laughs as she divides the orange stuff into five little balls. “Seeing as I’m going to win the first two.”
“You wish,” I say.
Mattie puts her finger to her lips and then says, maybe a little too loudly, “Come on, Kait, let’s get a table before they’re all taken.”
