The Real

by Masha du Toit

  Dolly sounded calm but Elke felt a chill at her words. This sounded too much like a criminal procedure. Was Dolly under arrest? Getting on the wrong side of the law was dangerous in the Eye, especially where smuggling was involved. The price for that was having your head in a glass box on Zero level.

  “You’re leaving right now?” Elke asked.

  “I’ve got today to get all the evidence together.” Dolly placed a hand lightly on one of the boxes.

  Even the disapproving presence of Herr-eid Argent was not enough to suppress Elke’s interest. “Are those all Strangeworld biologicals?” She made her way towards the desk, stepping carefully between the piles of paper. “Can I see?”

  “Let me do it.” Dolly unclipped the straps that secured the lid and opened one of the boxes, exposing a row of translucent tubes, each with the distinctive black line of a hardflask. Some were filled with opaque powder, others with spiralling strands suspended in a cloudy fluid. “And these are all eathers,” said Dolly as she opened another box, this time with more than a dozen tiny pipette-sized flasks.

  “Are any of these live?” Elke was fascinated and a little horrified.

  “These are.” Dolly opened the last box and showed her two medium-sized hardflasks containing a smoky fluid and some kind of dark precipitate. “Nasty stuff this.” Dolly tapped the glass with a perfectly manicured finger. “Spores.”

  Elke leaned to see better. “There’s so much of it!”

  “Yes. All highly active. But the odd thing about these ones,” said Dolly as she fitted the lid back on the box, “Is that they came through from Realworld side. We found them on a man coming in from Kaapstadt while he was still out on the Isthar gate.”

  Elke frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” Why would somebody try to bring Strangeworld contraband back into the Eye?

  Dolly shrugged. “Just another one of our unsolved mysteries. Oh, before I forget, you need to finish your report on Mr Yelland. I want to have all that filed away before I’m gone.”

  “Oh. That guy,” said Elke. “Sure. It’s all pretty straightforward. Lots of witnesses.”

  Herr-eid Argent was following their conversation with interest. “Domestic violence,” she told him. “Pay day, Mr Yelland gets drunk and tries to take out his frustrations on his girlfriend. The neighbours usually step in before things get too bad but he’s an ugly drunk. Yesterday he started smashing up their cubby. He calmed down pretty quickly when Meisje pinned him to the floor.”

  “I see,” said Argent, but he seemed less than impressed.

  Elke took in the man’s tight-lipped expression with a sinking feeling. I suppose I should have called him sir, or “Herr-eid” or something? The man was easily ten years her junior and looked the type to resent that fact. Give him a chance. Dude might be perfectly fine.

  She turned back to Dolly, who was packing files into her briefcase. “Anything else? I’ve got to go meet a guy down in Works level about that stink from the algae reactor.”

  “No, you can go ahead.” Dolly lowered the lid of the briefcase and clipped its catches with a sharp double click. “I won’t see you again before I go.” She looked at Elke. “Your duties are unchanged, no matter who is in charge. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Elke made a salute that was only half in jest. “Good luck with the hearing!”

  ¤¤¤

  The old gardag stood in the cleft between two rocks looking out over the city. Her sons flanked her, heads up, ears alert.

  Behind them the slopes of Table Mountain rose, rocky and inhospitable, too steep for human habitation. Below them was Kaapstadt. Shacks of corrugated steel and plastic sheeting, stone, cardboard, woven twigs and plaited grass crowded together. Beyond were the brick houses and hard, black streets of more prosperous neighbourhoods.

  The gardag glanced back at the ridge. She knew of no other way than down to the city. She and her sons had been on the move all day,trying to double back behind the line of the fire, trying to find a way into the wilder parts of the mountain.

  A row of people were up there on the mountain, beating at the fire. The scent of them, that human sweat of fear, had brought back memories that made the old dog’s hair bristle under the armour plating. She’d found paths that kept the three of them out of human view, but that would be difficult this close to the city. Her sons were tense, their bodies vibrating with excitement at what they could see and smell. One bold, the other wary. One looking for a challenge, the other scanning for potential danger.

  She wondered how long they would follow her lead. Many years had passed since they’d been the tiny, blindly mewling blobs of fur that had puzzled and obsessed her, demanding the surrender of her body and all of her attention. Now, they were old too, with grey hair among the dark.

  The gardag lowered herself to lie in the long grass, groaning a little. After a moment first one brother, then the other sniffed respectfully at their mother’s face, then circled to lie down next to her. The smoke was still strong enough to sting their eyes, but the humans would keep the fire away from the city’s edge, at least until the sun went down. Then, in the relative safety of the dark, they’d have to try to find a safe path through.

  ¤¤¤

  Ndlela knew his sister Noor was nearly home when Robby rose from his spot under the table and trotted out onto the balcony. The dog’s chewed-up ears were pricked and his piggy eyes blinked eagerly at the darkening landscape below. Then with a “woof!” he went scrabbling down the stairs.

  A few minutes later Noor’s familiar uneven footsteps sounded on the stairs. A step, and then a clunk as she placed her built-up shoe.

  “Issy! She’s here!” Ndlela plunked the pot of algae paste onto the stove, checking the charge left in the battery. Then he gave the paste a stir and poured the pot of chopped-up tomatoes and chillies into the mix.

  Something scraped in the stairwell. He knew better than to ask Noor if she needed help hauling her bicycle up the stairs.

  “Hey there.” Noor was framed in the door. She bent to greet Robby, who was twisting himself into silent and ecstatic curves, his tail whacking back and forth so fast it blurred. “Hey, monster munch. Hey boy.” She allowed the dog to touch his nose to hers. “Hey, buggy boy. Okay. Cool down, pupster. You’re going to knock me right down the stairs again.”

  “Hey.” Ndlela poured some water to the food that was sizzling away nicely now. He had timed it just right. Algae paste could only be heated for so long before it became bitter and inedible. “How are things?”

  “Hey.” Noor clumped past him, dropped her bag on the couch then pushed through the curtain that divided her room from their living space. She always changed out of her work clothes as soon as she got home.

  Ndlela tried to judge Noor’s mood from the sounds that emerged from beyond it. She’d been on edge when she left for work that morning, as seemed to be the case almost every day lately.

  “Issy,” he called. “You gotta come make the table ready.”

  “Okay, sure.” Isabeau’s voice came down from the hatch in the ceiling. “I’ll be there now-now.”

  Ndlela considered a sarcastic response but these days you never knew what would provoke an explosion from Noor. He took the pot off the heat, turned off the plate, and climbed up the ladder so he could stick his head through the hatch.

  As he’d thought, Isabeau was in her favourite place, curled up in the hammock that was slung between two tall posts that might once have been flag poles. A rope pinged against the pole in the evening breeze.

  “Issy, you got to come. Now.”

  She gave a convulsive wriggle and turned in the hammock. “Yes! I’m just finishing—”

  “No, right now. I’m hungry. Noor’s hungry. We want to eat.” Ndlela hoisted himself the rest of the way through the hatch. “And anyway, how can you read in this light?”

  It was summer, so the sky was still light despite the late hour, but the sun had set behind Table Mountain and they were in its
long shadow. “Hey. Will you look at that.”

  “What?” Isabeau slid out of the hammock.

  “That.” Ndlela nodded towards distant mountain.

  “I know,” said Isabeau. “It’s pretty.”

  The pall of smoke above the mountain had grown and now the light of the setting sun shone through it, turning it into flaming shades of yellow, pink, and orange. It was always like that, with a mountain fire. How could something so destructive be so beautiful?

  Ndlela turned his gaze to the river mouth that lay glistening below them, reflecting the orange tints in the sky. This view was one of his favourite things about the building in which they’d made their home.

  It had been a hotel once, before the weather broke. It stood on a small rise which might be why it weathered the storm better than most of the other buildings. The looting that had followed had emptied it out, but it was structurally sound and, best of all, its flat roof provided a spectacular view of the surrounding landscape.

  The wind had dropped to a light breeze, riffling the grasses and reeds that grew in the shelter of the low walls and on the mounds of brick among the dunes. The frogs were welcoming the night, their peeping voices joining the shrill chorus of crickets.

  Nobody but us here.

  That thought always brought Ndlela a sense of satisfaction. Well, us and Crosshatch. But old Crosshatch didn’t seem to count, really. He was more like part of the landscape, like an old dune mole or a crab.

  Ndlela closed his eyes and listened to the soft thunder of the waves. They always sounded different at night. Closer.

  We’re here. We’re doing fine. And when Mom comes back—

  But that was not a safe thought.

  “Come on Issy. Let’s go.” He headed down the hatch into the kitchen below.

  ¤¤¤

  “I got something to add to supper,” said Noor as Ndlela came down the ladder. She’d changed from her work clothes into a faded T-shirt and a wrap-around skirt that had once belonged to their mother. She’d taken off the clumsy shoe and brace that compensated for her twisted leg and was massaging her calf.

  “I stopped by Crosshatch.” She dug her fingers into her sore calf muscle. “He’s finished smoking that pig. He gave me some strips.” She pointed to a parcel that was already open on the table. “Should be good for a few meals. I’ll cut it into the food.”

  “Hey, great!” Ndlela admired the strips of meat. “Can Robby have a bit?”

  Noor glanced at the dog who was gazing at her in silent hope. “Jeez, dog. Look any harder and you’ll bore a hole in me. Sure. Give him a bit.”

  Isabeau was plunking dishes and cutlery onto the table. “Can’t you keep that stuff aside?” she said. “Do you have to put it in with the rest?”

  Noor turned to look at her. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  Isabeau straightened one of the forks, not looking at her older sister. “I don’t know if I want to eat it. It sort of feels wrong.”

  “Why?” Noor’s straight black eyebrows went up. “You got a problem with eating pig, now?”

  “It’s just,” said Isabeau quickly, still looking at the fork, “I like pigs. I don’t know if you should eat people you like.”

  That surprised a laugh out of Noor. “A pig’s not a person.”

  “They are so!” Now Isabeau looked up at her sister, her own jaw set.

  “Guys, you’re scaring Robby,” said Ndlela as the two of them stared at one another. “Just look at him.”

  It was true. Robby had crawled in under the table and curled himself up into a tight ball, only one eye visible, warily keeping track of the combatants. To Ndlela’s relief, this did the trick.

  “Oh, Robby, I’m sorry.” Isabeau caressed the dog, rubbing one of her feet along his spine. “We’re not fighting, I promise.”

  “Anyway, I bet that’s not pig at all,” continued Ndlela. “Crosshatch has been shooting an awful lot of rats, lately. You sure that’s not rat meat, Noor?”

  Noor gave him a look, but Isabeau giggled. “Rat!” she said. “Why not. Why don’t we eat rat?”

  Any reservations she had about the food seemed to have been set aside, at least for the moment, and she didn’t complain when Noor served her a bowl. “It will be better when the meat had a chance to stew a little,” Noor said as she pulled her own bowl closer.

  “Anything happen at work today?” Isabeau asked.

  Noor rolled her eyes at the routine question but answered peaceably enough. “The Marine Guard chased a shark right under my raft today. One of the tourists got such a fright he nearly fell off.”

  Isabeau rocked her chair, smiling in delight. “A big shark?”

  “No, just a tiddler. Don’t know why they were chasing it.”

  Noor worked as a tour guide in Uferland, the section of Kaapstadt’s city centre that had been invaded by the sea, creating a bizarre landscape of ruined buildings and trees standing in deep water. Some years ago an enterprising businessman had spotted the tourist potential. Now young people like Noor poled rafts down the flooded streets, telling rich tourists from Prussia and the Northern States all about the days the weather had broken and the city had lost the battle with the sea.

  “Anything happen this side?” asked Noor.

  “Well, yes, actually,” Isabeau sat up importantly. “The circus is back again. We saw them.”

  “They’re back? I haven’t heard anything about that.” Noor looked questioningly at Ndlela, who shrugged.

  “There are some people down there, is all,” he said.

  “Really? At the circus buildings?”

  “Yes,” said Isabeau. “We saw them there this morning. Well,” she glanced at her brother. “We saw somebody. But it must be them, right? I mean, who else would go down there?”

  “I’ll ask around work tomorrow,” said Noor. “I’m doing another dive trip.” She scraped the last of the stew from her bowl. “Got a nice party, four adults who’ve done the tour before. Second-timers are always easier to handle. Apparently they tip really well. Where’s that piece of meat for Robby?”

  Ndlela felt his stomach tighten. Dive trips were where the money was but even Noor didn’t pretend they weren’t dangerous. Diving in open water was one thing. Taking a party of tourists down into a submerged building to look at the drowned offices and shops—the thought made his blood run cold.

  “I might be getting a promotion too.” Noor watched Robby gulp down his piece of salted meat.

  “Is that a good thing?” said Isabeau.

  Noor sighed and reached down to run her hand over Robby’s round head. “I suppose. I’ll be one of the head guides. More money. Which we need. But it’s not taking me any closer to where I want to be.” She reached back and pulled off the band that kept her long, black hair confined.

  “And what about the Marine Guard? You talked to them again?” Ndlela asked.

  “Nope.” Noor shook out her hair then swept it back again so that it hung down her back. Then she rolled her shoulders slowly, easing her stiff muscles. “Or, really, I speak to them all the time, but I can’t figure out how to get them to let me apply.”

  The Marine Guard were the underwater force that patrolled the stretch of sea around the gate to the Babylon Eye. They dealt with poachers and other threats to the marine life.

  Some time ago the owner of the Uferland Tours had struck a deal with them. The Marine Guard would help with the dives and put on shows and entertainment for the tourists in exchange for a cut of the profits. It was all supposed to be educational, an opportunity for the Marine Guard to spread their message of conservation, but Ndlela privately suspected that they also liked any chance to show off their modified bodies.

  Ever since Ndlela could remember, Noor had been obsessed with the Marine Guard. She didn’t just want to watch them—she wanted to join them, to have her body edited so that she could spend hours underwater without having to wear the cumbersome breathing apparatus. To swim with the seals, and keep the poachers at
bay.

  Proximity to the Marine Guard had been the main reason she’d joined the Uferland tours, a chance to make a connection, impress them with her dedication and knowledge.

  From the look of things, it didn’t seem that she was making much progress. He didn’t like the way she sat, shoulders slumped, her face expressionless.

  “You’re tired,” he said on impulse. “I’ll do the dishes tonight, okay?”

  At the word “dishes” Robby was on his feet, face intent. This drew a reluctant smile from Noor. “Looks like Robby plans to do the dishes,” she said. “With his tongue. You been letting him lick out your plate, Issy?” She stretched and yawned, then gave Ndlela a tired nod. “Thanks, Ndlela. It’s been a long day. I’ll do the breakfast dishes, okay?”

  ¤¤¤

  The entire time he was busy with the dishes Ndlela was aware of Isabeau’s impatience. She kept going to the balcony door and looking out, then getting in his way as he tried to clean the kitchen. And when Noor gave up the struggle against sleep and went to her room, Isabeau came right up to him and widened her eyes significantly.

  “What,” he said, knowing trouble when he saw it.

  “You said we could use the scopes when you were finished with the dishes.”

  Ndlela scraped the last of the scraps into Robby’s bowl. “What for? It’s dark already. And you know you’re not allowed to touch the scopes unless there’s somebody there to watch you.”

  “That’s why I’m asking you,” Isabeau said with exaggerated patience. “And I want to use the heatscope. So it doesn’t matter if it’s dark.”

  “But what do you want to see? I thought you were bored with Jayden’s games.”

  Isabeau stared at him. “The circus people, of course!”

  “Not that still.”

  “Of course that still! I want to look at them.” She jiggled on the spot and Ndlela could see that she wasn’t going to drop this topic any time soon.

  “You wiped the table yet? And filled Robby’s water bowl?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Alright. Hang on a sec. Let me just finish here.”