“Sylvain says we have to go into town to look for Caleb,” she said.
Mark nodded, placed the map file in his satchel, and fell into step behind her.
*****
Mark nose breathed as he, the bad man, and Abbey boarded the vertical train that would apparently take them into town. He would have preferred to have stayed up on the causeway to study the landscape and compare it to the maps in the file that Dr. Ford had given him. But apparently the plan was to go into town, and Mark didn’t like to get into arguments with the bad man. He also didn’t like the prospect of the train and all the exposure to germs it required. But he had decided that this was the lesser of the two evils and that he could get through it with some nose breathing and potentially some counting.
The train was relatively deserted, save for a few men in strange jumpsuits and a teenager with a jade-green uniform. Mark tried to feel calm in a public space. He had felt safe, relatively speaking, on his recent excursions with Abbey, Caleb, and Simon. So when Abbey had told him he had to come, he’d felt obligated.
Abbey’s green eyes were very twitchy and nervous-looking, kind of like those of a mouse or a rat, or maybe more like a rabbit, and she gestured a lot in a very dramatic fashion. But despite the terrifyingly rapid movement of her eyes, she seemed kind. (And he was pleased that she used metric, as working with maps, and thinking in general, in his opinion, was much easier in metric). He was more comfortable with Simon, but still, he felt generally okay with Abbey.
Right now she was talking to the bad man about places Caleb might go and asking a lot of questions. Why might Caleb have come here? Why was there no gravity? Why did nobody other than her seem concerned about these divided futures?
Mark decided that Abbey asked the question why a lot, and none of the adults seemed able to answer that question. Or maybe they just didn’t want to.
The train descended rapidly and smoothly into the city, and Mark watched the features of the red clay hill rush past. He looked for a deeper gully, for an indentation that suggested it may once have been a stream. But the hillside was moving past too quickly.
He wondered if Dr. Ford knew what he had given Mark. Had he just thought the stack of maps was too old to be of use or interest? Or had Dr. Ford given Mark the maps on purpose?
You never could tell with adults, Mark decided.
*****
The train station hummed with what looked like evening commuter activity, and trains headed out in all directions like the spokes of a wheel. Everyone wore jumpsuits like the one Max had worn. Abbey had already peeled off her jacket and sweater in the faintly oppressive heat.
Sylvain pushed them into a room in the station lined with small lockers. He withdrew a ring of keys, selected one, inserted it into of the lockers, and extracted three navy jumpsuits. He passed one to Abbey.
“Give me your jacket and go to the bathroom and put this on. I’ll manage Mark.”
“What?”
“This is what everyone wears to work and in public settings around here. This society aims to be less consumptive than ours always was, and spending money on clothing is frowned upon. The uniforms were meant to equalize everyone. But of course that kind of thing seldom works out exactly as intended. The color of the jumpsuit indicates the type of work you do. Navy means government and health care worker, and relatively speaking, that’s a higher-ranked job than most, which means that by wearing them we can move more easily through certain locations. People can wear what they want in their homes, although the more distinctive and individual clothing of our day is relatively unavailable here, so wearing it marks you as an outsider. That’s okay at the space station, but less so in town, and without ID tags for you, it’s not like we need any unwanted conversations with the authorities.” Sylvain removed a plastic card from the locker and placed it around his neck.
“How long are we staying? What if Caleb has already gone home?”
Sylvain shook his head. “No doorbell.”
Abbey passed over her jacket and took the jumpsuit, and Sylvain turned the key in the lock. Abbey glanced at the locker. The number on the front read 309. She stared at it for a few seconds before heading off to the women’s bathroom.
It had to be just a coincidence. Ian wouldn’t have been able to put the next lesson in witchcraft into Sylvain’s locker in the future. Or would he? Was that part of the test? Abbey had no idea anymore.
The jumpsuit was way too big, and Abbey had to roll up the sleeves and pant legs in order to be able to walk. Mark seemed unhappy about the change of attire. His face was scrunched in a scowl and the jumpsuit gaped across his generous girth, but he followed Sylvain back into the common area outside the bathrooms.
On the way out of the station, Sylvain paused for a few seconds in front of a digital billboard that read, “Lester Edwards for Mayor. Paid for by the Green Party” under a photo of a staid bald man with a receding chin. Sylvain shook his head in a skittish sort of way, exited the train station, turned right and started walking rapidly down the street.
He led them through a bustling downtown area. The streets were narrow and occupied by people on bicycles and scooters. Broad pedestrian walkways lined both sides of the street, taking them past rows of small domed shops nestled deep into the ground, their roofs at eye level. Stairs descended down to the doorway of each shop.
Sylvain seemed to be heading toward a large, cube-shaped, glass building, much like the one up by the causeway, except that this one had a heavy thatched grass roof, and Abbey could see goats leaping about on top of it. It was evident that Sylvain knew where he was going, that he had been here before, and yet still he darted his head about, examining every landmark, every building, every twig, his movements sharp. Then he would press his fingers against his mouth as if in deep concentration. He almost seemed to have forgotten that Abbey and Mark were there.
The walkway ran alongside the river in parts, and Mark stopped often to gaze at the swirling murky water, and then to dart a suspicious glance at the Stairway Mountains, in the direction of the Granton Dam, which wasn’t visible from the city. Abbey alternately tried to hustle Mark along and keep up with Sylvain’s lengthy stride, while still peering into the shops that they passed to determine the types of goods for sale, and potentially catch sight of a newspaper, anything to give her more information about where and when they were. But most of the shops sold food, not clothes or knickknacks or appliances or any sort of things that she could see. Just food and, strangely, paintings and sculptures.
She observed people reading tablets in cafés. Perhaps newspapers no longer existed. Perhaps nothing existed except food and art. But the children in the street rode bikes and scooters. Cafés contained tables and chairs. Were all goods sold in box stores out of town? Or had 3D printers changed the way everything was made?
She put on a burst of speed and caught up to Sylvain.
“Where exactly are we going?”
Sylvain gestured at the glass cube building. “I thought maybe we’d start with the library,” he said.
Abbey tried to imagine Caleb’s red hair moving up and down the rows in the stacks of a quiet and dusty library. “Why?”
“Well, I suspect that your brother came here looking for information. So I’m thinking maybe he went to the library, where they have public Internet access.”
Abbey shook her head. “I don’t know if Caleb’s a library kind of guy. I don’t even know if he’d think of it as a place to get on the Internet. I mean, he’s pretty social. I could see him just walking into a café and starting to ask questions. He could be on a spaceship to Mars for all we know.”
“Well, Mars, as it turns out, despite our many years of hoping otherwise, is pretty much as inhospitable as scientists thought, so I doubt that.”
“Can’t you track him somehow? You know, can’t you hear him?” Abbey gestured vaguely in the air as if to imply witchcraft.
“I hear the stones, not fourteen-year-old boys.
”
“Can any of you do anything useful?” Abbey said.
Sylvain offered her a sidelong look, his graceful arching eyebrows elevated. “You’re welcome to look anywhere you wish. I for one think we should start at the library.”
Abbey opened her mouth to apologize for her rudeness, but there was a shiftiness in Sylvain’s eyes, a kind of greedy uncertainty that she hadn’t seen since the night three weeks ago when they used the docks. She stopped walking, and Mark, busy examining his maps, crashed right into her. She stumbled and Sylvain caught her.
“I don’t think Caleb would go to the library,” she announced, scrambling back to her feet.
“Okay, well I still think we should go there just to make sure.”
“I want to go to Sinclair Systems. Is it in town?”
Sylvain laced his fingers together. “Yes, it is. It’s a few blocks away. But I don’t think you’ll find much there. It’s always locked up tight as a drum. But if you insist, we can go.” He waved his hand in the direction of the library. “Let’s just pop into the library first. We’re right here.”
Frustration gathered in Abbey’s mind. She should go to the library too and look up dates, like the date of Jake’s death—or, she thought, with a slight catch in her heart, her mother’s. Or the date of the bomb. But worry for Caleb eclipsed that. “No. We don’t have time. You go to the library. I’m going to Sinclair Systems. Tell me where to find it.”
“You can’t go alone. It’s dark. Your parents—” Sylvain started.
“Would flip if they even knew we were here, so I think it’s best not to mention any of this. Mark will come with me,” Abbey declared.
Mark’s face slackened. Then he pulled his map folder tighter against his chest and pulled his teeth into a terrible grimace. “It is very important that I go to the library.”
Abbey’s face grew hot. “Fine. The two of you have a lovely time at the library. Just give me the address for Sinclair Systems and I’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”
Sylvain still had his hands pressed together, and his eyes had taken on a somewhat hysterical tinge. “Fine. It’s very safe in this future—“ Sylvain paused. “Well, mostly safe. But don’t talk to strangers, stay on the sidewalk, go straight there and look for Caleb, and then come back. The address is 309 Oltree Road. It’s two blocks down and then six blocks to the right.”
Abbey squinted at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Sylvain shook his head. “No. That’s where it is.”
Abbey threw her hands in the air. “I meant the address. But don’t worry. I’m beginning to think you’re all crazy.”
She marched away from Mark and Sylvain. She almost expected them to follow, but they didn’t. When she cast a glance over her shoulder, she saw them examining each other.
Sylvain turned to her. “Be careful,” he called.
Abbey shot him a glare, but he almost sounded like he meant it. “Look after Mark,” she yelled back and then turned and walked resolutely down the street.
The sky hovered black overhead, brilliant with stars and a zany crisscrossing of moving lights kilometers overhead. Satellites and spaceships occupied the heavens like cars once inhabited the earth. Pale white streetlights blinked on and off as people passed beneath them, and she passed many men, women, and children walking dogs, carrying groceries, and clutching briefcases, calling hello to each other and lingering to chat in the pools of light on the broad sidewalks. Abbey wondered if the streets in her time would be equally crowded at seven o’clock at night if there were no cars.
She tried to control the hammering of her heart. Sylvain wouldn’t have let her proceed on her own if it was unsafe. She hoped. More than anything, she hoped that the stones would protect her and draw her home if she got into trouble, like they had in the past.
It didn’t take her long to travel the eight blocks to Sinclair Systems. A small sign occupied a closed metal gate set in a heavy adobe fence. Abbey’s breath quickened. The Sinclair Systems logo was a tree, or perhaps a shrub, much like the tree on the Livingstone Labs sign, set against a white background, but wilder, with curving intertwining tendrils that reached up to form the S’s in Sinclair and Systems.
She tried the gate, but the heavy silver knob didn’t turn. She peered in through the metal bars and saw that lights still shone in the small building set into the ground. She rattled the gate, hoping to make a noise, but it didn’t even budge. Then she noticed a small indentation in the fence to the right of the gate, with a chinrest, similar to the one she’d seen on Max’s ship. With trembling legs, she placed her chin on the curved plastic. A red light flashed from left to right and back again, scanning her retina, and then with a faint click, the metal gate to the fence opened. Abbey felt a rush of affection for her older brother. Trust Simon to know she might be coming.
She slipped through the small opening immediately and closed the gate behind her with a clang, then approached the building as quietly as possible. A single light glowed in one of the rounded windows set at ground level. What a strange, almost subterranean, city.
Abbey pressed herself against the wall and bent down to peer in the window, trying her best not to be seen. Inside the room sat a tall lanky, dark-haired man at a desk surrounded by computer screens.
And facing him, in an armchair on the opposite side of the desk, sat Caleb.
*****
Mark’s hands left wet imprints on the file folder as he watched Abbey walk away. The bad man gave a grunt of impatience and then whirled and marched in the direction of the glass cube.
Mark scuttled along behind the bad man. Even Mark could tell that Abbey had been upset that he hadn’t gone with her. That was the good thing about Abbey: generally speaking, her feelings were easy to read. Still, knowing she was upset caused him a whole welter of feelings that he was unused to. What had been expected of him? It wouldn’t have made sense for him to have gone with her. He wasn’t good at solving problems, and she couldn’t possibly want him for company (since he really didn’t talk much).
He should stick with maps, which is what he was best at, and therefore he needed to go to the library, because libraries usually had maps. He had always wanted to go to the Library of Congress Geography and Map Division map library in Washington, D.C., the largest and most comprehensive map collection in the world with over 5.5 million maps. The prospect almost made him dizzy, and as much as he wanted to go, he wondered if it might not just overwhelm him, so many maps all calling out to him. (He had decided he would start with maps of the Eastern American states and cities with major rivers published in the nineteenth century: the ones that weren’t available online. Clear parameters always helped him manage things.) His mother had promised him that they would go, but somehow the trip had never materialized. Maybe she, too, thought he couldn’t handle it.
The bad man looked at him with big, widened eyes and pressed-together lips as they proceeded through the library foyer. Then he made a beeline for one of the computer kiosks. Mark followed, and the bad man turned and spoke to him slowly and carefully, as if Mark were a ticking toddler time bomb that could go off at any second. (This was of course the way adults who didn’t understand his condition—which was most adults—spoke to him. Mark was sometimes tempted to yell out “boo” really loudly in the middle of their sentences to see if he could scare them.)
“Look. Mark. I have some research that I really must do. Why don’t you take a look around for Caleb, and then if you finish that, you can just sit at one of those study carrels over there and wait for me?”
“I need to look at maps,” Mark said.
“Oh, well. Right. You could ask one of the librarians for help, but please don’t cause any disturbance, and remember, don’t leave the library. We don’t have very long, and when I say we have to leave, we have to leave.”
Mark decided that the bad man’s statement didn’t require a response, and he veered off in the direction of the desk with
the librarian sign hanging from it.
He tried to form his mouth into a friendly smile at the woman who occupied the desk. “I require all the maps you have of Coventry City,” he said.
She cocked her head at him, but seemed to be showing her teeth in a receptive way. “The map room is on the second floor mezzanine. I’m sure Kasey would be happy to help you.”
Mark passed Sylvain’s computer kiosk on his way to the stairs. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw the word “Quentin” typed into the search engine.
The mezzanine was an open platform that looked out over the library, and a smiley short man with strawberry blond hair in a dark grey jumpsuit stood behind the counter at the top of the stairs.
“I require all the maps you have of Coventry City,” Mark repeated.
The man blinked. “You can only sign out three maps at a time. They can’t leave the map room. When you’re done with one, you can return it to me and I’ll get you another one. What do you want to start with? Eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth or twenty-first century? Topo or political? Larger than 1:50,000 or smaller than 1:50,000?”
“Eighteenth century, political, larger than 1:50,000,” Mark said.
“Okay, you can sit over there. I’ll bring you the maps.” He eyed Mark’s satchel. “No food or drink in the map room.”
Mark nodded and headed over to the table the man had pointed to. The first floor of the library panned out beneath him, and he could see Sylvain’s stiff form hunched over the computer kiosk.
*****
Abbey gave a light knock on the window, and the person in the chair whirled around. It was Simon. Of course it was Simon—a gaunter, more chiseled Simon, with round wire spectacles and the same dusky eyes with dark circles beneath them. He rose from his chair and motioned in the direction of the front door. Abbey followed the edge of the wall to the stairs that descended to the door below.
A Quill Ladder Page 8
