Silver Shard

by Betsy Streeter

  “I don’t feel so well,” Mr. Brush says. “Those little buggers have venom, you know.”

  Buggers? Tromindox. Those were Tromindox. Since when are they little flying beasts? There’s no time to figure this out.

  “Uncle, you’ve had some venom I think,” Daniel says. “Where is the syringe? Is it in the cash register?”

  Mr. Brush’s eyes roll back in his head. “Uh, I don’t know…”

  “Help me find it!” Daniel says, jumping up and rummaging around in the ruins of the counter. The drawer has come detached and hangs loose, and the contents have fallen out. Daniel digs in the pile on the floor below it. “Is it here? Stay with me!”

  Daniel reaches down and feels a pencil, crumpled paper, and then a cylindrical object. There it is. He grabs it and clambers back over to the patient.

  “Okay, I’m going to dose you with this,” Daniel says. “Do you know where I should poke you? Does it matter?”

  “Aggghhhh,” Mr. Brush says. Is it the venom or the blood loss talking? Hard to say.

  “Fine,” Daniel says, and lifts up his uncle’s forearm, jabbing in the needle and pushing the anti-venom into his bloodstream.

  After an anxious minute Mr. Brush’s eyes clear and his face brightens slightly. “Wow, what a mess,” he says, looking around. “I made them clear off, though. Told them the stone was gone and the maps were useless. They weren’t satisfied so they did a little remodeling.”

  “Where are the maps now?” Daniel asks.

  “Oh, well, that was part of the remodeling,” Mr. Brush says. “Without the stone the maps weren’t interesting anymore, so they took care of them.” He gestures toward the spot on the floor where the wooden box had been.

  The maps have been burnt to ash, along with the box. The viewer lies on top, bent and melted, its glass gone.

  Bertrand sits on , though, right where it was. Apparently no one wanted it. The flames did no damage; it’s as if the book existed in a force field of its own. A cat-field.

  Daniel pulls the volume and stone from his pockets and looks down at these two strange objects. This is all that’s left of the maps, now.

  “Good job by us,” Mr. Brush says, smiling. “We kept the important bits.” He waves a hand weakly at Daniel’s possessions.

  “Uncle, when I was…in there…I saw Henry Silverwood, Helen’s little brother,” Daniel says. “What does that mean?”

  “You saw Henry in a rift?” Mr. Brush says.

  So that was a rift, just as Daniel had suspected.

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No, I couldn’t make contact,” Daniel says. “It was like I was there, but I wasn’t.”

  Mr. Brush frowns. “What was the boy doing?”

  “That’s the weird part. He was in this old house, and he was drawing maps. Just like these. Exactly like them.” Daniel holds out the book.

  “Guild,” Mr. Brush says. “That boy is Guild. I don’t have the first idea why you would find Henry Silverwood in a rift, but you’d better tell Helen. You’ve got that little communicator thing she gave you, right? The one where your messages won’t be intercepted?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right back,” Daniel says. He bounds up the stairs to his room. Fortunately, the upper floor didn’t get torched.

  Mr. Brush lays his head down and closes his eyes.

  Christopher cuts a slice of apple and pops it in his mouth. He’s sitting in the open side door of the VW van across the street from a playground filled with screaming children. The playground serves as the brightly-colored centerpiece of an enormous planned housing development.

  It’s just the two brothers in the van now, with all the stolen equipment from the Council. Anna and Kate departed on their motorcycles, a storm of black leather and chrome and dust. Off to cross the desert and find the Shard if possible.

  Gabriel and Christopher have not come to this area to shop for a house in the suburbs; they are here because there is reason to believe there are Tromindox nearby. There have been several sightings reported; no humans missing (yet) in the immediate neighborhood. But it’s a great idea if you are a seven-foot-tall shape-shifter to hide out in a totally bland house on a nondescript street where no one ever rings the doorbell.

  Gabriel, who has been on the swings while taking readings and checking in with other agents, hops off and crosses the street. A disgruntled ten-year-old quickly takes his place.

  “I think I found us some squids to interrogate,” Gabriel says. “There might be a good candidate about ten miles from here.” Gabriel is of the opinion that some up-close-and personal conversations with Tromindox will yield leads on Henry’s location. Gabriel’s immunity to their venom puts the creatures on the defensive right away, giving Gabriel the intimidation factor he needs. And he wants answers, now.

  “Hey Gabriel, something’s buzzing in here,” Christopher says. He leans back into the van and tugs on a couple of duffel bags. “It’s in Helen’s stuff.”

  “Helen’s?” Gabriel grabs the bag and rummages around with urgency. By the time he digs the encrypted device out of the bag there are already several lines typed onto the screen:

  hey its Daniel

  are you there?

  pls answer its important

  Helen you there?

  need to talk to you

  Gabriel reads the message. “It’s that Daniel kid, the one from the bookstore in Brokeneck. He sounds agitated.”

  “What does he want?” Christopher asks.

  “Uh, don’t know,” Gabriel says. “Should I write back?”

  “Sure,” Christopher says.

  Gabriel types back:

  hello

  Daniel replies:

  oh good you’re there

  I saw Henry your brother

  I was in a space-time rift

  in this weird old building with a fence around it

  by himself

  possibly an illusion?

  “He says he saw Henry,” Gabriel says to his brother. “How is that possible?”

  “Seriously?” Christopher is now reading over Gabriel’s shoulder.

  Gabriel types:

  how do you know it was Henry?

  Daniel:

  I saw his face

  it was weird I couldn’t reach him

  he was drawing all over the floor

  time maps

  what does that mean?

  Gabriel:

  Daniel this is important

  can you recreate the time-space where you saw Henry?

  Daniel:

  I don’t know

  maps got destroyed

  only one book and a time stone left

  there was a fire

  a guy called the Chairman sent the maps

  “What?” Gabriel says. “The Chairman? Maps? What is going on? How are the Watchmakers involved in this? How is the Chairman involved in this?” Now Gabriel starts pacing. Christopher paces with him so he can keep reading.

  Daniel keeps typing:

  I thought maybe I was just seeing things

  Helen I’m sorry about last time

  I didn’t mean to be awkward

  or make you feel weird

  I’m really sorry

  “Oh no,” Gabriel says. “I neglected to mention I’m not Helen and now he’s writing Helen-type things.” He holds up the screen for Christopher to see.

  “Oh, that’s not good,” Christopher says. “Quick, tell him it’s you before he says anything truly embarrassing.”

  “Really? If I don’t, maybe I can learn some things,” Gabriel says.

  Christopher punches him in the arm. “No way! You’ve got to tell him. Quick! It’s a matter of honor, man.”

  Gabriel considers. “Fine.” He really wants to keep this conversation going, though. Find out what this kid’s deal is.

  Gabriel types:

  Daniel this is Helen’s dad

  Helen is missing

  and so is Henry

  we are trying to find the
m

  can you recreate the rift?

  There’s a long pause. Gabriel imagines Daniel slapping his forehead with his hand in humiliation, which is what Gabriel would be doing if the positions were reversed, and which is also pretty accurate.

  Finally:

  hi Mr. Silverwood

  sorry i thought you were Helen

  anyway I don’t know how to make the rift again

  but maybe my uncle does

  he got hit in the head but he’ll be ok

  Gabriel types:

  what you saw was real

  we need a Watchmaker to pull Henry out

  can your uncle do it

  Daniel:

  I don’t know

  he got hit pretty hard

  he’s asleep now

  he needs rest

  Christopher starts jumping up and down.

  “What are you doing?” Gabriel asks.

  “This!” Christopher says. “Don’t you see? It’s our chance to try out a convergence! This is what the Council were doing! We can try it! We have their data, and now we have the added advantage of the Chairman’s time stone and at least part of his maps! If we put this together correctly, we can get to Henry. And Helen. I just know it.”

  Gabriel appreciates his brother’s enthusiasm. For a second it dampens the ache he’s carried ever since both of his children disappeared.

  “Okay, what do I tell Daniel?” Gabriel asks.

  “Tell him…tell him to hang tight for a minute; let me get something,” Christopher says. He’s on all fours now in the van, grabbing hard drives and plugging wires into them. “I’m going to send him some information. Just hang on.”

  Henry’s room isn’t a room any more. It is an octagonal space the size of a swimming pool. He can make it any shape he wants. He can add doors and windows, and walk around on the walls and ceiling. He can draw a map of what he wants on the plaster or floor or a piece of paper, and watch the space change to match.

  The only thing he can’t seem to do is leave.

  Henry has tried adding more and more windows, but he still can’t open any of them. He has experimented with adding hallways that lead outside the room, but he is scared to go too far out there and always turns back. The digital people still come in without warning, bark orders at him, and take him to draw maps on the floor in another room. He doesn’t want to arouse their suspicions. So once he’s messed around for a while, he returns everything to its original state.

  Renata pops open the little door in the wall. “You there?” she asks.

  Henry sits on the floor and peeks at her. “Yeah.”

  “Wow,” Renata says, peering around Henry’s new space. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I wish I could draw a way out of here,” Henry says.

  “I bet you do,” Renata says. “I promise you’ll figure it out. You will.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Henry says. “I better put this back before those creeps come to get me.” He gets up, walks over to the wall, and draws a nice rectangle with a single window and door. The room returns to its normal state, the bed in the middle and the desk in the corner.

  “Hey, Renata?” Henry says.

  “What?”

  “Is this normal?”

  “Is what normal?” Renata asks. “Nothing about this place is normal.”

  “Is it normal for Guild kids to draw actual real space that changes around? And what about the maps that they’re making me draw—are those supposed to be something I know how to do? Is this Guild stuff? Or am I just losing my mind?”

  “I don’t know,” Renata says. “I’ve never heard of any of it in my lessons or anything. I don’t know what normal Guild stuff is.”

  Henry considers this. “Okay.”

  “Hey, Renata?” Henry says.

  “What?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Renata asks.

  “For coming to talk to me,” Henry says. “I really need somebody to talk to. I’m definitely close to freaking out in here.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Renata says. “I hope you figure out how to escape from this place soon. I know that if you keep trying, you will.”

  The door slides shut and Henry is alone again.

  “Me, too,” Henry says to the wall. “I hope I do, too.”

  He tries to lie down and sleep, but he feels jumpy and agitated, and he can’t keep his legs still. He rolls over a few times. He can’t shake the feeling that he is being watched. He is used to being monitored, but this is more like—eyes on him. In the room. That crawly feeling on his neck. He keeps flipping and looking around, turning his head, but sees nothing more than the same drab walls.

  Henry sits up. Something about the space seems different. Is it the color? He can’t quite figure it out.

  He holds very still, listening, and then he realizes the difference. The room feels like it has a pulse. Like it is breathing. Alive.

  Henry jumps out of bed. The wall slides away from him and stretches into a long passageway. What is this? Henry didn’t draw this. Did Renata do something? Did Henry make the room go crazy or fall apart by changing it around so much? Did he do something wrong?

  Or has he just lost all perspective—quite literally?

  “It’s not real,” Henry says to himself. “Not real. This is my imagination. Not real. That’s why it changes all the time.”

  Henry keeps talking to himself as he takes a step, and then another, toward this strange new hallway. Maybe he did create a way out, after all. He walks faster, then breaks into a run.

  The floor stretches in front of him endlessly, closed doors appearing on either side of him. He tries a few of the doors, but they all seem to be locked. He runs faster, but gets no closer to the end. And then, with no warning, the hallway veers to the right. Henry can’t turn quickly enough, so he slides into the wall and ricochets off of it with his shoulder. All the time he keeps his feet moving, keeps running. The wall twists and tips over now, and Henry finds himself running on it. He must not trip over the doorknobs that now stick out of the floor. He’s got to keep moving. If this is a way out, he can’t let it escape from him.

  Another change in direction, another slam into the wall, he’s back on the floor again. Henry is breathing hard, now, and still the hall stretches on. What if he just goes in a big circle? He doesn’t care. He’s got to take this chance. He didn’t realize, until this passage presented itself, how desperate he had become to get out. This tiny bit of hope, a gap in his prison, has sent him into a near-panic.

  Someone calls his name. “Henry?” Has someone finally found him? Broken into this place to get him out?

  There it is again. “Henry?” There is no mistaking it, that is his sister’s voice.

  “Helen! Where are you? I’m trying to get to you! Wait for me!” Henry shouts, using all of his breath. “You found me! I’m right here!”

  Another sudden turn, this time Henry manages to keep from slamming into the wall. And then, there she is.

  Helen is standing straight in front of him not fifty feet away.

  “Henry! Don’t move! Stay there! I’m coming to get you!” Helen calls to him. She puts her hands out in front of her as if to signal him to stop.

  But Henry doesn’t want to stop, he wants to reach his sister. He keeps running. He’s not going to miss this chance. There she is, right there. She is so close. If he can just get to her…

  “Henry!”

  The hallway twists to the side and Henry is again running along the wall. Like before, he takes care not to trip on the doorknobs.

  This time, though, one of the doors is not latched and when Henry steps on it, it swings open, dropping him into total darkness. He feels nothing except space at first, but then he’s sliding along on his behind on a smooth surface, like a slide. His arms and legs flail as he goes. He can’t see Helen anymore. Was she really there? He believes in his heart of hearts that he saw his sister. He needs to believe it.

  A
nd now he’s lost her because of his own stupid mistake.

  Henry tumbles downward, but his progress slows as if he’s got on an invisible parachute. He comes to a gentle landing on a stone floor. He rolls to a stop and squints as his eyes adjust. He can see what looks like computer screens, but in fancy frames on the wall like a museum. There are dozens of them. And are those shelves of books? He turns his head to take in this weird place. Somewhere there is classical music playing.

  Is that a skeleton on the wall? Henry crawls backward to get away from it. How horrible! Who would put a skeleton…

  “Hello, Henry Silverwood.”

  It’s the Tromindox from Henry’s drawings. The elegant one, with the long face and the fancy clothes. Monder does not look at Henry right away. Instead he points his long fingers at the various screens on the wall. As he does, the pictures on the screens change. There’s a split-screen, with a padlock on the left and a door on the right. When Monder pokes at the padlock, it falls open. On the other side of the screen, the door simultaneously slams shut. On another screen, a faucet turns on and off while a cell phone lights up with a call from no one.

  “Entanglements,” Monder says. “Rifts, created by your family’s portals. Tears in space-time. So many things over the decades have gotten twisted up together. Look how beautiful.” He points at an oval-shaped screen in an ornate gold frame. On one side, a driver clearly struggles to start a car, while on the other half a surveillance camera at a market shows the register popping open. “A beautiful mess. Still, an opportunity presents itself. These are only small, insignificant examples. There is much more to be done.”

  Henry peeks at the other screens, dozens of them, all shapes and sizes. Many of them display time maps, like the ones Henry has been drawing. In fact, they are the ones Henry has been drawing. He recognizes his own handwriting. The screens refresh over and over, showing map after map after map. All of Henry’s work. So this is where it goes.

  Monder finally turns around. “But where are my manners? Welcome, Henry. I’m glad you could come see me.”

  “What did you do with my sister?” Henry shouts. “And why do you have all my drawings?”

  “Well, that’s not very polite,” Monder says, picking up a teacup and saucer. “Don’t your parents teach you any manners? I suppose not, knowing who they are.” He takes a sip.