“Hate is a strong word, and I don’t think they’d ever apply it to you,” Andrew responded, fists tight around the strap of his haversack. “It’s me they’ll be most ticked off at when we return; I’m the one who’s running away with a girl when I should be working as hard as possible to make up for not going to war.”
“But that’s no fault of yours!” I defended, surprised at the bitterness.
He did not reply, but fixed his eyes firmly upon the road ahead. We weren’t running from work, I told myself. We were pushing towards something much more important than the meagre assistance we offered at the farm.
“So where exactly are we looking for these people?” he said eventually, craning for a glimpse of the main road, visible just ahead. “Do you remember the address Deio gave you?”
I shook my head sheepishly, admitting, “No. I didn’t actually read it. But he did mention something about his sister going to Cardiff, wherever that is.”
“Wales!” Andrew groaned. “I was hoping it would be a bit more local than that. Well…the nearest train station is about an hour away, so we better get moving if we want to make it to Cardiff by nightfall. It’s a half-an-hour walk at the very least to the bus stop.”
“How long is it to Wales? Gosh, it isn’t more than an hour, is it? Because I couldn’t stand anything longer than that.”
“Uh, it will be longer than an hour, yes,” Andrew said, turning his preoccupied gaze from the road to me with the barest trace of amusement. “But don’t worry, think of it as an adventure. You’ve never been away, I suppose? Wales certainly is scenic.”
The search was beginning to stretch out into a monotonous succession of task after task, and I did hate travelling about. Trains were all right, but after a while, I could see that even they might get tiresome.
“So, who exactly are these people, again?” he asked as we got to the main road, moving to stand on my other side so that I wasn’t too close to oncoming traffic. “I probably should have asked this before agreeing to go on a road-trip to find them, but…”
I laughed hollowly, but the sound was lost in the choked engine of a car as it trundled past, filling the air with the stench of exhaust and petrol.
“The only time I ever spoke to them before Deio came to the farm was in my head. I don’t even remember what they said, only I freaked out and woke up assuming it had all been a dream. Then Fred told me they had spoken to him too, just casually, but only once or twice. Penny, on the other hand, would talk to them all the time. We didn’t know for certain, but Lucas was pretty good at guessing.”
“And yet they were working against you?” Andrew wasn’t humouring me; his tone was one of genuine curiosity and confusion.
“They wanted Penny to escape, not me,” I affirmed. “There was a lot of tension between them and…and Madon.”
I focused now on the narrow lane and not letting my feet slip into the ditch, half obscured by soggy grass and yet gurgling away with all the excess run-off from the recent frosts. Already, I was fed up with walking and ready to sit down, my arms aching from the weight of my suitcase, yet if Andrew’s calculations were correct, we still had a long way to go. Between walking and buses, however, I decided that the former was the definite better of two evils, and would have gladly gone on foot all the way to the train station, perhaps even to Wales had that been possible.
After ten more minutes of trudging, my feet had begun to hurt. We were now on the main road. Even in my woolly coat, I was cold, and the cars were quite unnerving as they roared past without warning. I was about to complain, when up ahead, I saw the most wonderful sight of the day: a tall, outlandish red sign that clearly decreed ‘BUS STOP’ in bold letters.
“Look!” I squealed, pulling him alongside me so that we might be able to stop and rest a few seconds faster. It was even bathed in a bright spotlight of sun!
“Are you excited to go on a bus?”
“No. Only to defrost and regain the feeling in my feet.”
I squeezed into the shaft of sunlight, revelling in glorious heat, weak as it was. However, by the time the bus arrived, I was dying to sit down again. Not only that, but waiting out in the open was worrying; what if Madon was to find us—or worse—Julia?
The bus that did arrive was chock full of people. I supposed there weren’t very many buses running in the countryside, but as a result, it was filled to capacity with people scattered about thanks to the war. There were virtually no younger men around, at least none not in uniform, and Andrew got a fair share of curious glares. We stood for a good while, hanging onto overhead rails for dear life, until a woman noticed our plight and cleared her baggage off her bench so that we could squeeze in next to her. I closed my eyes, leant my head against his shoulder, and tried to ignoring the stench of tobacco, sickly lurching of the bus, and the wailing of a toddler being bounced on a lap in the row in front of us.
“If that child doesn’t shut up, I’m going to have to kill it,” the woman on my left snarled under her breath. “Or cut its tongue out.”
I opened my eyes in alarm at the venom in her tone. Andrew laughed uneasily, despite her total absence of humour.
Then I looked again.
She wasn’t a woman at all, but a girl in a shawl. Her strawberry blonde hair hung in dead-straight sheets, so different from the style of today. Her heavy-lidded eyes were grey and manic. The harder I stared, the more I couldn’t shake their resemblance to Deio’s.
Noticing me, the girl stiffened. “Maybe I should gouge out your eyes while I’m at it. Didn’t anybody tell you that it’s impolite to stare?”
Andrew was about to protest, when he realized what I was gawping at. He paled.
“You’re Demitra Farthing?” I ventured.
She sighed. “Obviously.”
That was it. I waited for her to say something else, then blurted, “How?”
“You were about to go on a wild goose chase to Wales, weren’t you? And as amusing as that would have been, we just don’t have the time.”
“How did you know we’d be on the bus?” Andrew demanded.
Demitra sighed again, drawing her knees up onto the bench and tucking them under her chin. “I know things.” As if noticing Andrew for the first time, she straightened up. “I didn’t expect you to come along.”
“Well I—”
“How are you liking this century, Evelyn?” she interrupted, her eyes boring into mine. “Isn’t it just a blast?”
“I suppose,” I answered uncomfortably, thinking of the dull clothing, freakish technology, and, of course, the war—not directly affecting me, but always there, a dark shadow in the background.
She frowned, studying me for a moment in a way that seemed to be both mocking and unsatisfied, before leaning into the window.
If it hadn’t been for the screaming child and rattling engine, an extremely tense silence might have fallen. After a while, Andrew noted to nobody in particular that the next stop was ours.
“We’re not taking the train,” Demitra butted in, clearly more alert than she’d seemed.
“Where are we going, then?” Andrew frowned.
“Gloucester. I have a flat there.”
“So we’ll need a train,” Andrew said, as though to a particularly stupid toddler. “This bus doesn’t leave the county.”
Demitra glared at him until he looked away. “I said we’re not taking the train. I don’t care if it takes ten years and a thousand buses, but I am not stepping foot on a train.”
So that was that. I resigned myself to several more hours aboard buses, reeling from the presence of our new companion. Demitra may have been much more blunt than the likes of Madon and Deio, which I somewhat appreciated, but even I wasn’t oblivious enough not to notice something extremely menacing lurking just below the surface.
Chapter Eleven
A bus had dropped us in one of the older, more ramshackle areas of Gloucester. The streets were cobbled, not paved, and the houses that edged them leaned in to one an
other as though vying for space. Soon buildings loomed up on either side, several stories tall, so alien compared to the sprawling countryside of the farm. The only vegetation around was the occasional roadside tree, or a tangle of ivy creeping up walls to devour brick faces. Andrew was taking it all in rather dubiously.
“I don’t know if I like this,” he muttered to me, fiddling with his haversack again. “It seems as though…as though…” He trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets and glaring at the path.
I could see what he was trying to say. With all the windows gleaming in the filtered sunlight like glassy eyes, the shabby roofs blocking out the horizon, and streetlamps papered with week-old pamphlets crying out for readers to join the war effort, it was a bit oppressive.
“Oh.” Demitra stopped so suddenly I nearly bumped into her. “I forgot to mention. You can’t stay with us.” A small finger appeared from under her shawl and pointed at Andrew.
“What? I can’t leave Evelyn with… Why not?” he stuttered.
“Because I’m not a hotel, crippled boy,” she said, with a sideways smirk at his bad leg. “However, the same can’t be said for that building over there. Relatively cheap, so I’ve heard, but it’ll do.”
“I have no money.” Andrew’s face was growing paler by the second. “Not enough to last for very long, anyway.”
“Not my problem.”
I flinched at the callousness in her tone. Balling my fists, I said, “It is your problem. He’s my friend, and I won’t abandon him. If you think—”
“Oh, spare me.” Demitra waved her hand dismissively. “Fine. He can stay with us too. But first of all, you and I need a little tête-à-tête, so he’ll have to occupy himself for a while.”
Andrew glanced at me as though I was going to argue about this too, and seemed disappointed when I said nothing. As long as he wasn’t being cast out altogether, I didn’t see anything wrong with speaking to Demitra alone; there were some things he didn’t—couldn’t—understand, and I couldn’t picture Demitra taking the time to explain everything to him too.
“I’ll go…for a walk.” Andrew sighed. “But if I don’t hear anything in an hour…”
“Then you’ll have to continue walking.” Demitra tapped her heels together, impatient. “You don’t make the rules here. I do.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, wishing I believed it.
Demitra watched him go with a smile. It wasn’t a very nice smile, however, and half of me—no, more than half—considered running right after him. Perhaps this had all been a terrible, terrible mistake.
“Don’t look so upset,” Demitra told me, setting off again down a side street. “Don’t you want to see your friends again?”
Of course I did. Her words brought the same shivers that Deio’s had, and yet…did I trust her? The obvious answer was no.
It turned out that her flat was above a former fish and chip shop. We went into the main entrance of the shop, assaulted at once by the overwhelming stench of grease. A little bell tinkled innocently as the door swung shut.
“Miss Farthing?” A man popped his head up from behind the counter. He had a wet rag in his hands and an alarming amount of dust on his face. “Your brother just came in a few minutes ago. Oh, who’s the friend?”
“This is Evelyn.” Demitra smiled at me, this time a remarkably genuine one that people usually reserved for their best friends. “She’s from London, so with the bombs and all… You don’t mind, do you, Mr Hamilton?”
“Course not, love. You’re not the type to bring in riff-raff.” Mr Hamilton beamed, exposing rows of yellow teeth. “Do me a favour, and tell your brother he had someone looking for him the other day. I forgot to tell you.”
“Did they leave a name?”
“Yeah. Farrington or something, it was.”
Demitra’s sickly sweet smile didn’t falter. “Okay.”
The second she turned her back to him, I watched it drop into a scowl.
To the back of the shop, a small door opened to reveal a steep staircase leading upwards into the flat. A musty smell overpowered the grease smell the higher we went, until I was gasping for air from this century. My arms ached from hauling my suitcase, which although small seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Finally, through another door at the top, we emerged into the flat.
I felt at once at home. Intricate, panelled wood covered every wall, stained a dark brown and covered with carvings. A fireplace containing still-smouldering wood stood at one side, opposite sash windows that looked out upon the street below, and, sandwiched between, bookcases containing volume upon volume of books and folders. The flat was void of decorative furniture and trinkets, with not a picture in sight; even the lamp, hanging from the beautifully moulded ceiling rose, was startlingly common. A shabby, rose-print settee and dilapidated occasional table were the only pieces. There was a small kitchen, almost too small to be functional, made up of a few slabs of wood over the top a couple of stained cabinets.
“Bedroom is over there,” she gestured blandly to one side. “You’ll have the settee. Andrew can…well, if he insists on staying, he can have the floor. We don’t have a bathroom, so if you need to go, you’ll have to go downstairs to the shop. No amenities, you see. Deio!”
I jumped as the familiar figure materialized from behind the fireplace.
“Evelyn.” He offered a hand, which I pretended not to notice. “Nice to see you again. Unfortunately, I shall have to be a bad host and rush off again, but duty calls.”
“Where?” Demitra frowned. “You know Madon was here a few days ago?”
“Brighton,” Deio replied, and I saw immediate recognition flicker in his sister’s face. “Shouldn’t take long. And no, I didn’t know that. Probably angry at been made a fool of again.”
Their eyes both flickered to me, then back to each other.
“It isn’t too hard,” she muttered dryly. “Be careful, okay? Don’t go closer to London than you have to, and be back in time to help me with you-know-what.”
I was a bit taken-aback by the amount concern in her tone—genuine sibling concern.
“I will. And you be careful too.” He turned and grabbed something from the behind the bookshelves. For a confused moment I thought I saw him slide a gun into a pocket. “Be civil. Enjoy your stay, Evelyn!”
I murmured something unintelligible, which only made them both smirk. With one last flourish as he pulled on a thin jacket, he was gone.
Demitra stood perfectly still for a moment, still frowning, then shrugged and sat down upon the settee before patting the area beside her as an afterthought. Dropping my suitcase, I obliged, ducking out of the way as she whipped off her shawl and dumped it almost on my lap.
“I suppose you want an explanation,” she remarked dully, still staring out the door. “I can give you a limited one without breaking the rules, on the one condition you don’t interrupt. What do you already know about Boundary, then, just so I don’t repeat and waste time?”
“Um.” I racked my brains. “Not much, to be honest. It was different, inside, people could do things that aren’t possible out here—Madon could torture us at will, and disappear into thin air. Beatrix could use her powers for domestic chores. Penny could Rip too, move from one place to another, and you…you could speak in our minds.”
Demitra finally wrenched her gaze from the door. I noticed her clothing beneath the shawl was surprisingly girlish and ordinary.
“Then there was the Boundary itself. It used to shock us if we touched it, but during the trials it only pulled us through to this kind of alternate place…towards the end, it was shrinking.” My throat was dry, and the words were coming out very choppy
“Layers.” She propped her feet on the table in front of us.
I stared, wondering if she was insane.
“The world is built in layers. In this layer, we’re sitting in a flat over a chip shop, but in another layer this might be open fields. In one layer, there is the Boundary you know, but in this
layer, it is simply woodland.” Demitra spoke in monotone, as if reciting a speech she had presented many, many times. “Some practised people can manipulate these layers—some can even travel between them, or open spaces in gaps between layers or levels. You called these movements Rips.”
I nodded slowly, not quite comprehending.
“Dear Lord,” Demitra snapped, making me jump. She rose and walked to the window, then spun around. “Come over here. You look like a pre-schooler being briefed in quantum physics.”
I blushed furiously, not knowing what she meant. Realizing it wasn’t a compliment, I shuffled over to the window to her.
She unhooked a brooch from her dress exposing the sharp pin. “Pretend the glass represents a layer.” Demitra frowned. “Got it?” she asked patronizingly.
I nodded again, but before I had time to question anything, there was a small Rip, and she had pushed the pin through the glass so that it went straight through to the other side without causing more than the tiniest crack.
“This is what it looks like when someone practised creates a Rip. No damage, very precise.”
That made sense, at least. When Madon had used his powers, it had been so smooth and effortless, like a second nature.
I jumped as Demitra slammed her fist now against the glass, throwing all her strength behind it until spider-webbed tendrils began snaking over the fragile surface.
“This is what Penny is doing right now,” she told me, continuing to pound the window. “Penny has great strength, but has no idea what she’s doing at all. She’s been trying to force Boundary open herself, but is only succeeding in creating damage like this.”
I watched, transfixed, as the thin lines thickened and cracks spread to the corner of the window.
“There are things living in other levels. Fantastic, terrible things that we as humans cannot comprehend. As Penny weakens the barrier between the layers, they are slowly seeping through, and if we don’t stop her, the barrier may be completely destroyed.”
Barrier Page 8
