Walking Mountain

by Lennon, Joan;

  Botatoes – An enormously versatile vegetable, like our potato, but without the pesky eyes

  Celeriac – An odd vegetable in any world

  Dentrice – A creature with no equivalent in our world. Not large, but with more teeth in proportion to its body size than any other animal in existence

  Dugg – Pronounced as the Scots do – ‘dug’

  Eels – Many different types of eels thrive in the mud and muck of the Flats: the Cutthroat Eel, not to be confused with the Muddy Cutthroat Eel, the Sawtooth Eel, the Witch Eel and, of course, the Vomerine Eel that has teeth not only in the usual places but also in the roof of its mouth

  Ferreck – Because it would be a sad world indeed that didn’t have something like ferrets in it

  Fur snake – Its pelt enables it to thrive in the cold temperatures at high altitude

  Gow – Smaller than our cows and with a wider diet, but otherwise very similar. They are essentially mountain beasts, small and sure-footed like groats, but far prettier, with much nicer eyes, and none of the groat’s more questionable personality traits. In summer, they are capable of clambering after patches of grass on the steepest cliff face, and are happiest grazing on the tiny jewel-like meadows scattered about the mountainside. Their winter fodder is a combination of hay and finely chopped pine branches, which they somehow manage to digest. What little milk they produce during the winter months has a wonderfully fresh pine scent to it. Wintercheese is a particular High Land delicacy

  Groat – More or less goats, with all that that implies

  Grunt – Unlike our pigs, which are difficult to drive over long distances, grunts have a highly developed herd hierarchy and are good travellers, with a strong homing instinct. The closest equivalent in terms of colour would be our red-coated Tamworth

  Ice Eagle – A similar size to our Golden Eagle, with blood particularly rich in red blood cells, adapted for the thinner air of the High Lands

  Killstrel – Delicate tabby-marked bird of prey, arch nemesis of mice, but will if desperate tackle a marmole

  Lesser Spotted Trumpeting Butterfly – Feeding exclusively on the nectar of the rare Tarantella Orchid, it is the only known species whose voice is audible to humans. At full volume, this rare, pretty butterfly’s voice is about as loud as the proverbial pin dropping

  Marmole – A finely-furred rodent, larger than a marmoset, prettier than a prairie dog

  Minkey Monkeys – Like our Spider Monkeys in appearance, but with added diarrhoea

  Rabbid – A few similarities with rabbits in appearance and general size and shape but with important differences – a red tail, for example, and a level of ferocity well beyond anything our bunnies aspire to

  Rhinophant – Just the way it sounds

  Salad Panda – One of the few mammals ever to have mastered the art of being green

  Scorplion – Creature of the plateau, a shaggy-maned lizard with a sting in the tail

  Shup – The differences between our sheep and a shup are evident only on the genetic level

  Strombomble – A raspberry-strawberry with a slight hint of guava

  Tarantellas – Large, black, hairy spiders which hypnotise their prey by dancing

  Tarantella Orchid – A rare orchid, black and hairy and shaped, for reasons of its own, like a Tarantella Spider

  Wulf – The Mountain Wulf is a small but very efficient predator, with a luxuriant pelt to cope with the extreme cold of the heights. The Plateau Wulf is only distantly related, substantially larger and less furry, and is one of the few mammals to have developed the ability to produce venom

  Also available by Joan Lennon from BC Books

  SILVER SKIN

  Shortlisted for the Scottish Teenage Book Prize 2017

  ISBN: 978 1 78027 284 9

  £6.99

  Skara Brae, Orkney, the end of the Stone Age. The sun is dying, storms batter the coast and people fear the end of the world. When Rab crawls out of the sea wearing the remains of his Silver Skin, he throws the islanders into confusion. Who is he? Why has he come?

  Voy, the village wise woman, is certain he’s a selkie, a source of new power. Cait isn’t so sure.

  Rab, thousands of years from home, injured and desperate, must learn fast about this ancient world. What started as a high-tech study trip has turned into a struggle to survive.

  Praise for Joan Lennon’s Silver Skin

  ‘A skilful mix of sci-fi, historical thriller and romance with interesting, believable characters. This is a book that will stay with readers for a long time’

  Lovereading4kids

  ‘A beautiful and mesmeric tale’

  The Herald

  ‘A brilliant blend of ancient and modern with characters who are perfectly of their time’

  Parents in Touch

  ‘Has all the ingredients of a prehistoric transcendental romance’

  Scotland Magazine

  ‘An imaginative and gripping tale . . . very enjoyable and highly recommended’

  Scottish Home and Country

  ‘A weird but wonderful fantasy book’

  The Guardian

  ‘Joan Lennon writes with humour, clarity, sympathy’

  The Times

  An extract from Silver Skin

  Rab: Age of the Alexander Decision, Tower Stack 367–74/Level 56, Delta Grid, Northwest Europasia

  ‘Oh, come on – not a storm as well!’ moaned Rab, but his friends just laughed.

  ‘You can do it, Rab!’

  ‘Bet you’re wishing you still had that knife, eh?’

  Chillingly realistic rain was now drenching all the participants, but none of the others were having to wrestle with a wolf at the same time.

  ‘Com? Com! I could do with some help here!’ said Rab, desperately trying to keep the wolf from closing its jaws on him. It was growling continuously and its breath stank disconcertingly of half-digested meat.

  ‘As your friend suggests, your options at this point are substantially fewer since you broke the knife at the last level,’ said his Com. It was sounding smug, since it had advised strongly against using a knife on a rhinophant. It was also safe from the wind and the rain, lodged in Rab’s wrist unit.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.’

  ‘So at this point you could either a) strangle the beast, which, given the average historical thickness of wolf neck fur and the digital reach and compressible strength of your hands, has only a zero point six per cent chance of success, or b) engage Vulcanski’s Pack-Mind Manipulation Gaze. Since the Gaze is almost certainly fictional I have no statistics on the likelihood of its success, but it would certainly have the element of surprise.’

  ‘That’s all you’ve got?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Rab groaned as the wolf arched suddenly and almost wrenched itself free.

  ‘Or . . .’ said his Com.

  ‘OR WHAT?!’

  ‘Or you could just let go and see what happens.’

  Thanks, thought Rab. He tried to remember what he knew about the Vulcanski Gaze. I think there’s no blinking. He shifted himself round until he could see the wolf’s eyes. The close quarters made it go squinty. And then I pour all my innate superiority into its skull – no doubts, no uncertainty – I’m the Alpha male – that’s me, not you – you are inferior – you are inferior – you are . . .

  The wolf burped, but showed no other sign of being intimidated.

  ‘Hey, Rab! Your mum’s here,’ one of his friends called.

  Rab risked a glance over to the observation booth. His mum was waving something – a package – at him. But while the simulation programme was running, she couldn’t come in.

  ‘Work with me here,’ Rab whispered so only the wolf could hear. ‘My mum’s watching . . .’

  There was a brief pause while the wolf thought about this. Rab had the distinct impression it was reliving moments of its own cubhood. A look passed between them, and Rab carefully loosened his grip . . .

  In elaborate slow moti
on, the wolf lowered its head, tucked its tail between its legs, flattened its ears. Rab maintained his gaze. The wolf began to back away . . .

  ‘Look at that!’ said his Com. ‘It’s working!’

  And the wolf disappeared.

  Rab leapt into the air. ‘Yay! Ha! Me – ONE. Canis lupus – NIL. Rab is OFF the menu!’ And he pranced across the floor, doing a wild gangly victory dance. The others joined in, three young men who had momentarily forgotten their dignity.

  From the observation room, Rab’s mum smiled at her tall brown son. He’d been working so hard, for so long – she couldn’t remember the last time he’d just taken the time out to be silly. His friends too, of course. They’d all been studying and researching and writing and analysing – whatever their chosen subjects, they were all desperate to acquire enough credits to move out of their parents’ spaces. Ever square centimetre of living space in every tower stack in the world had to be earned.

  She glanced down at the package she was carrying.

  Rab deserved the best chance, the best equipment his mother could provide. And the Retro-Dimensional Time Wender with Full Cloaking Capability – the one they called the Silver Skin – was it. It was the future of historical research. It was what her Rab needed to move ahead. To move out.

  She tried to imagine what it would be like to have her space to herself again, after all these years, but her mind shied away.

  Her Com heard her sigh. ‘I know,’ it said. ‘But it’s time.’

  And then Rab came in, freshly sanitized and glowing with excitement.

  ‘It’s come?’ he yipped.

  ‘It’s come?’ echoed his Com, going squeaky.

  ‘It’s come.’ And she handed Rab the package.

  He stared at it, his brown eyes wide. The reports – first-hand reports, not just something from sources – he could produce with a cutting edge tool like the Silver Skin – it would be amazing . . . His studies in history so far had got him on the way to a tiny unit of his own, but with this, who knows – he might even manage a window!

  ‘Mum – thank you!’ And he enveloped her in a rare, rough hug. A tiny part of his mind wondered, When did she get so small? But the rest was too excited to do anything but repeat over and over, My own place! I’m going to earn my own place!

  Rab’s Com had downloaded the extended manual and kept trying to read it aloud to him. ‘The suit will protect us from danger – weapons discharged, for example, even at close quarters, will not be able to penetrate our molecular structure because of the sideways displacement – projectiles will simply pass through the space we’ll be occupying, or not occupying – would you like me to read you the bit with the quantum physics?’

  Rab raised a hand. ‘No, no. That’s fine.’

  His Com sighed.

  Rab sighed too. He was passionate about history and ecstatic about his new bit of kit, but he couldn’t care less about its innards. He knew enough about the new time travel to know that it was ridiculously technical, but the basic premise boiled down to this: a traveller’s position remained constant and time passed by them, rather than the other way around. So instead of Rab moving back and forth in time, time moved back and forth around Rab. Which was all fine and good, but so far he was just moving himself back and forth, in the tiny bit of his mum’s unit where he slept.

  ‘Come ON!’ he groaned. The Silver Skin was lying there on his bed, shimmering tantalizingly. His Com just clicked at him and went on with its calculations. So Rab went back to pacing – three up, three back, three up, three back.

  Ever since they’d first heard rumours about the Silver Skin – first started fantasizing about getting hold of one – Rab and his Com and his friends and their Coms had been arguing about which period of history it could be best used on.

  The others all liked the Catastrophe Ages best, when things fell apart and the world teetered on the brink of annihilation – and Rab was tempted too. The Nadir, the Flood, the time referred to as The Bulge, just before the Alexander Decision finally managed to put a cap on the world’s runaway over-population – near-disasters were always exciting, especially now that everything was so safe.

  But the time for idle speculating was over. It was time to make a choice.

  ‘If we want this to get noticed, we’d need something that hasn’t already been done to death.’

  ‘Pre-Nadir, then, do you think? But that still leaves an awful lot of history.’

  ‘Something that’s far enough back in time that there isn’t a lot of vid evidence already available. Something like . . . Com! I did that project – remember? – on the First Industrial Revolution? That was Victorian – and they didn’t even have vids. Or wait, no, they were just inventing cameras and stuff, but they were rubbish. No sound, no temperature control, no colour, single point of view – nothing.’

  They discussed it back and forth, getting more and more excited. There were so many aspects of the time period that would be utterly fascinating to study at first hand. How could they possibly choose just one?

  It was his Com who came up with the idea of Victorian archaeology.

  ‘It was pretty much the beginning of that, wasn’t it? Properly, I mean, not just bashing in, looting the gold, making wild guesses?’

  Rab was delighted. ‘That’s it – but we won’t do the sites everybody’s heard about already. Not Egypt or China or Atlantis. Someplace obscure . . .’

  And then it hit them.

  ‘Someplace like right here?’

  It was a brilliant idea. Every bit of the world had history of some sort – and the location of Tower Stack 367-74 was no exception. Fifty-six floors down was the site of the Orcadian Islands from long, long ago.

  ‘Right under our feet!’ His Com began to download co-ordinates into the Silver Skin’s arm panel. ‘Time: 1850, the year of the discovery of a Stone Age village which became known as Skara Brae. Place: what was then called Orkney and is now called – here! Stack 367-74, Delta Grid, Northwest Europasia. We’ll use the big storm that winter – the one that blew away the sand, uncovering the village for the first time in thousands of years – as the anchor point. Neap tide. Full moon. Factor in a test stop . . . mid Deluvian . . .’

  Rab wasn’t really listening to the details. ‘This is going to be amazing – they didn’t have Coms or scanners or infra-beige – nothing! Just shovels and little brushes!’

  ‘And now, it’s time to download me!’

  As the Com’s download into the arm panel proceeded, the suit began to change. It shimmered more quickly, in and out of focus, like a heat wave or a mist. It was there, but only just.

  Rab frowned. ‘Are you sure it’s my size? It’s starting to look small.’

  ‘What? Oh, don’t worry. It will individualise to you when you put it on. It’ll fit you like a second skin.’

  Exactly like a second skin.

  ‘I have to be naked?’

  ‘Of course,’ said his Com. ‘The suit needs to make a perfect seal with your skin in order to function properly. It draws energy from your specific electrical field, for one thing, and for another, the cloaking mechanism is extremely finely tuned – even a millimetre out of alignment and it starts to fluctuate.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Look at it this way – would you rather have a suit which makes you invisible, or one that leaves a pair of underpants walking about in history? I’m not at all sure Queen Victoria would approve.’

  Rab was tempted. ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘No, of course not. Don’t be silly. The suit just wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  He put it on. It was perfectly comfortable, and when he checked in the mirror, it covered him in mistiness up to the neck, while his head remained perfectly in focus.

  ‘You won’t be properly invisible until the helmet is on. That comes out of the suit when you press the button on the arm panel, there. The only tricky bit is making sure you keep your eyes open, otherwise you’ll be stuck with them
shut. Since anything touching your eyes makes them blink automatically, you’ll need to apply a short-term response paralyser to your eyelids . . .’

  ‘But won’t my eyes dry out?’

  ‘No,’ said his Com. ‘The suit provides lubrication as required. I can explain how, if you’d like . . .’

  ‘No! No, that’s all right,’ said Rab, reaching for the paralyser and applying it to the outer corners of his eyelids.

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ muttered his Com. ‘Now press the helmet initiator on your arm panel . . . Here it comes!’

  Rab felt something cool, almost like liquid, rising from the neck of the suit, up under his chin and onto his face, but as it covered his mouth and nose he couldn’t help struggling for breath.

  ‘Calm down – just breathe normally.’ He could hear his Com’s voice through the helmet’s earpiece. ‘The helmet draws oxygen from the surroundings, cleans it, and expels carbon dioxide as you breathe out. There, the seal’s complete . . . It’s not bad now, is it?’

  And, really, it wasn’t. Rab found that once he stopped thinking about breathing, he could do it just as if he weren’t wearing anything over his face at all. He moved his arms experimentally and walked up and down a little.

  ‘This is great!’ He could speak without difficulty.

  ‘Right. Now, you’ll be able to move about without being detected, as long as you’re careful not to knock into anything – or anyone. Remember, the Non-Intervention Contract’s no joke. You can observe but you cannot interact. The clause on fines – well, put it this way, you’ll be living in your mother’s clothes closet from now to eternity and still be in debt. Oh, and remember you won’t be able to eat or drink anything while the suit’s sealed, or, um, excrete anything either, but since the recommended first session is no more than two hours, that shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘I know, I know – are we ready?’

  ‘There are more checks we really should do, this being our first go . . .’ But the longing in his Com’s voice was clear.

  Rab grinned and with a big theatrical flourish, he brought his right arm up and over, finger heading for the control panel on his left forearm, and –