A Tangle of Gold

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Keira looked at Gabe. He was silent.

  She waited for him to tell the others about how she’d bogged the tractor, and somehow connect that to Nikki’s lost necklace, but Nikki herself changed the subject. ‘What do you think about the weather?’ she said, addressing Gabe. At nearby tables, people heard the question and swung around, watching Gabe expectantly.

  ‘Two more weeks of winter,’ Gabe told them all. ‘An afternoon of spring. Then I reckon on summer.’

  ‘Thanks,’ everyone said, and Gabe shrugged and said, ‘Could be wrong.’

  Nobody could predict the seasons in Cello. Meteorologists, soothsayers, psychics, magic-weavers: everyone tried, nobody succeeded. Of course Gabe would be wrong.

  Keira gazed around the Town Square.

  There they all were, the usual crowd. The only difference was that they wore coats and scarves today, against the cold. The woman on the porch of the spearmint house, who sewed and drank lemonade, had a shawl around her shoulders. The waitress at Le Petit Restaurant was distributing menus to the outside tables with gloved hands.

  The Sheriff and his Deputy were crossing the square. As usual, the Sheriff shot her a grin, and Jimmy, the Deputy, also smiled, but more moderately, his face resuming its melancholy expression at once.

  ‘Why’s he always so sad?’ Keira asked.

  The others looked towards Jimmy, then back at the table.

  ‘Didn’t used to be,’ Cody said eventually. ‘He’s been like that since his girlfriend left. She was a teacher named Isabella Tamborlaine. She’s the one who sold Elliot out. She told the W.S.U. he was in contact with the World and then she took off. No one’s seen her since.’

  ‘So he misses her,’ Keira said.

  ‘He feels betrayed by her,’ Shelby admonished.

  You can miss someone and feel betrayed by them at the same time, Keira thought, and she considered saying this, but then she felt Gabe pushing back his chair. She followed the line of his vision.

  A woman and child were approaching from across the square.

  New people! She’d never seen them before. The woman wore a big pouchy jacket and an orange woollen hat with a pompom. The child had a steady gaze and was grasping the legs of a doll which she had set onto her shoulders. The doll drooped against the girl’s head.

  Gabe walked away from the table, cutting the pair off in the middle of the square.

  Keira watched them talk. Their voices carried. The woman was asking what Gabe thought about the weather and Gabe was giving the same response.

  At the table, the others were silent, returning to their coffee.

  ‘Who are those two?’ Keira asked.

  The silence continued. Shelby ran a finger around her empty cup. Nobody looked at Keira.

  ‘She may as well know,’ Shelby said, then she directed her gaze just above Keira’s head. ‘That’s Alanna Baranski and her daughter, Corrie-Lynn. Alanna runs the Watermelon Inn. Her husband was Jon Baranski. He’s dead. As you know.’

  Keira swung her head back towards the little girl. The child had taken the doll from her shoulders and was holding it before her in the air, apparently addressing it sternly. It was a wooden puppet, Keira realised, not a doll.

  That girl has no father. Keira’s thoughts moved slowly and ponderously. Because my mother betrayed him and had him killed.

  ‘You might not want to stare,’ Nikki pointed out.

  Keira flinched and looked away across the square again. Stop thinking, stop thinking.

  She steadied herself by using her eyesight. She focused on the tiny pockmarks on the side of the fountain. A piece of paper drifting along the ground, scuffed with a muddy bootprint. Bonfire Knitting Society Newsletter, she read. Her eyes wandered again. There, still lying where she’d spotted it when she arrived today, was a silver necklace tangled with wet leaves.

  ‘Does your necklace have a clasp like a T?’ she asked Nikki.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Is it silver? Does it have a bluey-green pendant shaped like a bean?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nikki said, irritably.

  ‘It’s over there,’ said Keira.

  Everybody turned and followed the line of her pointing finger.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘With the leaves. See those leaves there?’

  ‘What leaves?’

  Keira sighed. Of course they couldn’t see. Nobody could see what she could see.

  She stood up, crossed the square the long way—following the edges—and felt the curious glances of Alanna and Corrie-Lynn Baranski, still chatting with Gabe, as she walked.

  ‘We need a Gold,’ the child’s voice was saying. ‘It’ll cure everything.’

  Gabe and the woman were laughing. ‘There’s no such thing!’

  Keira was careful not to look at them.

  She picked up the necklace, carried it back and placed it on the table beside Nikki.

  ‘Tell Gabe I’m going for a walk,’ she said.

  The others exclaimed about the necklace. Nikki held it cupped in both hands, grinning down at it.

  They remembered themselves when she was a few steps away. ‘Okay, we will! Bye, Soph! See ya, Sophy! Catch ya, Soph!’

  *

  Late that night, Keira was almost asleep when she felt a twinge in her finger.

  She slapped it. Insects biting.

  The finger twinged again, and she sat up in bed and switched on the bedside lamp.

  It was her communicator ring. Someone was trying to reach her. She touched the side of the ring.

  Alongside her, a figure formed, curled strangely, folded almost, more horizontal than a figure should be.

  Sergio.

  Her mind was waking one step at a time.

  That was Sergio. The stableboy. From the Royal Youth Alliance.

  But wasn’t he under house arrest somewhere? And why did he appear to be lying in the air?

  ‘Keira?’ he whispered. Static rushed at his word.

  ‘Sergio,’ she said.

  ‘It is beautiful,’ he murmured, ‘to see your face, but I plan to see it for a very short time so as not to endanger you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Keira said, vaguely. She was still trying to figure out the strange way he was holding his body. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I am being held captive, along with Princess Ko and Samuel, in the Cardamom Palace in Jagged Edge.’

  ‘I know,’ Keira said. ‘It’s in the newspapers. Are you okay?’

  Sergio shrugged. ‘It is late. I am sleepy. Otherwise, in fine health. I have just now flown up amongst the rafters. The Princess and Samuel are sleeping.’

  Of course. Sergio was an Occasional Pilot. He could fly when the urge hit him.

  ‘Are the others okay?’ she asked.

  ‘They treat us well,’ Sergio whispered. ‘They are providing Samuel with medical attention, and he lives on so that everyone, they are amazed. The Princess wishes to achieve our release. She works at this like the mules of the Haighsay Desert in blanket season. But lately? I do not know. Her spirits are dimming. And you? Are you safe?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Keira agreed. ‘And tell the Princess it’ll work out soon. The King is talking with the Elite. It’s in all the papers. He’ll get you guys released. The Elite have been running things behind the scenes for a long time—between them, they’ll figure out a way to restore the status quo.’

  Sergio’s eyes closed. He sighed deeply, opened his eyes and smiled.

  ‘Keira, this news, and you yourself, they are more beautiful than the wild white horses of the Upper Dksantians,’ he said. ‘And you would not believe their beauty. I will sleep now.’

  She saw him touch the side of his ring.

  He was gone.

  Keira stared into the space where he had been. She switched off the bedside lamp, lying back against her pillow. Something caught her eye at the window.

  She got out of bed. At first, she thought it was snowing, and then she realised it was just a Silver flurry.

  Silve
rs didn’t do anything. They floated into towns, fell from the sky for a few minutes, then dissolved. But something made her hesitate by the window, press her fingertips against the glass and stare into the night.

  She thought of the outline of Sergio, suspended in the air. And what it was, to have a friend call her by name, look her in the eye, ask for her help, listen to her answer, trust her, call her beautiful. The Silver drifted like pale coins lit by moonlight, each piece falling and fading, turning, falling, fading. Without her noticing, her own tears began to fall too, as slow as the Silver, then faster. Her hand reached up and wiped each away as it passed her mouth or her chin. Eventually she caught the hand halfway to the chin and looked at it in surprise. She turned from the window, frowning, and went back to bed.

  11

  A snow plough was growling at the night, maybe a block away, but this street billowed in white silence. Steam rose from the grates and cold pressed the soles of her boots. Snowflakes, lost in thought, circled every streetlight.

  Keira’s backpack was heavy on her shoulder. She’d just been to the library which stayed open until 10 pm on Tuesdays and, for the first time in her life, she’d ‘borrowed books’ for an ‘assignment’. The weight made her unexpectedly happy.

  She stopped at the Bonfire High School gates, which were busy collecting thin lines of snow, and peered into the schoolyard beyond. Glimpses of snow in there like secrets. She crossed the road.

  The steps to the Sheriff’s Station were slick, so she paused on each.

  CLOSED, said the sign. Through the glass, darkness and a rectangle of light. She went in.

  An open door glowed at the back of the dark station. A tap was running out there, and a sound like a teaspoon hitting metal. Must be the kitchen.

  ‘It’s like this,’ said a voice. ‘Here, take the milk. It’s like, you can be lonely your entire life, without knowing it, and then you meet someone and you’re not lonely any more.’

  That was Jimmy speaking.

  ‘Hello?’ she called, but there was no reply. She waited, her night-vision filling in the shapes: high counter, coat rack, desks, typewriters,

  chairs.

  ‘No, let’s use the bigger tray.’ The Sheriff’s voice. ‘Okay, Jimmy, I hear you, but you’re sending out another report? You reckon she’s really missing and not plain up and gone?’

  More clanks and shuffles from the kitchen.

  Keira looked around again. The walls, she saw, were crowded: bulletin boards, framed photographs, maps of Cello. A bookcase stood alongside the kitchen door. It had an enthusiastic lean, she thought, as if it might topple forward any moment. Its top shelves were heavy with thick books, folders, stacked newspapers and, unexpectedly, teacups.

  Jimmy’s voice was low now, so she almost couldn’t hear it. ‘Don’t you think it’s possible someone else told the W.S.U. about Elliot talking to the World? So it’s just a coincidence Isabella disappeared that same day? What if she’s in trouble someplace?’

  Clink, clink, clink: maybe they were lining up coffee mugs?

  Keira rested against the wall between the framed photos, still sorting shadows. She saw a jar of coins; scissors and pens upright in a mug shaped like an elephant. A fax machine. A set of papers sat on this machine, maybe waiting to be sent. She tilted her head and focused.

  MISSING PERSONS REPORT, she read, and beneath that, the name: ISABELLA TAMBORLAINE.

  ‘Seems to me,’ said the Sheriff. There was a pause, and when the Sheriff spoke again his voice was muffled. ‘Here it is. What do you know about her, Jimmy? Truly? She came here from nowhere to teach Physics—just like that Mischka Tegan before her. Seems clear as day she was another Hostile. Maybe she hit it off with you, and that wasn’t part of her plan? Or could be she thought romance with the local law couldn’t hurt. You were taken in by her, just like Abel was taken in by Mischka. Don’t go blaming yourself. She had a real compelling way. As did that Mischka.’

  There was a long quiet, then soft pfft sounds, plastic containers being opened. A creak that might have been an oven door.

  That Mischka, Keira thought. Well, here’s that Mischka’s daughter.

  She should have announced herself more loudly, not stood there eavesdropping. Now it was too late.

  She studied the report in the fax machine again. There was a description of Isabella. ‘Tall. Dark hair. Eyes like fern fronds.’

  Didn’t sound much like law-enforcement language. Jimmy’s voice came through again, a fine line of voice.

  ‘You know what Isabella told me once? About this myth. Long ago, we were all two people. A man and a woman, or two men or two women, the point is, we were all joined up with someone else. Then we got torn in two, and now we’re born looking for our lost other half.’

  ‘She told you that, did she? Hang on, don’t slice it yet, we’ll give it another minute to cool. And I’m guessing you and she were two halves of one of these original conjoined pairs? And you got lucky and found yourselves?’

  ‘Hector, you don’t have to use that tone,’ Jimmy admonished. ‘Don’t you have any romance left in you? Weren’t you and Simon like two lost halves, or like a person and his shadow, when you found each other? Didn’t you feel like you’d been cut in two when he died?’

  Keira tried to focus on the fax again.

  ‘Her posture is excellent,’ she read. ‘And her smile is slow and warm. She always wears a necklace with this heavy ornament like a big shiny lozenge.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy, you’re right.’ The Sheriff seemed to be speaking through a mouthful. ‘I did feel that way when I lost Simon. Just, I’m so darn mad with that Isabella, for what she did to you and Elliot. I could just about strangle her. But friends always move on to angry a whole lot faster than the guy with the broken heart. That’s the trouble. I gotta remind myself of that, and give you some time to catch up.’

  There was a brief, sad chuckle from Jimmy, and then, ‘How much you going to eat of that thing? There won’t be any left for the others.’

  Hector sounded serious: ‘Ah, gotta make sure it’s right. That’s only fair. Here, you try it too, and as for that idea . . .’

  ‘It’s good,’ Jimmy mumbled. ‘Give us another slice. The others can eat cookies. If they ever get here? What time is this supposed to start anyway? Holy, it’s more than fantastic, it’s the best you ever made . . . As for what idea?’

  ‘That idea of us all being half a double-person, in search of the lost half. That seems downright foolish to me. Like we’re all snipped up like a jigsaw puzzle. How are you supposed to find your matching piece with millions of pieces blowing around out there? And no picture to study on the box. What if your match happened to get born in a different century? Or hit by a train before you ever met them? Or got sick and died when you’d both hardly stopped being kids? Jimmy, my Simon was great, and sure, he was my other half, but I wouldn’t mind meeting someone else some time, maybe someone better than my other half.’

  Jimmy laughed. ‘Here, pour me a coffee, would you?’

  ‘And it’s the kinda talk lets people justify running off on their families: I had to do it, I met my other half. Pile of trash. Anyhow, if it was true, wouldn’t most of us be walking around feeling lost and lonely?’

  ‘Aren’t we?’

  Jimmy spoke in his reasonable voice, but Keira had to close her eyes against his words.

  ‘Well, not me,’ Hector said.

  Again, Jimmy laughed. ‘I guess I’ll get over Isabella in time, as you say.’

  Keira’s eyes opened again and flew back to the fax in the machine.

  ‘There is a scar on Isabella’s ankle,’ she read. ‘It’s like the letter P. A circle with a line affixed. Like a tadpole or crotchet note. Or maybe a balloon on a string.’

  At that moment, the station door burst open and Gabe and his friends tumbled in, stamping snow from boots, shaking it from gloves and hats.

  ‘Sophy!’ they sang, catching sight of her, some of them shrieking it: ‘Soph!’

>   *

  Then the adults arrived and the meeting began. Abel called these regularly so everyone could share their progress. The two agents were trying to get an official pardon for Elliot, so he wouldn’t be shot by the W.S.U. when he came out of hiding. Abel himself was working undercover with Loyalists to try to restore the monarchy and get Princess Ko released. The Sheriff and Deputy kept an eye on relevant Hostile activity. Keira tried to keep in touch with her contacts at the Hostile compound so she could let the others know how Elliot was doing—tricky to get a secure line though, the Farms technology being what it was. And the teenagers kept an eye on any hints that Keira’s cover might be loose.

  As usual, the conversation circled, people ate baked goods, and nobody had a single item of value to report.

  12

  Keira sat at a table outside the Bakery café.

  It was a Friday evening, winter still, and the sky was whitish-grey, the Town Square plump with crusty, old snow.

  Across the square, she could see Abel and Petra Baranski at one of Le Petit Restaurant’s outdoor tables. They came into town now and then, she’d noticed. Once, she’d seen them through the window of Abel’s old Electronics Repair Shop, Abel moving objects around, Petra sweeping. Abel must be planning to re-open his shop. Other times, they’d be dressed up, as they were now, Abel in collared shirt, Petra wearing lipstick, her hair in loose curls around her neck.

  Romantic early dinner tonight, Keira guessed. She could see wineglasses and a tiny plate of olives on their table.

  Her own table was crowded with coffee, notes and palm cards. A breeze crossed the table and the cards trembled. Which was exactly how her stomach felt: trembly. She didn’t even feel this way before motocross championships. She breathed in deeply to calm herself, but all that happened was she hit more nerves so the breath ended up in crumples.