A Tangle of Gold

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Jimmy’s face fell.

  ‘Still.’ Keira wanted to prop his face back up. ‘Maybe she was from the World? Did she seem weird or anything?’

  Jimmy smiled. ‘Sure. A little. But in a good way.’

  ‘I think there’s not much difference between Worldians and Cellians,’ Gabe offered. ‘Madeleine, Holly and Abel talk about the people they met there as if they were just regular.’

  Jimmy was nodding urgently. ‘Exactly. I mean, I don’t intend to hold it against Isabella! It’s not her fault she’s from the World!’

  ‘Can’t be,’ Gabe agreed.

  ‘Makes her even more special!’ Jimmy added. ‘Plus, she keeps apologising for not telling me sooner. She thought it might endanger me to know.’

  They regarded each other thoughtfully.

  ‘Remember how we realised that Cellians who go to the World get sick and maybe even die—like Prince Chyba?’ Keira said. ‘Do you think that happens in reverse too? I mean, do people from the World get sick when they come here?’

  ‘Or maybe it’s the opposite,’ Gabe suggested. ‘Maybe they never get sick. Maybe they’re sort of shiny with health?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Jimmy said. ‘Isabella had plenty of your regular colds. And I remember once she tore off a fingernail by accident, right down to the quick, and she got an infection under the skin. It was all puffed up and pink. Her index finger, it was.’

  He held up his own index finger, and all three gazed at this.

  ‘Keeps apologising?’ Keira said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You said that Isabella keeps apologising. Not that she kept apologising in her call.’

  ‘Slip of the tongue, I guess,’ Jimmy said, and then he spoke fast, into his fist: ‘Or maybe, when she called, she was asking if she could come see me, and I said yes, and she’s hiding out in my place right now.’ He looked up, pretending he hadn’t said anything just now. ‘Slip of the tongue,’ he repeated.

  The telephone rang.

  ‘That’ll be Isabella,’ Keira joked. ‘Asking you to pick up some milk on the way home.’

  Jimmy cleared his throat.

  ‘Phone lines working again,’ Gabe said. ‘Been a while. I’ll take it in the living room.’ He ducked out of the room. The ringing stopped. They could hear Gabe’s voice, its tone of low surprise, a long pause, Gabe’s voice again.

  In the kitchen, Jimmy pushed back his chair.

  ‘Well, I guess I won’t be keeping you,’ he said.

  Keira stood too. She thought about saying something, decided against it, then said it anyway. ‘You really believe she’s telling the truth?’

  Jimmy half-shrugged then nodded firmly. ‘I believe every word,’ he said. ‘I never stopped believing in Isabella.’

  ‘She’s from the World,’ Keira said eventually.

  ‘Love her anyway,’ Jimmy smiled.

  ‘But don’t they have the plague over there?’

  ‘Not all of them.’ He smiled again. ‘And sometimes I think that whole plague thing is what you might call a scare tactic.’

  Keira raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, the Royal Family seem fine,’ she said. ‘And Abel. After all that time in the World. So you might be right.’

  Jimmy chuckled and nodded.

  ‘I’m glad your girlfriend’s not a traitor,’ Keira said. ‘We won’t tell anyone she’s in town. But if she didn’t tell the W.S.U. about Elliot, who did?’

  ‘That’s the question,’ Jimmy agreed.

  They heard Gabe speaking clearly: ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay, I’ll let them know. You look after yourself now, buddy.’

  A receiver clicked back into place, and Gabe returned to the kitchen.

  He paused in the doorway. He was holding a torn envelope, and his face was the same shade of white.

  ‘That was Elliot,’ he said.

  ‘Elliot?!’ Jimmy and Keira exclaimed. They stared through the door, as if Elliot might walk up behind Gabe.

  Gabe nodded. ‘He’s run away from the Hostiles and found the secret Loyalist army. He says the army can protect the Royal Family. He wants them to meet him at this place, so he can lead them to the secret location.’ Gabe held up the envelope. An address was scrawled across it.

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘The Royals aren’t going anywhere,’ he said firmly. ‘That phone call could have been the Hostiles.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ Gabe said. ‘It was Elliot.’

  ‘No, I mean, they could be making him do it. It could be a trap.’

  Gabe curled the envelope in his palm. ‘Elliot says the Hostiles know the Royals are hiding out in Bonfire. He says they’re on their way here to get them. He was calling me instead of his parents because he thinks the Hostiles listen in on his parents’ phone calls.’

  Jimmy shook his head again. ‘Don’t even tell the Royal Family about this,’ he said.

  ‘Too late,’ said a voice, and Madeleine was standing at the kitchen door, right beside Gabe. She was wearing pyjamas. Her hair was tousled but her eyes were bright.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ Gabe demanded.

  ‘I was in the armchair,’ Madeleine said. ‘I woke up when the phone rang. I heard the whole conversation.’

  ‘Madeleine, you know your family can’t go to Elliot, right?’ Keira said. ‘What Jimmy said is true. This is exactly what the Hostiles would do. They’d use Elliot to lure you all there. It’s not Elliot’s fault. They’ve probably threatened his family or something.’

  Gabe frowned. ‘He didn’t sound exactly like himself,’ he said. ‘And he says he’s in the Magical North. That’s Wandering Hostile territory.’

  ‘I trust Elliot,’ Madeleine said simply. ‘I don’t care what my family do. I don’t care what any of you say. I’m going to meet Elliot, and nobody’s going to stop me.’ She swiped the torn envelope from Gabe’s hand.

  It was the first time Keira had seen Madeleine smile since she arrived.

  1

  It was dark in the kitchen.

  Madeleine tried to slide rather than walk. Her backpack waited on a chair. She opened the fridge and took out a couple of apples, half a cherry pie and a chunk of cheese. In the bread bin, she found a loaf of rye. She pressed all this into the top of the backpack. There wasn’t enough space. She returned an apple.

  On the wall, an illuminated clock said 4.15 am.

  Who knew what time Farmers got up? Any minute, probably. She needed to move faster. It felt dream-like, was the trouble.

  Every moment since she got here had felt dream-like. The light was strange. Objects seemed to slant towards her, smirking. She wasn’t sure if this was a Farms thing, or being back in Cello after so long, or remembering herself. Or the unexpected smallness of her father.

  Or knowing that her brother was dead.

  So many possibilities.

  She found a bar of chocolate in a cupboard and it slid neatly into her backpack.

  There was the issue of money. In Cello, she’d always had plenty. In the World, she never had a penny. She stopped. Who was she again? What currency did they use in Cello? The kitchen tilted and grinned at her.

  Well, she’d figure out money as she went along. Running away was her thing. She was an expert.

  She looked around for paper, took a gas bill from behind a magnet and turned it over. There was a pen in the second drawer, she remembered. She wrote a note to her mother and sister. She added a PS saying thanks to Gabe and apologising for taking food and blankets, and another PS to Keira, asking her to please look after her family. What about those boys in the basement? Well, she hadn’t even met the sick one, only heard about him. Sergio, though, she’d known for a long time. He was the stableboy and her sister’s best friend. Hey Sergio, she wrote, and then stopped. This was ridiculous. Why did she talk so much on paper?

  She put the note in the centre of the table.

  Her coat was on its hook, gloves and scarf in the sleeves. She put all these on, then sat down and pulled on her boots.<
br />
  She stood again, reaching for the back door.

  ‘Call yourself my apologies,’ someone whispered, and she jumped as if struck in the ribs.

  2

  A boy was standing behind her.

  Moonlight, bright from the snow outside, spilled through the back-door window and touched the boy’s face.

  The face was swollen. His eyes were slits. Strange patterns and welts ran down both cheeks, and a purple line struck across his nose.

  It was the sick boy from the basement, she realised.

  ‘As to a circus train in tree stumps,’ the boy hissed. ‘I have startled you. Call yourself my further apologies, and greetings. Your fine and beauteous Highness, I am Samuel of Olde Quainte.’

  Olde Quainte. Of course. Madeleine had almost forgotten how they spoke. It was sort of fun hearing it again, like going back to an old fairground.

  Although, at this point, surreal.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m Madeleine, and I’m really sorry but I have to go now. Talk another time? Bye.’

  She wrapped her gloved hand around the door handle.

  The boy touched her shoulder.

  ‘I needs must trouble you further,’ he murmured. ‘I am Samuel, as perchance you heard me just now say. I was chosen by your sister, the good Princess Ko, as a member of the Royal Youth Alliance. While such a member, I was poisoned by Olde Quainte magic.’

  ‘Okay,’ Madeleine agreed. ‘Um, yeah, I heard about that. Sorry about it. I hope you . . . get better.’

  She looked behind him into the darkness of the kitchen. Was someone moving around upstairs?

  ‘You are kind as to a paintbrush in the cartwheel,’ Samuel whispered. ‘I believe you are now setting off on a journey to the Magical North? Call yourself my greatest wish is to accompany you.’

  Madeleine blinked. ‘I’m not—no, no, I’m just—’

  ‘From the basement I hear much,’ Samuel explained, his voice switching between low murmur and breathy whisper, back and forth. ‘I heard that Elliot telephoned, asking the Royal Family to meet him in the Magical North. I heard others oppose this with heat. I heard, you, Princess Jupiter—call yourself my pardon, you wish to be Madeleine—I heard your determination. I perceive now that you are slipping away betwixt the fall of the sun and its splendid rise upon the dawn, that is to say, in the night—ah, I see in your eyes that you are frustrated by the wanderings of my speech. Your sister was much the same. Ha! As to a—no, I will be short. My greatest wish, I say afresh, is to accompany you.’

  Madeleine pressed her gloved fingers to her forehead.

  ‘I’m sorry, Samuel,’ she said, ‘but I need to go alone. And I don’t—

  I don’t see how you can travel anywhere being so sick. I think you should go back downstairs to bed, and maybe when you’re better . . .’

  Samuel shook his head firmly.

  ‘I must needs go to the Magical North so I can visit the Lake of Spells,’ he told her. ‘I am not going to get better, Your Royal Highness. I will soon die. My only hope is to catch a Curing Spell at the Lake. I have bethought me this as I lay in the basement these last days. And call yourself my forgiveness, but I am now quite well enough to travel. I have, this moment, taken my medicine a dozen times over, and that will give me strength enough to journey for some days.’

  Upstairs, a door creaked.

  ‘I have to leave,’ Madeleine told Samuel. ‘I’m really sorry but I need to—a dozen times over? Do you mean you’ve taken twelve times the dose? Is that safe?’

  ‘In addition, I have prepared a schedule of transport to reach the Magical North most efficiently, as to a rosebush in the drainpipe. Have you such a schedule, Your Highness? There is also this, that I have money enough for us both for the journey. It has long been secreted in the ruffles of my clothing. Have you money enough, Your Highness?’

  Madeleine blinked.

  ‘It is also this, and call me foolhardy as to a jackhammer in mid-yawn, but by taking twelve times the dosage I have depleted my supply of medicine into—well, into nothing. If I spend the next week here, it will prove a fine and energetic week, and then I will die in splendid suffering. If, perchance, I spend the next week travelling with you, I will reach the Lake of Spells and perhaps I will find me a solution.’

  A toilet flushed upstairs. There was the sound of a shower starting.

  ‘I have this rucksack borrowed,’ Samuel continued, his voice becoming almost conversational now. She saw, for the first time, that a large bag stood behind him. ‘Plentiful supplies were, perchance, stored in the basement! I have protective gear, although I hear they are not much use against these stronger Colours, but if we take the transport I have chosen, it will have security shutters, so there is that, and I’ve a tent, a solid one, of fine canvas, or perhaps the material is—’

  ‘All right!’ Madeleine cried. ‘Let’s go!’

  She threw open the door.

  ‘How do you plan to reach the railway station?’ Samuel chatted into the cold blast of air. ‘That is first on my schedule. Train to Carmine, Jagged Edge. My only glitch, however, was how to reach the station.’

  They stepped into deep snow and blasting wind.

  ‘I’ll borrow one of the cars here. We can leave it at the station.’

  ‘Ah, yes. They have plentiful vehicles, as to zucchinis in a hat made out of hydrogen, but Madeleine, I cannot drive, can you?’

  Madeleine pressed the door closed behind her and squinted into the wind.

  ‘I was a bad girl for years,’ she told him. ‘Of course I know how to drive.’

  3

  Samuel’s itinerary collapsed almost immediately.

  At the station, it turned out that the train line to Carmine, Jagged Edge, had melted in a second-level Maroon, so they had to take a train to the border of Olde Quainte instead. From there, a stagecoach would carry them to High Wrexham.

  They slept for the train journey and arrived to discover that they only had five minutes to reach the stagecoach landing. Madeleine took off at a sprint. The wind was on her face, the sun was on her neck, this was what she did! She ran! It felt great. Then she heard a whimpering and turned back. Samuel was leaning forward, his hands on his thighs. He looked up. ‘Please, may we not stroll rather than run?’

  For the first time, she regretted bringing him along. Earlier, when he’d paid for their train tickets, the decision had seemed brilliant.

  It took twenty minutes to get across town, but the stagecoach had been delayed so it didn’t matter. They even had time for Samuel to buy them both spiced hot ciders, and Madeleine found that she was fond of her decision again.

  Now, as the coach swayed along dirt and cobblestone roads, and Samuel smiled around at the soft leather seats—they were the only passengers—it made perfect sense that he was there. She had the odd feeling that she’d half-known him a long time: as if he was the kid who always played in the yard next door, without her ever having taken much notice of him.

  She watched through the window. Colours had battered this part of the Kingdom. Trees leaned up against each other. Thatched cottages tilted precariously, or knelt crumbling. Roofs were either punched with holes or missing altogether. Outside the houses, men and women stared grimly at the passing coach, then resumed work with their shovels or brooms. Often, the coach had to veer around litter: an overturned pram; two painted wooden doors lying side by side.

  They rode through a village called Llanfair Nod.

  ‘They’ve had a fifth-level Scarlet through here,’ the driver called back to them.

  ‘Indeed!’ Samuel replied.

  The residue was everywhere: running down walls and drainways, splattering trees, and etched in vibrant patterns on the faces and bare arms of every villager.

  ‘That will take days to wash out,’ Samuel observed.

  Madeleine nodded.

  ‘I suppose I look a little that way myself,’ he added after a pause.

  She turned to him. He looked
worse. There were patches that could have been Scarlet residue, but there were also fine purple lines, raised and ugly bumps, swellings, distortions and mottled rashes.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘As to a flitting song in dish rags,’ he smiled.

  Madeleine tried to figure that out, but he kept on smiling so instead she unstrapped her backpack and took out the bread and cheese. The stagecoach stopped suddenly and the cheese slipped to the floor.

  ‘Children crossing,’ the driver called to them.

  ‘He’s informative.’ Samuel peered through the window. ‘And quite correct. Those children appear young to go about the roads unsupervised.’

  Madeleine retrieved the cheese. She tore off some bread, and passed both to Samuel.

  ‘Did you know my little brother, Tippett, spent a year in the World all alone?’

  ‘I have heard this.’

  Madeleine rested her head against the window. ‘My mother’s been phoning him, you know—when the line’s working. Even though she was forbidden. And Ko’s been secretly slipping away in Colour storms for some reason.’

  ‘The females in your family have spirit! It is splendid, as to a—’

  He was thrown forward as the coach stopped abruptly.

  ‘More children!’ the driver shouted. ‘I nearly hit that one!’

  ‘As to a rolling pin in turtle shell!’ Samuel called in sympathy.

  The coach started up again.

  ‘I saw a kid run onto a road once,’ Madeleine remembered. ‘This was in Cambridge—where I lived in the World. I was sitting in a café, and outside the window I could see a mother with a little kid. The mother was talking to someone. Suddenly, the kid just sort of darted right across the road.’

  ‘Dangerous!’

  ‘Right. But it was fine because there was no traffic. The kid ran straight back, and the mother was still talking and hadn’t even noticed. And then, about two seconds later? A truck went by.’

  Samuel breathed in sharply. ‘And so, had the child taken flight just moments after he or she did—forgive me, I cannot recall if you have specified the child’s gender—there would have been calamity!’