by Susan Price
Andrea couldn’t find her voice to say that she wanted to get out, and in any case she was afraid to get out now that they were in the Tube. She had no understanding of how it worked, and feared radiation, atom dismemberment, or possibly being whizzed back to the Age of Dinosaurs. Evil magic.
The inside of the Tube looked like a section of an underground walkway. There was a road of some sort under the wheels—possibly made of rubber—and the walls were covered with white tiles, though with many inspection hatches. Terrified, she stared at the back of the truck ahead.
The truck lifted up the plastic strips at the other end of the Tube, went through, and the strips fell back into place. Their car still moved forward slowly, and Andrea found herself sitting with every muscle braced hard. When the music from the radio stopped in mid note, replaced by static, she clenched her teeth, and her hands gripped the edge of the seat. I’m growing cowardly in my old age, she thought. I used to buzz backward and forward through the Tube without a care. True, the first time she’d ever used it, she’d been awestruck, but after that, she’d soon grown used to it, and had used it as casually as she might have used a lift or an escalator. But now she could remember all too well what had come of that casualness. Casualties.
She looked at Windsor. He was staring ahead, drumming his fingers on the wheel, and making a hissing noise between his teeth in time to some tune in his head. Perhaps he’s telling the truth, she thought; and he really has recovered completely. Well, was it so surprising? The man always had been as sensitive as a brick.
The plastic strips scratched over the car’s bonnet, windshield, and roof as the car proceeded. Whatever the Tube did, she realized, it had already done it. Somewhere about the midway mark, when the music had stopped, they’d been translated from the 21st to the 16th century. They’d left their own dimension, whatever that meant. Anyone looking at the Tube, back in the good old 21st, had seen their half of it vanish.
The car nosed through the plastic strips and emerged on the platform beside the office, 16th side. In front of them was the 16th century.
Space. That was her first impression. The world opened out. The wide hills, and the wider sky, spread out before her—and there were hills beyond the hills she could see, and hills beyond those. She wound down the window, and a small breeze, cool, damp, and carrying the scent of thyme, touched her face. She could sense the miles and miles and miles of emptiness it had traveled over.
And silence. A deep silence, so deep it muffled her ears. A silence that she could almost gather up in her arms and fold in great, thick, velvety layers. All the petty din that the 21st century called silence fell away. There was no longer any drone of traffic noise, not even in the distance. No constant, almost disregarded hum of electrical equipment. No piped music, no radios, no cell phones, no car alarms, no planes flying overhead. This was true silence.
And color. Here there were no scarlets, no Day-Glo yellows or electric pinks. Everything was green, gray, buff, brown. But before visiting the 16th, she’d never realized how many subtle tints of green there were. And here they were again, on the hillsides, in the trees, together with soft golds and russets. The cloud-filled sky was full of grays, violets, and gentle blues. It was like being given new eyes, because the air was so clean here that every delicate tint of every color was more distinct, and everything was pin sharp. You could see farther, in more detail, than in the 21st. The heather was flowering, pink and mauve among the greens and fawns of the grass. There were harebells, bluer than the sky, and yellow stonecrop, and white and red campion, and many other flowers that she couldn’t name. She felt a thrill of homecoming as she experienced, again, what she had always loved about the 16th. Why had she been so nervous about going through the Tube again? It was less frightening than flying, and it brought you—not to another airport in another crowded, dirty city, but here.
Then, with a sharp sense of bafflement, she realized that she had never seen these hills before. They were in the wrong place, and were the wrong shape, to be the Bedesdale hills! What had gone wrong? Was a Tyrannosaurus Rex going to be the next thing they saw? When she looked at Windsor, he seemed quite relaxed. And beside the ramp the MPV rested on, there was the usual ugly, prefabricated office.
Ahead of them, the truck had reached the bottom of the ramp and was turning, to drive around the office. Windsor steered the MPV to follow.
“This isn’t Bedesdale,” Andrea said.
“Should it be?” Windsor asked.
“I thought—”
“That we were going to have tea with your friends, the Sterkarms? Well, we are—but the Grannams have graciously agreed to join us.”
“What?” Andrea said.
“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” He thumped his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn! I bet I forgot to mention that it’s a wedding, too, didn’t I?”
Andrea almost choked. “A wedding?”
“Silly me. You could have bought yourself a new outfit and a big hat. It’s all part of the new deal—we’re promoting cuddling and snoogling of all kinds between Sterkarms and Grannams. We’re paying for the wedding, heaping the happy couple with gifts—just doing everything we can to promote happiness and harmony, really.”
“I can’t believe it,” Andrea said. “Who’s getting married?”
“Look at that,” Windsor said. They’d rounded the corner of the office. The truck ahead of them was driving toward the steel-link fence, and Andrea glimpsed buildings beyond the fence. Shining buildings. They didn’t look like anything the 16th siders would build. She stared ahead, trying to make out more.
Gates in the fence opened automatically to let the truck ahead of them through. The MPV followed, onto a rough, rutted track. Despite its superb suspension it lurched and swayed.
The truck turned aside, and Andrea had a clear view of what lay ahead. Her eyes and mouth opened. A few yards from the steel fence of the FUP compound, a large inflatable building had been erected—unmistakably a 21st-century building, the kind put up for posh weddings. It had a central dome surrounded by four smaller domes at the corners, and it was made from silver fabric with a metallic sheen. “Architectural” detail had been added, in white and gold, especially around the arched door. On either side, painted silver, were the generators that kept it inflated. Strange, shining buttresses of filigree metal sprang from its roof to the ground—scaffolding that would support the weight of the building if the generators should fail and it deflated. To Andrea’s eye the whole thing had an oddly Eastern appearance, but with a slight shock she realized how utterly bizarre and alien it would look to the 16th siders. Its strange shape, its unknown, glittering fabric, its weird beauty, the fact that it had appeared, in an hour, where previously there had been nothing—it would seem to them a truly eldritch palace.
They drove past the inflatable and into a shantytown of huts built around it—the sort of hut that the Sterkarms could build in a morning from thin timber and mud, thatched with heather. Many 16th siders—mostly women and children, but some men—were bustling around these huts, and from the smell of roasting meat and the sight of fires and pits, Andrea soon realized what they were doing. A feast was being prepared. She looked at their faces, hoping to recognize someone, and failing in that looked for some sign—some flag or badge—that would tell her whether they were Sterkarms or Grannams. There was nothing. Reluctantly she asked Windsor, “Who are they?”
“God knows,” he said. “Who cares? Little people.”
Gritting her teeth, Andrea asked, “Little Sterkarm people, or little Grannam people?”
“One or the other. The Sterkarms have sent people to set up this shantytown on one side of us, and the Grannams are camping on the other side—all because they won’t eat our filthy Elvish food.”
Andrea looked out at the people busying themselves around the cooking huts. “Has there been any trouble?”
“I really don’t kno
w. I have other things to think of.”
One of the security guards leaned forward from the back and said, grinning, “Hell an’ all from the kiddies—running around, knocking lumps off one another. Bit of hair pulling from the women, but the men have just been strutting around and glowering at each other.”
“Happy now, Andrea?” Windsor asked.
Andrea ignored him and looked out the window. Behind the first inflatable building was another. In fact, as Andrea soon realized, there were several, a small town of them. Lots of 21st siders, in jeans, fleeces, and sneakers, were hurrying in and out. Windsor drew up the MPV in front of a long, low, prefabricated office.
As they got out, a young man came toward them from the doorway. He was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and, over his shirt, a casual jacket emblazoned with the emblem of FUP. He carried a clipboard and, on his head, wore a tiny, fragile headset, with a wire-thin arm holding a tiny mike in front of his mouth. Andrea thought he looked faintly familiar. She’d seen his thin, worried face with its wire-frame spectacles and scattering of red pimples somewhere before, but couldn’t place where.
“Gareth!” Windsor said, greeting the young man with outstretched hand. “I’ve brought you some help. This is Andrea Mitchell.”
As he shook hands with Andrea, Gareth said, in a decidedly cool manner, “Pleased to meet you.”
“Any sign of either party?” Windsor asked.
“They won’t take us by surprise,” Gareth said. “We’ve got people watching for them. Do you want to look over what’s been done?”
“Lead on,” Windsor said, and followed as Gareth walked toward the first and largest inflatable. The bodyguards fell in behind them. Andrea took a quick look around at the blue moorland sky and at the cooking fires burning outside the 16th-century kitchen huts, then hurriedly followed the bodyguards.
The inflatable building, with its shimmering, silvery sides, dwarfed them as they walked beside it. In its sides were set round windows, and arched windows, with real, shining glass. Those windows would deeply impress the 16th siders with the Elves’ wealth.
The entrance, when they reached it, was arched and screened by a curtain of shimmering silver beads. As they pushed through them, there was a musical chiming. Very eldritch, Andrea thought.
Inside, the building was far bigger than she’d expected, and its domed roof much higher—it was hard not to be reminded of a cathedral. The biggest, central dome was translucent, letting in a soft, pearly light, which made the building’s silvery fabric shine and gleam.
A floor of polished wooden planking had been laid. Overhead hung circular frames smothered and dripping with artificial greenery and flowers—white and pink roses. More trellises and frames, decorated with flowers and leaves, hid much of the wall area. White and pink roses everywhere, with an occasional touch of yellow or pale blue. Andrea reached out and touched the petals and leaves of the nearest garland. She had to rub them between her fingers several times before she could decide that they were, as she’d suspected, artificial, though highly realistic. The very artificiality of the flowers would strike the 16th siders as wonderful. Who but the Elves could make such things, or supply them so lavishly?
In one of the corner domes a bar had been set up, and in another a sound system. Down either side of the main floor were long tables, covered with white cloths. The tables were decked with more flowers—real flowers, because their scent hung in the air—and set with shining glass, china, and cutlery. At the tables were long rows of chairs. It was all very pretty, but not particularly grand to 21st-century eyes. The chairs, for instance, were cheap ones of white molded plastic.
But here, 16th side, all but the richest stood to eat. An individual chair was a status symbol. Table coverings were a rarity, and people ate and drank from wooden plates and cups, or even slices of stale bread, though the better off might have plates of pewter or heavy earthenware. Smooth, glazed china was unheard of, and most of the 16th siders would never have seen a glass or a fork. Or a spoon made of anything except wood or horn. They carried their own sharp eating knives at their belts. These tables, with their cloths, china, glasses, metal knives and forks, with a chair for everyone—they were unspeakably lavish and luxurious.
Beyond the long tables, at the far end of the inflatable, stood something almost like an altar, decked with more flowers and supporting a large silver cross. Behind the table was a floral picture, showing two coats of arms. Andrea recognized them both. There was the Sterkarm badge: a red arm holding in its fist a dagger, on a black shield. The shield was made of dark-blue, almost black irises and the red arm of roses. Beside it was the Grannam badge: a red bull on a green shield. More roses for the bull, and a variety of green flowers and leaves for the background.
None of this would have come cheap in the 21st, so for once FUP weren’t taking the 16th siders’ goods and rewarding them with something that had cost them virtually nothing. But who exactly were the couple being married? Perhaps she’d met the Sterkarm during her previous stay in the 16th. She’d been told that she’d be sent a file to study, bringing her up-to-date on everything that FUP had been doing 16th side, but despite phone calls and e-mails, the file had never arrived. It had always been “in the post, with you tomorrow.” Now she was going to have to rely on her previous experience to wing it.
It should be a memorable occasion. Ordinary weddings were bad enough, notoriously descending into rows between the families, but the Sterkarms and the Grannams had been feuding for generations, and their hatred for each other wasn’t usually expressed by snubbing one another in the street or refusing to let their children play together.
Gareth was nervously eyeing Windsor, waiting for his approval. Andrea felt sorry for him. “It all looks beautiful,” she said truthfully. It looked beautiful even if you were used to such things. To 16th siders, she could only imagine that it would seem beyond beautiful. Unearthly. Magical.
“What about when they arrive?” Windsor asked. “Are we all set to make them welcome?”
“Over here,” Gareth said, and led them back down the hall to the entrance. A table had been set up just inside the door, crammed with many shiny little gift bags in brilliant metallic purples, reds, greens, and golds. “I thought wine and nibbles would be a waste of time,” Gareth explained nervously, “since most of them won’t touch our food. So I’ve made up these goodie bags instead. They’ve all got a packet of aspirins, and then things like a book of needles, bar of fancy soap, lacy hanky, little bottle of scent, a shiny brooch … Things like that.”
“How do you tell which are for men and which for women?” Windsor asked, since the bags seemed to be arranged in no order.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gareth said. “Everybody likes scent and lacy hankies over here.”
“Excellent,” Windsor said. “Andrea should play hostess. It’ll help to introduce her. Okay, Andrea?”
Andrea’s heart speeded up. “Oh! Yes! No problem.” She caught another annoyed look from Gareth. What was his problem? She had enough of her own. She still didn’t know quite what was going on. Should her greeting be lighthearted or solemn? “Er—whom, exactly, shall I be greeting?”
They both looked at her.
“Oh dear, fancy Miss Swotty-Drawers not doing her homework,” Windsor said. “Didn’t you read your file?”
Andrea opened her mouth to apologize, then changed her mind and was about to explain that the file had never arrived, and then realized that, whatever she said, Windsor would only twist it. Never apologize, never explain. She stared at Windsor but said nothing.
Gareth smiled. “I can take Miss Mitchell around, if you like, and bring her up to speed.”
Windsor said, “Oh fine, go on, go on.” He turned and left on business of his own.
Alone with Andrea, Gareth gave her another look over. He had been quick to bid for Brownie points with Windsor by offering to baby-sit her, but it wasn’t
a job he really wanted. She was on the large side, and all that long, loose hair made her untidy. There was too much of her in every way for Gareth’s liking. He hadn’t liked the crack Windsor had made as he’d introduced her either. “I’ve brought you some help.” As if he needed help, especially from an ex-barmaid. And future concubine. “I’ll show you around the complex,” he said.
There was a lot to see. A second inflatable, just as large, had been erected behind the first. Music chimed as they pushed through the screen of silver beads. Inside was another wooden floor, and more bowers of artificial flowers, but all the seats were around the walls. “This is just for the dancing,” Gareth said.
Behind this inflatable were two blocks of chemical toilets. “For us. The 16th siders make their own arrangements.” Here, too, was the prefab office, the catering van for the 21st-side workers, and the prefab that housed Security. The cooking huts of the 16th siders had been put up at the edges of the encampment. At the back of the camp, on either side, were two more, smaller inflatables, standing apart from all the other buildings, and from each other.
“They’re the dormitories,” Gareth said. “One for the Sterkarms and one for the Grannams. We thought it would be pushing our luck to ask them to share. Where will you be staying?”
“Where I’m put, I suppose,” Andrea said, surprised.
“There are a few beds for 21st people,” Gareth said, “but I’m sleeping in the Grannam dormitory—I’ve been working with them. Would it be okay if you went in with the Sterkarms?”
“Of course. That’s what I was expecting.”
“Come on, then. I’ll show you where it is.” He led the way toward one of the inflatable dormitories, threading through parked vans and slight timber shacks. Sixteenth-siders stared at them, the Elves, as they went by.
The dormitory had a door. Inside was another wooden floor, and curtains in bright brocades, hung to make small private areas. Mattresses and sleeping bags lay on the floor. There were even beds. Gareth led the way all the way through the building to a door at the far end—a white door, its paneling picked out in gold. Andrea followed him through it.
