Watcher's Web

by Patty Jansen

  “What . . . what does all that mean?”

  “Barresh is the name of the island city. I presume you have seen it.”

  She nodded. “And where is that? Not Earth obviously?”

  Sunlight glinted in his hair with the barely perceptible shake of his head. “Ceren.”

  Blue eyes examined her face, his expression guarded, as if he expected some kind of horrified reply. He wasn’t going to get it. Not from her.

  “You . . . you’re taking this well.”

  “I’ve lived with the Pengali. I’ve seen the two suns in the sky. Am I still supposed to be surprised?” She pushed down the rest of her irritation. Of course he didn’t know about the cave and about all the things that had made the truth easier to accept.

  “Well, no, I guess not . . . not exactly. It’s just that—”

  What did he expect then? That she was a helpless damsel in distress pleading on her knees for him to help her?

  He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

  Awkward, she thought.

  “I apologise for all this, for getting you involved. It’s been such a grave mistake.”

  “Mistake?”

  “A mistake indeed. A stupid, silly mistake made by the local node of the Exchange—that’s how we travel from one inhabited world to another. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it.”

  She shook her head. “How does it work?” She knew it was impossible to travel faster than light. Even so, what had happened to the plane could hardly be called travel. “Is it like a wormhole?”

  “In a way, yes, ‘wormhole’ is probably a good description of the process. Wormholes large and small occur naturally where anti-energy that is plentiful in the universe coalesces into strands and meets normal energy. Remember that all objects are made up of potential energy, which is the energy that went into creating those objects. The Exchange shapes that anti-energy. The Exchange network nodes are in constant contact with each other, and create holes where they are needed. All wormholes, natural or artificial, form a flux strong enough to carry messages, images or objects over huge distances with little loss of time.”

  “You’re saying that our plane accidentally got caught in this . . . network?”

  He hesitated, glanced at her, probably thinking his explanation made no sense to her. But it did. It made far too much sense. It described more accurately than any previous explanation she had heard what her web did: strands of energy that connected with other strands, and occasionally with other places and other people. The man Daya was clearly in another place. Maybe on this world, maybe another. That’s what Ikay had tried to teach her, the weaving, and forming the strands into a ball that became a light. Concentrating energy, which they called avya.

  Hadn’t he felt the pricking of this cross-dimensional-whatever energy that made the web? She thought back to the few seconds before the accident. The businessman—asleep; the pilot—humming to himself; and Brian—Iztho, whatever his name was—reading, without the slightest care in the world. Because he hadn’t felt it, or because he pretended he hadn’t?

  He gave a grim nod. “There’s going to be trouble. It should never have happened. There should have been three checks carried out before the translocation was completed. By the look of things, none of them were done. They picked up a craft on a domestic flight in a non-Union world. It’s a disgrace. There’s going to be an investigation. The city of Barresh could lose its Exchange Node and that will stop everything: trade, export, travel. The whole economy of the city depends on it. Worse—its independence. That’s why they want to get rid of us. That’s why those guys came after us in the forest: to get rid of the proof of their mistake, to shut us up—forever.”

  “Kill us, just to save their economy?” Because of something she did?

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “But—hang on, let me get this straight. You’re saying that the people in this city want us dead. So what is the logic in travelling there? We’ll be going right where they want us. Shouldn’t we be going somewhere else?” Maybe that was what Ikay had been trying to tell her.

  “Where to? Barresh is surrounded by water. On the other side of the city is nothing but a sandbar and beyond that, the sea. Behind us is the rainforest all the way to the border. There are no other towns in the enclave and you can’t cross into Miran on foot anyway; the border is sealed. As dangerous as it is, to travel into Barresh and leave by air is the only way out.”

  “And you can arrange that for me?” She wasn’t sure if she meant it to sound as sarcastic as it did. He didn’t pick up on it, or ignored it, whatever was the case.

  “I have to. Don’t think I’m doing this for pleasure. My name is on the line, too. We’re lucky those rogues who came to the plane didn’t find either of us. They were sent by the people in the council. Mercenaries, to kill us. The council now thinks that all the passengers are dead and the situation has been dealt with. You didn’t make it easier when you decided to run off when I was telling you not to. Not to go down those rocks. The people who caught up with us were a search party, but now the whole tribe knows as well.”

  “You could have told me all this a bit earlier.”

  He snorted. “I knew as little as you. This backwater of a town is not that familiar to me.”

  If she hadn’t gone down, she wouldn’t have found out about the Pengali, or the frieze. The meeting with the Pengali was accidental, wasn’t it?

  Jessica muttered, “I’m sorry,” and a bit later, “Thanks for coming.”

  He sniffed, but she guessed the apology was accepted.

  “How would it work, getting home?”

  “The actual process is not the problem.”

  “But I’ll have to get onto some sort of spaceship.”

  “Aircraft.”

  “OK, aircraft. And then?”

  “You’d be transferred by the Exchange.”

  “You mean . . .” That was absurd. To go into some kind of alien craft, which would then land somewhere on Earth. “Why doesn’t anyone on Earth know about this?”

  “There’s a lot of sophisticated technology involved. There are craft with engines that make no noise at all and that run a current through the outer shell of the craft, making it near impossible to see, even by radar. The Exchange is well-hidden. Plus they only fly out at night. And a few people know—only they’ve sworn not to reveal anything. No one would believe them if they did, anyway.”

  Something, something about his words didn’t quite add up. The process sounded too easy. His words seemed rehearsed. Who was deceiving whom?

  13

  THE TRIP TOOK a few hours, according to Jessica’s best guess. She wished she still had her watch, but it had disappeared with her clothes. She stared at the passing water, reeds and floating weeds in uneasy silence.

  How long was the day on this world, she asked, and Iztho produced a little gadget that told her twenty-eight hours. That explained how her watch had seemed to lose huge chunks of time each day.

  At long last, the boat glided into the long shadow cast by the island. On both sides of their watery thoroughfare, small figures waded through fields of grey grass or floating lettuce, cutting or picking crops and loading them onto barges.

  The clattering sound that had been so incessant since she had stumbled down from the escarpment died away. Other noises took its place. People talking in the Pengali language, voices of children, footsteps on timber, thuds, hammering.

  A sea of flat-roofed buildings rose from the waterline to form an anthill of civilisation, dotted with pinpricks of light.

  Hundreds of boats lay tied up along the timber platforms of a jetty. An overwhelming smell of fish drifted from the shore, occasionally mixed with whiffs of rotten eggs.

  The Pengali youth in the bow stopped splashing his stick in the water. In a purposeful glide, the boat drifted sideways and clunked into wood.

  “Here we are,” Iztho said. Jessica stretched her stiff legs. With an inelegant step, waving her arms, sh
e half-fell onto the jetty.

  The sound of heavy booted footsteps and a deep voice made her look up, straight at a fearsome metal arrow perched on a crossbow held in the crook of a man’s arm.

  He inclined his head, blond curls tumbling over his forehead, framing an angel-like, heart-shaped face with eyes of the clearest cobalt blue. Human and yet strange.

  He was dressed in a long-sleeved grey tunic and leggings with a white sleeveless tunic over the top. It reached halfway down his upper legs and was held by a belt around his waist. A red and silver emblem adorned the centre of his chest. If it hadn’t been for his strange face, he might have been an actor in a medieval play. A horse, a helmet and chain mail would have made the picture complete.

  Jessica climbed to her feet, while the man spoke in a language with rolling r-sounds to Iztho, who climbed out of the boat. He replied, in a confident tone, friendly almost.

  Jessica held out the zapper. “Do you want me to walk ahead with this?”

  “No, we’ll be right.” He glanced at the soldier. “He’s here to keep an eye on us.”

  “A guard?”

  Jessica’s gaze returned to the arrow on the crossbow. Nothing like any arrow she had ever seen, this was a shaftless construction of two very long double-edged blades crossed length-wise. From the needle-sharp tip, serrated edges ran down each of the four flanges. Take a hit from that and you would be cut into ribbons. The arrow sat at the end of a metal slide. Two thick metal springs, stretched taut, strained to hold it in place.

  “What good is a crossbow against some sort of laser gun?”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Take it from me: never underestimate the power of a Mirani crossbow.”

  OK, wrong remark, Jess. Geez, the guy had toes from here to Timbuktu.

  The planks of the jetty creaked under their feet as they walked towards the shore, the soldier first, Iztho and Jessica directly behind him. Their approach put an end to many waterside conversations. Fishermen dragged their nets aside and put down their baskets. They were all Pengali, but their hair was cut short and their skin patterns covered with shabby clothing. Jessica looked at their backsides, but could see only one, a young male, whose trousers clearly hid a tail.

  A young boy pointed at Jessica, but the adult male who sat next to him pushed his hand down, and went back to mending the net on his lap. His eyes, though, glanced at Jessica from under hair swept over his forehead.

  Jessica asked, “Is the whole city like this?”

  “No. This part of the city is a separate island called Far Atok. Any Pengali without a high-class family to look after them live here. Barresh proper is very different.”

  “Are all of the people in the city Pengali?”

  “Can you see Pengali flying an aircraft?”

  True.

  “The guys in power in this place are the keihu people. They’re shorter, dark-skinned. You’ll see plenty when we go to the other island. That’s where they all live, in their huge mansions. They are the ones who are in the council and who run the Exchange. We want to avoid them for the time being. That’s why we’re here. Any arrivals on the main island attract more attention. We’ll walk from here to the other island, but first, I’ll have to borrow some clothes for you. A customer of mine owns an apartment here. It’s a bit rough, as you see, but pretty good for our purposes. He normally uses it for storage, so I hope you don’t mind a bit of mess. You can stay there tonight, well away from the council.”

  What? By myself?

  Two more soldiers were waiting when they reached the shore. After a small nod of acknowledgement, they fell into step behind them.

  There was a kind of market here, people selling things out of baskets. A small crowd of Pengali congregated around woven mats spread out on the compacted earth under a tree. Between legs and baskets, Jessica caught a glimpse of water creatures, barely deserving the name “fish”, lined up for sale. They were black bristly things with protuberant frog-like eyes at the top of a wide-mouthed head and four lizard-like limbs spread-eagled on the mat.

  The soldier at the front shouted at the crowd of shoppers. Towering over the Pengali crowd and standing out in his white uniform, he had little trouble clearing the path. Pengali males stepped aside, their eyes on the soldiers’ crossbows; females squeaked and pulled their children out of the way.

  After they had passed, however, many stopped to look at Jessica. Some even muttered her Pengali name, Anmi.

  She pushed away unease. For people who seemed primitive, they sure communicated fast.

  “Why are these people so scared of these guards? Where do they come from? They’re not from the . . . whatever people rule the city?”

  “Keihu. No, they’re conscripted soldiers from Miran. Here to keep order. Sad and sorry as it is, Barresh isn’t truly independent. It relies on Miran for almost everything; the surrounding nation is a powerful ally. The soldiers are our friends.”

  The Pengali clearly thought differently.

  On the other side of the square, an alley stretched into the approaching darkness up the crest of a steep hill. Here, the crowd petered out.

  The air became unbearably hot and stuffy now they were away from the water. High walls on either side radiated heat that had collected during the day. Soon, sweat trickled down Jessica’s stomach, and down her temples into her neck.

  When they had almost reached the crest, Iztho stopped at a door to the left. He produced a dark-coloured cylinder from his pocket, inserted it into a hole at chest level in the centre of the door, and twisted it. Something grated on the other side and then the entire door started curling and rolling in like a garage door mounted sideways.

  Walking through, Jessica stared at the mechanism of closely positioned slats joined by a mesh of twine or metal wire.

  The soldiers stationed themselves in the alley.

  As the door rolled itself back into position with a clatter, Iztho led Jessica across a dark courtyard into a doorway.

  A short hallway led into a larger room, packed with all manner of goods. There were crates of glass bowls, baskets of coloured sheets, bundles of coloured thread, woven rugs, cooking and eating utensils, jewellery, and a thousand other things, the functions of which she could only guess.

  There was a low table in the middle of the room, surrounded by dirty cushions. On the table stood a basket covered by a rough blue cloth.

  “My customer’s servants left some food for you. There is a bed in the other room. I’m really sorry about the state of this place, but . . .” He glanced at her, his face almost in pity. “You simply can’t go through the city like this without attracting too much attention. I have to be careful enough to find someone I can trust to explain the situation and borrow some clothes.”

  “And then?”

  “I’ll make some investigations to find the best way of getting out unnoticed. I think we’ll want to use some kind of disguise, but I need to see who I can bribe to get the documentation.”

  Jessica pulled the cloth off the basket, and found a bowl of noodles underneath. She lifted it and put it on the table, pretending to be busy. Her fate was in his hands, and she still wasn’t sure if she could trust him. The silence in the room lingered.

  “Thank you for doing this.” Hopefully it didn’t sound too strangled.

  He nodded and walked to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Before Jessica could say anything else, he left. The gravel in the courtyard crunched with his footsteps. The door squeaked then slammed shut. Locks rattled.

  Jessica took a deep, shuddering breath. She ate quickly, barely tasting anything. Then she heaved herself to her feet and crossed to the single window in the room: a square hole in the wall, with no frame or glass or curtain.

  Outside, the city stretched down to the water in a mass of black, dotted with islands of light. The smell of dry stone mingled with the scent of cooking and a faint, ever-present whiff of sulphur. Sounds of talk, music and other noises cut through the heat of the
night. Not a single merciful breeze.

  In a courtyard about three storeys below the window, light flooded from a door onto wispy steam rising from a basin. Hot water springs. She should have known. Only last year her parents had taken her to New Zealand, to places where mud bubbled, vents hissed steam and hot water pooled in silent, deadly springs. That sulphuric smell clung to everything there, too.

  A myriad of stars, some clear, others barely visible, stretched overhead in a broad band, as if a painter had shaken out a brush of white paint on the dark canvas of the sky.

  When she was little, her father used to take her into the bush to watch the night sky. Then, she hadn’t believed it when her father told her stars were all great flaming balls of gas. Suns in other systems, he had gone to pains to explain. Had two of those pinpricks of light represented the suns of this planet? Was one of those lights in the sky above her, now, her own familiar sun?

  Then another thought came to her: by showing her the stars, had her father been trying to tell her something? Her parents said they knew nothing of her origin and that she was found wearing only a nappy and a cheap romper suit bought the previous day from the department store in Pymberton. But was that true?

  How much of a coincidence could it be that of all those flights in the air on that day, the “accident” had to involve her; someone who wasn’t really a stranger to this world?

  The skin of her arms puckered into goosebumps despite the heat.

  Feeling uneasy, Jessica turned away from the window and went into the darkness of the hall, where it was quiet except for the sound of water dripping into a pool. A stone bath was set into the back wall. Steaming water dribbled from a spout fed by a stone duct that came in through a small window near the ceiling. The bath overflowed on the other side into a similar duct that left the house through another little window near the floor. The water was warm and smelled of sulphur. Jessica took off the sarong, climbed into the bath and scrubbed her shoulders until her skin glowed and most of the Pengali-applied paint was gone.