The House Next Door Trilogy (Books 1-3)

by Jule Owen

  Mathew asks Evgeny, “Why were you chasing this girl?”

  Evgeny glances at the others, looks uncomfortable, and says, “Dragomirov captured the girl a year ago. There are routine tests of identity run on people. You experienced them yourself. When these were run on her, there were strange results. Like you, this girl was supposed to be dead. She was a former citizen of an ATLAS city, cast out and deleted. They checked for enhancements. She didn’t have any obvious technology implants. She didn’t have a medibot, like you, but many of her results were very strange. Her brain scans revealed extraordinary activity, and her body seemed to have an endless capacity for regeneration and self-healing. Dragomirov thought she was some kind of highly secret advanced military technology developed by ATLAS. None of our intelligence found anything like this, but ATLAS always has the capacity to surprise. Dragomirov was taking the girl to Moscow when she escaped.”

  “She is not military technology,” Dom says.

  “I never thought she was,” Evgeny says.

  Tristan says, “Mathew, I hope you don’t mind, but when we were bathing, I noticed you have a dressing on your arm. You have an injury.”

  Mathew puts his hand to his shoulder instinctively. “Yes. The cat scratched me.”

  Evgeny says, “Some scratch! We stitched it at the camp.”

  Tristan says, “Our father is a healer. Why don’t you let him examine it?”

  After breakfast, one of Tristan’s brothers takes Evgeny for a tour of the kitchens.

  Tristan speaks to his father, who turns and beckons to Mathew. He smiles as Mathew approaches, and the three walk together towards the back of the large cavern, through groups of people standing and talking after breakfast, and then up a few steps to a room carved into the rock.

  The floor of the room is decorated with brightly coloured rugs and cushions. Tristan stands by the door, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, looking out, as if giving them some privacy. Peter gestures to Mathew to sit on one of the cushions, and he does the same. There’s music playing faintly in the background, piano music Mathew recognises but can’t name. He glances with surprise at Peter.

  “What did you expect?” Peter asks, and he smiles, his eyes sparkling.

  Mathew smiles back, but he is unnerved. In spite of what Tristan said earlier, Peter has read his mind.

  At close quarters, Mathew is able to observe Peter properly. He appears no older than Tristan, perhaps even younger, and has an incredibly calm, slow manner. Mathew imagines he’s never rushed or harassed. It’s relaxing to be in his company.

  Peter asks him to loosen his shirt and take his arm from one of the sleeves. He examines the wound. Mathew peers down at his shoulder. It’s red and swollen around the stitches.

  “There’s a slight infection,” Peter says. “Normal in this jungle. The army doctor’s medicines were not able to cope.”

  “But I have a medibot.”

  “Your medibot isn’t working. Like your e-Pin and Lenzes, it requires software updates and needs to be connected to a network to properly function. It shut down the moment you came to the jungle. It would not be able to access modern Russian networks.”

  “Then why didn’t I get sick in the jungle?”

  Peter smiles gently. “Because you have a guardian angel.”

  Mathew is amazed. “Did you send your nanomachines after me?”

  But Peter is focusing on his shoulder. He hovers his hands close to, but not touching, Mathew’s skin and closes his eyes. Mathew is disappointed. This behaviour reminds him of some of the wacky healing videos his grandmother is always sending him, which have no scientific basis and which he considers irresponsible. But as he sits there feeling slightly cheated, he looks at his shoulder and sees the stitches unwind and disintegrate. The wound actually opens, and the yellow pus bubbles and then disappears. The wound is left red but clean. It starts to close, and the split skin cleaves together until there is just an angry red line running across his shoulder.

  Peter opens his eyes, peering closely at the wound. “I’ll remove the scar tomorrow. Let’s give a tiny bit of time for nature to help us, shall we?”

  “But . . . how did you do it?”

  Peter’s gaze is very direct. It’s like he’s delving into Mathew’s mind. “Don’t look so worried. It’s not magic or anything supernatural. I promise. We are all scientists here.”

  “But how. . . ?”

  Tristan says, “It’s a long story. If you stay, I will tell you, but not now, not today.”

  As they’re still sitting, Lev comes into the room. He greets Peter and Tristan and says, “Hello, Mathew. How was your breakfast?”

  “Delicious, thank you,” Mathew says.

  Compared to Peter, Lev looks old, with his lined face and greying beard and thick head of hair. Yet he is fit enough to have led a dangerous mission to rescue him.

  Peter says to Lev, “Mathew has a lot of questions. I think you are the better person to answer them.”

  Lev nods and says to Mathew, “Come on. Shall we have a walk?” He helps Mathew to his feet. Mathew turns to thank Peter, but Peter is now sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, apparently meditating.

  Lev and Mathew go back into the cavern and slowly cross the main floor. “Not what you expected?” Lev asks him.

  “I don’t know what to say. What I saw is not possible.”

  “But think, Mathew. How might he do it without violating the scientific laws you hold so dear?”

  “He would have to be able to control matter at the molecular level.”

  Lev nods slowly. “So, it is not impossible.”

  “It may not be impossible, but it is unlikely.”

  Lev raises an eyebrow. “What a fixed point of view. For a boy who is 433 years old and who dropped from the sky from London into tropical Siberia, you are strangely keen to hang on to what you think you know. Are you able to explain any of those things?”

  “I’m in a game. The most amazing virtual reality game anyone has ever created, but this isn’t real.”

  “If you think you’re in a game, a simulation, why are you so surprised and concerned by what Peter did to you? Surely anything is possible in a game?”

  Mathew frowns. “The game is so real, I keep forgetting it’s not real.”

  “I see. So I am not real?”

  “No.”

  “That’s upsetting. But it’s quite a philosophical point of view. Some people actually think the universe is a giant computer simulation made by the ultimate programmer, you know. But then people believe all kinds of things. It’s no crazier than gods, monsters, or ghosts.”

  Mathew says, “How do you think I got here?”

  “Oh, Mathew, I’ve no idea. But I have met stranger strangers in my time. When I was young, I was like you. I thought I was rational, but my mind and ideas were fixed. My life has since taken me down some extraordinary paths, and I’ve learned to accept that I might not always have the answer. But the Kind aren’t in any way a mystical group. As Peter says, everything we do obeys the laws of science. It’s just the means may not always be transparent to us. What is the famous quote? ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’”

  Mathew grins. “Arthur C. Clarke.”

  Lev smiles and nods.

  “So do you know how Peter healed me?”

  “You have explained it yourself. He is able to manipulate matter at the molecular level.”

  “But in detail, how do you explain how he does it? Are you able to do it yourself?”

  Lev shakes his head. “No. The Kind have many advanced technologies, but we did not invent Peter’s abilities. They were gifted by a much greater technologist we both used to know.”

  “Where is he, this great technologist?”

  “He has other lives to lead.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Lev thinks. “He is still here in this world and is working through a small number of people like Peter and especially now the
Lamplighter. She is his agent. And indirectly through me, and he is waiting, like we are.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “For history to end. It’s why we are here in the mountain. It’s why I have walked across the world. When we emerge again from under this mountain, there will be a completely blank sheet, and we will start again. Perhaps we will do it right next time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The man I told you of, the technologist, he wasn’t from the past like you; he was from a time way into the future and was able to tell us many incredible things. But he also warned us. In the world beyond this mountain right now, there are two great armies fighting a war, the remnants of the old nations, expressing ancient tribal behaviours using technologies they are ill-equipped psychologically to control. The way things have gone, it’s a vastly unequal war. The Federation has more resources than ATLAS, and it is on the verge of crushing that collection of ancient nation states. But it is making a tremendous error of judgment, because ATLAS knows it is going to be crushed. It is desperate, and it will deploy a weapon they call Wormwood, more awful and destructive than anything human beings have ever managed to create before. We have spent the last forty years learning to build shelters to protect us from this weapon and developing the means to survive while we wait for it to be safe to emerge back under the sky again. My role was to travel as far as possible to tell our story to those willing to listen and to provide them with the means to protect themselves.”

  “When will this happen?”

  “It is imminent.”

  “Do you know precisely?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it happening now?”

  “It is under way. It will reach here later tonight.”

  “But Evgeny’s camp, the people there?”

  “When he eventually goes back, the whole place will be as he left it. The barracks, the prison house, the cookhouse. The food, the supplies. But there will be no people. Not a trace of them. Not a shadow on the ground or a pile of dust. Every human molecule will have been dismantled.”

  “Shouldn’t we warn them?”

  Lev smiles. “If only it were so easy. They will not believe what we tell them, Mathew. Beliefs kill more humans than all diseases and weapons combined, an inevitable tragedy because it’s the hardest thing there is, knowing what to believe.”

  “What do you believe in?”

  “Science and the future. And that although humans are the most violent, destructive animal ever to have polluted the face of the earth, there is something sublime in every one of them, and one day perhaps the intelligent and good will become preeminent.”

  They walk to the lake. Some children are playing, swimming in a shallower part at the edge. They stand watching them.

  As they do, a man surfaces at the base of the cliff. He has come from the tunnel.

  People gasp. Men shout. Mathew watches Tristan and the other brothers run down to the lake. Frey has a kind of rifle pointed at the intruder. Unperturbed, the intruder starts swimming to the shore with strong steady strokes. He stands where it is shallow and wades ashore, his hands raised. Frey comes down towards him, still pointing his gun. Lev walks down to them both.

  Lev puts his hand on Frey’s shoulder, “It’s okay, brother. Not necessary.”

  The intruder stands there, bare-chested and dripping but not shivering. Mathew knows him, even though he’s never seen him before. He’d know those green eyes anywhere.

  “I’ve come for the boy,” Borodin says.

  28 The Door

  Lev, Peter, Rose, and a few people Mathew hadn’t met previously – two priests, one of them elderly; a middle-aged woman called Lilly, who’s holding the hand of the younger priest; a man with robotic prosthetic legs; a youngish man they call Carey; and a grizzled giant of a man with a nasty scar on his face introduced as Gentle Mick – all sit around a table staring at Borodin. Mathew sits to one side.

  “We shouldn’t have the boy here,” Borodin says.

  “It’s his fate we’re deciding. He should have a say, at least,” Lev says.

  “He should make the decision himself,” Rose says.

  Peter says, “I think Mr Borodin might have good reason for what he’s asking,” and Gentle Mick and Carey nod. “Mr Borodin is somewhat . . . like us.”

  Lev is surprised and then says, “We have told the boy many things already, Mr Borodin.”

  “It’s unfortunate.” Borodin studies Mathew, frowning. “This is a delicate matter. A mistake was made. A significant mistake. The boy shouldn’t be here. He’s not incidental to history – to all our fates. He shouldn’t stay here. To be clear, unless this boy lives his own life in his own time, there will be no Kind; there will be no Tekton.”

  “And you will take him back, to where he came from, Mr Borodin?” Gentle Mick asks.

  “Yes, I will take him back. I must take him back.”

  Peter glances around the table at Lev, Rose, Lilly, and the two priests and says, “Borodin is speaking the truth.”

  “Agreed,” says Gentle Mick.

  Carey nods.

  Lev asks, “Are we all comfortable with placing Mathew in Mr Borodin’s care? Peter, Gentle Mick, Carey?”

  “I am,” Peter says.

  “Me, too,” Gentle Mick says.

  Lev goes around the table. They all agree.

  “But what if I don’t want to go?” Mathew says.

  Lev turns to Mathew. “We will get you ready.”

  The only exit from the mountain is through the cave system. Mathew stands at the side of the lake, saying goodbye and thank you to Tristan, Peter, his many sons, Rose, Lev, and Evgeny, who is especially distressed to watch him go.

  “I don’t understand why I can’t go with him,” he’s saying to Tristan.

  “I will explain. I promise.”

  “So you keep saying,” Evgeny grunts.

  Borodin is keen to be on the move. Mathew is provided with breathing apparatus, a headlamp, and a life vest. Borodin refuses even the breathing mask.

  “Crazy,” Dom says.

  “He got here alright, didn’t he?” Tristan says.

  Wading into the lake, Mathew finds the water more pleasant to be in, now he is wearing his strange new clothes. Borodin takes Mathew’s life jacket and dives first. Mathew dives but finds it hard to swim down to the required depth. He bobs up, unable to fight his own buoyancy, so Borodin swims back to him, grabs him, and takes him down and into the drowned tunnel.

  Borodin’s headlamp picks out the way ahead. Mathew hauls himself after Borodin, grabbing rock protrusions to give himself momentum once again. Following the man in front, he starts to swim upwards, and they emerge in the place where there’s a foot or two of air above them. Borodin doesn’t wait. He starts to swim along at the surface.

  The route is familiar to Mathew, less frightening, less eerie. But Borodin doesn’t talk to him, in his head or otherwise. He’s grim and purposeful, urging Mathew on, helping him when he struggles as they retrace their steps leaving the mountain. In total silence they wade from the water onto the shore. They follow the cave and the tunnel to the makeshift door, and soon Mathew once again finds himself in the jungle.

  He had been in the mountain less than a day, but he had adjusted to the comparative silence, even the bustle of the people of the Kind being absorbed in the cathedral-like vaults underground. Now the noise of the forest assaults him, deafening. The birds and insects and unknown mammals are mostly invisible but audible all around.

  Borodin retracts the ladder and shields the hole to the shaft with leaves. He does a better job than Lev, Mathew notices. He briefly wonders why a senior Russian soldier would want to conceal the whereabouts of outlaws.

  Only then does Borodin speak, the words crystal clear to Mathew, though his lips are closed. The strange green eyes observe him coldly, objectively. “We have to be quick and stealthy. Dragomirov will be hunting for us. It doesn’t matter if they find us, they are trivial to hand
le, but I would rather not kill anyone.”

  Mathew thinks back, “I thought they were going to die anyway.”

  But Borodin just starts walking.

  They hug the mountainside. Mathew follows in Borodin’s steps along a stony path. The man moves with supernatural fluid grace, unnerving Mathew. He’s not comfortable in Borodin’s presence the way he was with the Kind. They stop for Mathew to drink water Borodin finds for him in the heart of a plant. Borodin doesn’t need to drink and is patient, but only to the extent that he seems to instinctively understand Mathew’s physical limits.

  The higher ground they are walking on has fewer trees and less wildlife. Mathew recognises the terrain. It’s the same landscape the cat chased him into.

  Then he spots the cave and the gaping black mouth in the side of the mountain and stops dead in his tracks.

  Borodin turns back to him. “This is the way,” he says.

  “No,” Mathew says. “I’m not going in there with you.”

  Borodin walks back towards him. Mathew turns to run, but Borodin has him – grabs him around the waist and lifts him over his shoulder. Mathew pounds on Borodin’s shoulders and kicks, but the man’s body is like iron, and he has a grip like a vice.

  What has Lev done? This man is the cat! He tricked them.

  They are in the cave. It’s cold and dark. Borodin keeps walking, gripping Mathew to him. Mathew is blind. He is terrified, certain that at any minute Borodin intends to kill him. Then they pause. Borodin is reaching forward, struggling with something. Opening a door. They burst through into the light. Borodin lets Mathew slump to the floor and turns to shut and lock a door behind him. Mathew blinks in the bright light and gazes around.

  He is in Mr Lestrange’s Darkroom, sitting in a chair. Borodin has gone.

  29 Reality