They had spent the rest of the morning playing hide and seek in the old fairground. Tim, the curly haired boy, had found her in one of her hiding places - a roller-coaster car rusting on a loop of The Justice Ride. He had offered his hand as she climbed out, but she didn’t take it. She didn’t really trust Tim. He could even have used one of his psychic abilities to find her, the uses of which were strictly banned from their games. Although none of them were really sure of what the other could do. If anything.
When they were linked to the crystals they all became a little bit different, Neon decided, and though she was dimly aware of changes in the others it was hard to pinpoint what their exact abilities might be.
Tim had finally offered to help repair her teddy, so she had tried to forgive him. Not that she’d let him touch the bear, it was far too precious. Although, looking at Brian now, his left arm sagging, he was definitely in need of some medical attention.
Neon carefully placed him on the dusty earth, turned and performed a theatrical cartwheel before snatching him back up again, leaving a trail of stuffing and butterflies scattering in her wake. The insects soon overtook her and began dancing around a hedgerow, marking a border between crops. Neon watched sparrows peeping between its twisted branches, chirping nervously as she approached their homes.
“Here we are, Brian,” she said. “This might help.”
Neon’s face loomed huge over a little nest complete with green spotted eggs and she reached in to take one. Her fingers crept towards the house of twigs and spittle until she could almost touch her chosen prize – a lighter, brown egg – when she heard a shriek!
The eggs’ mother flapped wildly amid the thorns and leaves of the bush, so much so she blew feathers into Neon’s eyes. The princess pulled her hand away carefully so as not to hit the bird or damage her bounty, and grinned at the sparrow below.
“It’s alright. This one’s not yours anyway!” she said as she cradled a little egg in her hands. “It doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t belong to anyone.”
The cuckoo’s egg felt smooth and luxurious. “We’ll keep it, just in case you ever need a spare, Brian,” she decided, looking at the bear and the thick black cross stitched across his front.
Neon then placed the egg delicately in her top pocket under a tissue and skipped back down the lane, ducking under a short wooden gate before finding herself in a sea of bright yellow blooms whose pollen crept up her nose only to be fired back out again in a dramatic sneeze. The pollen drifted across the crop in clouds of dandelions, making her face itch and her eyes water. But the shorter rape seed plants made it easier for her to get her bearings so she stopped to admire the view.
To her right the fields rolled down towards the farmstead with all its pigs and chickens, as well as the factories where dozens worked each day. Then at the epicentre of the domes was the farmhouse itself, where Pa Coven and his wife Masie lived with their ever growing brood. The spheres behind them were mostly devoted to livestock – flocks of sheep and cows. Neon had considered making a detour through these prairies, if only to see her favourite cows – she had three, all called Daisy with numerical surnames as an after-thought – but she decided to carry on towards the summer fruits instead, before cutting through the vegetable fields. She could even check on her grandfather the King’s patch of peas and runner beans, she thought.
Neon had watched him sew the plants with his ceremonial silver sword earlier in the year, after he had tended his tomatoes in the royal allotments. She giggled at the memory and hurried through to the end of the rape seed field as its oily tips swayed gently, basking in the crystals’ gaze. Vents had been set into the lower rungs of the domes allowing the Highlands winds to blow across the fields, warmed by the gems Neon and her friends powered. The morning’s work had been difficult, she figured, but to see the crystals being used so effectively made her proud.
Together the children protected and powered almost every home in the city. In a few hours they could accomplish what would have taken adults weeks before. And the crystal lanterns, even as they swung in the shadows of the forest, were so pretty. As long as there was still time for playing games and mending teddies Neon wouldn’t complain about the work. Yet, when they were linked psychically it felt like they were more than children somehow, powering more than Albion. They were like giants forming rings around the world.
Perhaps one day, she pondered, we’ll fix it.
It was something she had to believe in. With Lord Truth gone she knew that they, the Seekers, were the city’s last hope. But Neon had a plan.
Ducking under another fence she was enveloped by a field of sweet corn, its tough leaves whipping her as she ran. The crop was so tall she felt dwarfed by the plants and imagined beating them back with her grandfather’s stately blade, cutting a path to buried treasure. In her imagination, she was now a Pirate Princess, leading her scurvy mob into battle, with Brian a sarcastic parrot perched lightly on her shoulder.
She emerged in a sea of yellow straw, the detritus of a barley field recently harvested. Neon imagined herself rowing across it in a dinghy, piled high with treasure chests, towards her Pirate Prince.
Perhaps tonight, she thought excitedly. Yes, perhaps tonight I’ll see him, if he’s still alive that is? And if he is I’ll ask him, I’ll ask him if he can help.
Neon beamed as she skirted the orchard, its apples as rosy as her cheeks. Still, she admonished herself, she would have to get some rest before any evening adventures. All the telepaths, her father included, had to concentrate hard to receive thoughts, even more so sending them, and the walk was already tiring her out.
Half an hour later and the light on the farm had dimmed, not just in reflection of the deepening afternoon but also the crops being heated in the vegetable dome. Here spring had been replaced by a mild winter. Leaves mingled with the clinging soil as assorted trees dotted the landscape, breaking up the flat plains with their increasingly bare branches. Neon was no longer alone as teams of workers tilled the soil, pulling up carrots and checking the progress of onions and parsnips.
“Good afternoon, Princess Neon!” Pa Coven was not used to seeing royal subjects tramping across his muddy fields and bowed so quickly he dropped an armful of cauliflowers.
“Good afternoon,” Neon smiled, walking on with the added grace that custom, or at least her grandfather, required. However, with her nose pointed high in the air she felt faintly ridiculous and quickly turned and walked back to the farmer, in his wax jacket and grubby dungarees.
“Here, let me help you,” she said, reaching up to pile the dirty vegetables back into his waiting arms.
“Why, thank you little miss,” he stammered, his eyes shaded by his flat cap, a rolled- up cigarette hanging from his lips. “Worth a few bob these are at today’s prices. Wouldn’t want to lose ‘em.” He looked slightly uncomfortable watching a princess paint muddy marks over her olive skin as she splashed in the mud.
“Now, I think you’d best run along. We’ll be expectin’ a storm soon,” he added, motioning upwards.
Neon looked skywards, expecting to see dark clouds forming above the spheres, and then back to the farmer, already retreating towards the farmhouse.
“But it doesn’t look like rain,” she shouted.
Pa Coven turned and smiled. “Oh, we don’t wait on the rain, my lady, not in ‘ere. It’s almost sprinklin’ time, innit?”
And with that, Neon noticed that all the other workers had begun making their way from the fields too, each carrying baskets or pushing wheelbarrows laden with food.
“Oh bother.” Neon looked down at her teddy and then up at the dome’s skeleton of pipes, fed by the river. “This won’t do at all, will it Brian?”
It seemed silly to the young girl that they still used the sprinkler system. Many of the domes’ plastic cells had perished anyway, allowing the rain straight through. Wondering what to do she stared up again at the clear sky before closing her eyes. Then she began running.
Her boots squelched and she thrust her hands into her dress pockets to fend off the cold. The crystal lights were being powered down in preparation for the oncoming shower, but Neon concentrated on the darkness behind her eyes.
Blindly, she ran on, Brian tucked under her shoulder. Her eyes still closed, she turned south for another 30 metres and hopped west over three rows of swedes as she homed in on her target. She could almost hear it now like an echo getting louder, see it like a memory gradually coming into focus. Finally, she reached a spot at the border of the potato runs and stopped.
The sound of water rushing through the pipes filled the air as Neon opened her eyes, and there below her was an orange crystal that had fallen from its coupling, until now un-noticed in the earth. She hastily wiped it down as thick droplets of water began falling on her head and shoulders. Thankfully, crystals in the yellow to red spectrum range were not only the most common but also the most adaptable.
Neon stared, big splashes of water landing on her broad forehead and short nose, until the crystal glowed and began warming the palms of her hands. She then coddled it to her belly and stroked it until a barrier of orange energy spread out above her in a wide arc. The rain was falling now, light but steady, yet the glow of the crystal kept her dry, moulding a yellow umbrella shape above her head.
Neon was pleased with herself. Her sense of control over the crystals was growing. And without her coat the bright orange gem would even keep her warm for the rest of her journey to the castle.
Within the beady gaze of a scarecrow she began running towards the rim of the dome, her boots splashing through freshly made puddles. Minutes later they were negotiating the cobbled pathways of the shopping arcade, the tattered plastic of the dome’s frame yards behind her. Neon ran past Al’s Bar, the hospital, the jailhouse and the library, through the winding alleyways where the cobblers, bakers and credit makers all plied their trade, until she finally reached the palace gardens and the moat beyond. The castle’s turrets rose up over its mock Tudor walls as Neon raced towards the drawbridge.
“Afternoon Princess,” one of the King’s Guards greeted her as she reached their station box beside the moat.
“Afternoon Brian,” said the other, referring to the damaged bear swinging wildly at her side.
“Afternoon Graham, afternoon Eleanor,” the girl replied, puffing, as her feet began thumping across the wooden drawbridge.
High above her, a falcon circled the castle tower, a full fifteen floors up. A cool breeze licked its feathers, the late sun glinting off the turret’s conical roof, covered in solar panels.
Neon looked up at the bird and screamed, running flat out towards the castle door. “C’mon, Brian! Mummy’s home!”
And with that she tore into the giant hallway of the palace, its flagstones smooth beneath her feet, its tapestries flapping on the walls. Neon opened her mind excitedly as she brushed past an ornamental suit of armour and mounted the stairs, her thoughts eager to locate her parents.
She found them as she reached the first flight of steps and again closed her eyes as if allowing her body to be drawn towards them. They were in their bedroom, seven floors up. Neon’s feet pounded on each velvet step. She was too small to jump two at a time. Yet as she reached the top of another wide staircase her pace slowed. In her mind she could hear them now. They were fighting.
“Where have you been, Serena?” he was shouting.
“None of your business!” she replied.
Neon could sense the colours of their voices, the anger in their hearts, and guessed the rest. She stopped running and slumped down on one of the stairs. Brian lay by her side and she stared at him, at the cross-stitch across his heart.
Neon had no idea what caused the end of the world but she thought it a fair assumption that people arguing had a lot to do with it.
Sometimes it feels like, no matter how much love you pour into things, they just keep breaking, she thought.
Careful to guard her own mind from prying eyes, Neon pictured the face of her Pirate Prince standing at the prow of his galleon, waiting for her to return. For weeks now she had been dreaming of him, but it was more than that – she could hear him, feel him, and, unlike everyone else it seemed, he was listening to her.
And he’s alive, she sniffed, determined now. I’m sure he is and closer than ever. I will find him. And together we’ll save what’s lefi of this world.
But no sooner had his image flashed into her mind than the face of the dead man once again invaded her thoughts, as if bobbing up from the depths of a black ocean between them.
Chapter Eight
SIX and Tucker sat in the circular gondola as it swung slowly across Albion, the ancient mechanism of the cable car grinding above them as they inched over the shops of Market Place towards Al’s Bar.
A technicolour umbrella shielded the craft, its red, green and yellow panels having faded in the sun, and a wind chime hung beneath it. The pod rocked sickeningly from side to side as a gust of early evening wind hit it.
Six smiled. She loved the cable car. “Not many people about, are there?”
Tucker shook his head and rubbed his stomach. He found Six’s insistence on using the gondolas annoying. They were far slower than walking and much less pleasant given the arctic temperatures, especially after dusk.
The wind chime tinkled and crashed as its corroded metal rods slammed into one another. Six surveyed the other compartments rocking across the city. As far as she could see they were the only ones using the transport. “Where is everybody?” she wondered.
But Tucker remained silent, plunging his hands deeper into the armpits of his red tracksuit top, the collar of which was doing little to help his scarf block the frozen breeze from biting at his swollen lip.
Six retreated beneath the folds of her coat. Deep down she knew why the city was deserted. The people were scared. It was three weeks since Six and Tucker’s return from London and without the other knights the city felt unprotected. Without Lord Truth the people had no hope.
The girl looked to the castle in the north-east corner of the city. It was still beautiful, she thought, its elegant turrets pointing proudly over the ramparts. In the twilight she could just make out the flag of Albion - a red ‘A’ upon a white background. Upon the other turret a ripped Union Jack flew.
Six wondered how long the King and the council’s patience would last. She knew she had to speak to them. She had been pretending she had no memory of what had happened in Parliament. Now at least Tucker knew she was lying, and probably Jon Way too. How much longer before everyone found out?
As another cold blast hit them she felt through her pockets – a red crystal in each – and pulled out a pair of dark glasses. She stared at them. One of the lenses was cracked.
“They’re his, aren’t they?” Tucker asked.
Six nodded.
“You had them when I found you,” he said quietly. “You were gripping them so tight. I couldn’t believe it. I thought he never took them off. But there was no time, no time to...”
“I know.” Six looped her arm through his and tried rubbing his jersey warm with her woollen-mittened hands. “Listen Tucks, I’m sorry we fought. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m just not sure where my head’s at, at the moment.”
Tucker shrugged, his face eager for a compromise as he touched his newly blackened eye. “S’alright. I just don’t understand, that’s all. Why won’t you tell me what happened?”
Drawn close she could smell the sweat sticking to his clothes. She wondered if his ribs were as bruised as hers after the countless kicks and punches they’d levelled at each other.
Tucker winced as if to confirm the bumps that now littered his body and Six continued to rest her head on his shoulder.
“I’m just not ready yet. I’m still, y’know, processing it all.”
“But you’ve got his glasses, you used a crystal to bar Jon Way from reading your mind. That all just makes you look guilty, Six. Like we both are.”
Tucker tried to smile, despite the added pain to his ribs, but failed to catch her eyes with his. “You need to work this out,” he said finally. “The scrapping I can handle but lying to everybody...”
But Six’s attention had already shifted to the street below where a few people had wandered out of their shops to stand outside the bakery, watching the gondola pass. Six smiled at them but they didn’t smile back. As if emboldened by the first, others now appeared. Six watched them crowd in small knots outside peoples’ doors, staring and pointing, some of the younger ones even calling their names and swearing.
The knight and the apprentice were always easy to spot - the redhead and the afro - so they were used to a lot of attention. They were famous throughout the city and often stopped and gawped at. Some of the older knights had abused their celebrity, accepting the free meals and propositions that came with their fame, but not Six and Tucker. The two teenagers felt hemmed in by their notoriety and instead confined themselves to their jobs, their training and their friendship. That’s why Six preferred the swinging gondolas, buffeted by the wind but not the people who used to worship her - and were now calling her a cow.
She could understand their disappointment. It was written all over their scowling features: You failed us. You failed Lord Truth.
And they’re right, aren’t they? Six wondered. How could I have survived? How is that right?
As the crystal lamp lights began illuminating the city, Six finally caught sight of a friend. The glowing embers of a dying cigarette lit the face of Carol Lee, their old sergeant and now Captain of the King’s Guards. She smiled at them from under her bowler hat, but Six imagined she saw contempt in her eyes too.
Carol took a last drag of the butt before stubbing it out on the cobbled pavement. Her gaze never left the gondola. She waved. “Hey Six! Hey Tucker! How’s it going?”
The Last Days Page 6
