by Paris Singer
Their slim frames, clothed uniformly in dark gray suits, stretched from the top of their long necks to the end of their four feet—their two legs split down at their shins into an upside-down “V,” creating two more slightly thinner legs.
Their arms similarly forked off into other limbs like the branches of some trees. In the case of this species, the main thicker part of their arms extended all the way down to their hands. However, another thinner arm, at the end of which was a smaller hand, stuck out of the main one at the elbow. Finally, at the height of their biceps, a further arm—itself splitting into two much smaller arms and hands—stuck out of it.
I calculated each of the beings as having a total of forty fingers. The speed at which the two beings who stood behind the flanking desks typed was such that each of their hands resembled mist.
“Help you?” asked the being directly in front of me.
I immediately recognized her (more often than not, if you heard what you’d call a “feminine” voice, the person was female—but not always. I never found out whether the voice belonged to a female or a male, but for the purposes of this story, let’s just say it was the former) voice as the one I’d twice spoken with moments ago.
“Could I speak with the secretary, please?” I asked, not knowing which of the four it could be. All at once, the four beings stopped what they were doing and simultaneously looked at me.
“I am secretary,” they all stated in the same curt voice.
There was a moment of silence as they continued to gaze at me while I processed what I’d been told. I wondered whether, as well as their voices, they also shared a single consciousness, too. As they continued to stare at me, I guessed they waited for me to speak.
Trying to sound as casual and polite as possible, I said, “I saw a girl accidentally drop her digital book while she was running, and I’d like to give it back to her. So I hoped you could give me information about her so I can do that.”
A moment passed before the beings who collectively called themselves “Secretary” reacted to what I’d said. Shifting my gaze from one to another, I wondered if they’d heard what I’d said.
The one directly in front of me extended its hand, and said, “Give.”
I thought her request a little weird, as it was obvious I wasn’t carrying anything, but I nonetheless smiled and replied, “Oh, the book? No, it’s okay. I’d rather give it back to her personally. I can see how busy you are, and I wouldn’t want you to go through the trouble.”
Again a moment passed, and the secretary in front of me continued to gaze with her unblinking yellow eye as though she looked inside my mind. Then, the secretary said, “Description of girl.”
“Okay,” I started, feeling as if I was finally getting somewhere, “she has black hair, in the same sort of style as yours, only a little shorter, wears a red coat, she’s very pale, and I think she’s like me—a Simian.”
“No!” The four beings abruptly exclaimed in unison, three of them stopping what they’d been doing to turn toward me in a flash. My jaw dropped slightly at their unexpected reaction, unable to hide my surprise, and waited for at least one of them to elaborate.
Once again, they all stared at me for what seemed like forever until the secretary in front of me said, “No other Simian in academy. Mistaken.”
“Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully. “She’s around the same age as me.”
“Mistaken,” repeated the secretary sharply with the other three turning to face me again.
The four of them seemed to have helped as much as they were going to, so I thanked them and walked out of the office to an eerie silence, feeling their yellow-eyed gaze fixed on me.
I walked out of the wonderfully deserted academy, wondering how else I could find information on the mysterious girl. Really, I concluded, the next best place to ask about her was the town. I’d never noticed, but I supposed it was possible there could be younger passengers aboard who didn’t attend the academy. Children of establishment owners.
I heard a very familiar sound that made the feeling of creepiness that still clung to me at the thought of the secretary vanish instantly away.
“Yo.”
I looked up to see Pi waving at me with Iris standing smilingly next to him. Pi wore a teal-colored short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt with a multitude of bright red lips all over it. It was dreadful. At least his light brown shorts didn’t look like a Swidar had thrown up all over them, too.
Iris wore a dark blue tank top and shorts of the same color, which suited her glistening, multi-colored skin and long, flowing hair. She looked lovely.
“Hey,” I replied, feeling very glad to see them. “What are you doing here?” I asked, facing them both.
“Nothin’,” begun Pi, “we were just strolling along, wonderin’ what to do when Iris saw you comin’ out of the academy. What’s up, bro? Catchin’ up on some studies on your day off?”
“Yes,” agreed Iris, looking at me suspiciously, “it isn’t like you, Seven.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be honest with them or not. I should, especially after the speech they’d given me, but I wasn’t certain they’d understand or even believe me if I told them. For whatever reason, however, the best lie I could come up with in that moment was, “Oh, no, I just had to go find out about something,” which was, in fact, the truth.
“Something?” asked Iris, still looking at me as if I were the strangest creature she’d ever seen.
“Okay,” I sighed, deciding it was pointless not to tell them. “Here’s the thing. I know you’re probably going to think I’m just being weird, but it’s the truth. A girl has been following me, and—”
“A girl?” blurted Pi, a large smile instantly filling half his face as he squinted quizzically.
“What girl?” threw Iris reproachfully at the same time.
Trying not to make eye contact with Iris, whose gaze I felt boring into me, and shooting a look of contempt at Pi—which he loved—I said, “Well, like I told you. Some Simian girl has been—”
“A Simian girl?” exclaimed Pi with an even wider smile as Iris repeated, “A Simian girl?”
“Look,” I snapped, firmly keeping my gaze on Pi, “do you want me to tell you or not?”
Still laughing, Pi replied, “Go ahead, buddy.”
I looked round at Iris, who watched me intently as though I was about to reveal some great secret.
“Okay, then,” I huffed, and proceeded to tell them about the mysterious girl, the chase, and the weird secretary.
“Hmm, I see,” said Pi mockingly, rubbing his chin.
“What do you think she wants?” asked Iris, looking altogether more serious.
“I really don’t know,” I began, searching my mind for any other possible reasons she could be following me. “I’ve never even seen her before.”
“No, she definitely doesn’t go to the academy,” added Iris. “I think we would have noticed another one of your kind. So, what do you want to do?”
“Well, I thought I could ask around town to see if she lives there. Maybe she’s someone’s daughter or something.”
“Oh, we’re coming with you, bro,” said Pi, raising an eyebrow, smiling. “I want to see this girl you’re so into.” He winked.
“It’s not like that, Pi. I just want to know who she is and why she’s following me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he replied, then winked.
“Pi…What are you doing to me?” I looked at him, half-exasperated, half-pleadingly.
“Anyway,” began Iris pointedly, “that sounds like a good place to start.”
“Thanks,” I replied, both because I was glad she’d agreed with me and because she’d interrupted Pi’s tangent.
“We’re still coming with you, bro,” Pi persisted.
“Dude, seriously.” I sighed.
“No, I agree with Pi.” Iris nodded. “That way we can split up and be far more efficient.”
“Yeah, what she said.” Pi smiled slyly.
Iris did make sense. The search would be much faster with the three of us. Besides, they were coming whether I liked it or not. The look in Iris’ eyes was so focused and determined it was as though flames danced behind them to ancient tribal music whose rhythmic gongs marked the beginning of the hunt. Without wanting to waste any more time, I “agreed” to “let” them come, and together we walked toward the surrounding town.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE CRISP MORNING AIR was filled with promise and discovery. The streets were already filling with window shoppers and those whose appetites had led them to their favourite bar or restaurant, who now skulked outside as they waited for their doors to open.
During the few moments it’d taken to reach the town, I’d been trying to think of the best way for us to separate to be most efficient.
Before I could say anything, Iris stated, “Okay, let’s split the town into three. Pi, you take the south-eastern section where most restaurants are, as you’re friendly with the owners. Seven, you take the south west—there are a few shops there in which you can ask—and I’ll take the northern section. Pi, no stopping for snacks.”
“Hey, I take offense to that!” he replied with a theatrical look of vexation. Iris glared at him, lowering her head slightly, causing Pi to mumble, “Okay, I won’t,” with mild reproach.
“Are you sure that’s the best way to do this, Iris?” I asked.
Her plan was okay, but it was far from the best. While I agreed Pi did know the local restaurant owners, I doubted whether he’d be able to resist the allure of food, especially if it was offered to him. It was more logical if either Iris or I visited them, leaving Pi to ask around other non-food serving shops. Besides, I loved the guy, but he wasn’t exactly speedy. It’d take him forever to go from place to place. It made more sense for him to go to the quieter area Iris had assigned me to.
When I shared my thoughts with her, Iris simply smiled, and replied, “If my method doesn’t work, we’ll try it your way, okay?”
We clearly disagreed on what the best approach to this was. She came from a species of hunters, and I, well, I wasn’t too bad at strategies. However, I didn’t want to fall out with Iris over whose way was best, so I consented to hers. What did it matter if it ended up taking longer than it should? It’d still be faster with them helping me, wouldn’t it?
“Come on, bro. Let’s get this thing going!” said Pi, rubbing his hands together.
“Remember what I said, Pi,” stated Iris sternly.
“Okay, okay, let’s go already,” he replied as he walked slowly.
Iris looked at me expectantly, and I smiled and nodded. We all agreed to meet up at Shabli’s when we’d finished, with Iris firmly stating that Pi should leave it as the last place in which to ask about the mysterious girl. He acknowledged that with a simple wave as he rounded the corner of the academy’s exterior and out of sight behind the purple and green bushes that lined its exterior while Iris walked determinately on ahead, down a narrow street.
I turned left, wondering where best to start. This section of town was, in fact, mostly residential and quiet with only the occasional passer-by serving as reminder there was life there. The shops, few as there were, consisted of convenience shops, bric-a-brac shops filled with almost anything you could imagine and bookshops (where you could download any book ever written anywhere within the known universe territories).
I decided to begin at the farthermost left part of the south-western section and systematically work my way east, walking up and down every dusty street. Unlike the colorful and appealing signs above and outside the most frequented bars and restaurants in the popular parts of town, no such marketing existed here. In fact, often the only way to tell what was inside a shop was to walk up to it and press your face against its window to see what was inside. That only really happened with the older shops, though. Those that had been there from the start and refused to change. What you now tended to find were modest plaques or signs painted with representations of what was inside above the display windows or right on the doors of establishments.
Such was the painted sign on the door of the first place I stopped. A faded picture of an open book adorned the rusting white door in front of which I stood. The large display window, which was also dusty, was so dark that it revealed very little of what lay inside. I wondered whether the bookshop was closed, but still tried to open the door by pressing the small rectangular pad beside it. It didn’t open, so I guessed the shop must still be closed. I took a couple of steps back, disappointed I wouldn’t be able to ask any questions there when, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement amid the darkness beyond the window. My hope renewed, I moved toward the door again, hoping the owner had opened it, and pressed the pad. It was still shut.
I guessed whoever was inside simply hadn’t seen me, so I leaned over to the display window and pressed my face against it, cupping one hand to my cheek to better see inside. Faint outlines of shelves stood tall, sectioning the dark isles that led farther in.
Without warning, a face suddenly appeared from the right and stopped in front of mine. Feeling my heart jump to my throat, I instinctively jumped backward, tripping over my feet and crashed hard to the ground. The bumpy, oval face glared at me with its horizontal row of rotating eyes, which sparkled as if minuscule clusters of black stars burst inside a yellow sky.
Once I regained my composure, I found myself drawn completely in by those four spinning eyes. In that very moment, nothing beyond them existed and everything melted away, leaving only the glory of their beauty. It’s hard to describe, but I suppose it was as if warm, soothing light had filled me from inside, and I existed in a place beyond space and time. I felt utter contentment and happiness. Just as I’d concluded that nothing beyond that elation mattered and that living out the rest of my days right where I was, clearly, was the best solution, slowly there began to appear red letters ahead of me. They weren’t written in thin air—it was as though each letter was being drawn right on my eyes.
As the last letter was written, whatever trance I’d been under was broken, and I realized that the word I looked at said CLOSED. As quickly as they’d appeared, they vanished, and as I looked ahead, so too had the shopkeeper. I picked myself up. Feeling slightly dazed, I mumbled, “He could just have said so,” while I dusted myself off and then continued walking up the street.
The next few shops also proved to be closed, which didn’t make sense to me. Though, to be honest, I’d never really spent time around that section of town, and wondered whether they opened at different times than the busier parts. Just as I’d resigned myself to head over to Shabli’s, I heard a swoosh somewhere behind me. As I turned, I saw that one of the shops’ doors was now open. The drawing on the display window showed all manner of strange and varied things. It was a bric-a-brac shop. My experience with the last shopkeeper still branded in the foreground of my mind, I tentatively walked to the door and then slowly went inside.
The first thing that hit me was the pungent smell. I guess the closest thing I could compare it to was the ancient, earthy smell of Brattea. As though thousands of dead leaves and soggy bark had rotted and mulched together and permeated into every particle in the air. You could almost feel its thick, humid presence on yourself. Mixed within it, though, was an unusual sweet fragrance that tickled the nose. So sharply sweet I could taste it. Once my eyes adjusted to the darker light inside, I gradually saw a huge array of objects, only a few of which I could recognize.
Stacks of circuit boards stood almost as high as the ceiling. On tops of tables, which could only barely be glimpsed, all manner of items were haphazardly placed—dusty screens, lamps of all shapes and sizes, creepy dolls from various species. As I said, those were but a few of the things I could recognize. On every wall various mirrors, plaques, and paintings hung, some askew and some completely upside down, as though the shopkeeper didn’t know or care how they were intended to be seen.
I took a few steps in,
craning my neck forward as I looked right and left. It was difficult to see past all the clutter, and I could see no sign of a shopkeeper or anyone who might have opened the door.
“Good day, young one,” came a croaky voice as ancient as most items in the shop. As unlikely as it may sound, I couldn’t have told you exactly where the voice had come from, as it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
Immediately after the voice had spoken, another higher-pitched, croakier one repeated the same words. That one seemed to emanate toward the back of the shop somewhere out of sight.
“H-Hello?” I replied, timidly.
“Come in, come in,” stated the original voice, which conjured an image in my mind of a softly cackling, kind, gentle elderly being. Taking a further couple of steps in, I still couldn’t tell where the voice came from as the second one, once again, repeated those very words in its screeching, almost sarcastic manner.
“Quiet you,” said the first voice in a more aggressive tone. “You’ll scare our guest.”
“Nya, nya, nya,” retorted the second voice, mockingly.
After a loud sigh, the first voice said, “You’re impossible. No wonder the shop is so quiet, the way you carry on. Oh, what he must think of us.” To this, the second voice merely cackled animatedly.
I wandered farther into the bric-a-brac shop, my gaze darting all around, assimilating my eclectic surroundings, as I searched for the origin of the first voice. As I walked, the occasional glint caught my eye, and when I turned to face where they came from, I saw tiny crystals scattered around on various surfaces with some stuck on walls and shelves. Each sparkled white, red, and deep green as I staggered through the room.
“He’s still he-ere,” sung the second voice in a shrill pitch.
