by A. J. Dobbs
The castle sits majestically on the edge of Lake Aurelius and as I approached I was filled with warmth; it felt good to once again be coming home.
Tolemak has no visible gate; it appears impenetrable but as I reached the wall I found what I was looking for. The dished-out section in the stone, received my seal gratefully, guiding and locking it in to position; it was if the castle had a soul and was not complete without it. The wall immediately dissolved into a large opening, its triumphant arch towering high above me with its keystone engraved with the symbol of the Keepers: the triangle. I removed my seal to almost a groan from the castle, despondent at its brief union with one of its missing parts, and had just enough time to enter the first ring before the wall closed behind me.
The outer ring of Tolemak is known as Threadneedle Street and is the commercial heart of the castle. Thera does not have or indeed need money; our currency is one of exchange. We exchange what we need and this is mainly done on Threadneedle Street.
Today was busy; it was market day when all the farmers came in to trade and it was a hive of activity. Market stalls lined the beautiful hand-sculptured stone paving on the road, exchanging a whole range of commodities from wool to meat and seed for crops. The outer wall of the castle, whilst tall and ominous, did not impose upon you as the street was so wide and the traders, like plants attracting insects, used fantastic colours to draw in their customers. As I set off down Threadneedle Street I couldn’t help but smile at the splendour.
It wasn’t just the splendour of the castle either; whilst Therans are not known for being flamboyant, we do like an occasion to dress up and market day was one of those occasions. As min-ed was not available to anyone other than the Keepers and to be frank was not by any stretch of the imagination colourful enough, the weavers of Thera worked with wool to spin the finest of threads that could be dyed with any colour they chose. They mixed these threads to produce standard patterns that were unique to each weaver; this type of material was produced widely on Earth and Arthe and became known as tartan, but its origins were here on Thera and here too it gave our people their sense of place. Colours became associated with regions and as the weavers moved around, so the patterns became more complex and colourful. So on market day, with a trained eye, you could see all of Thera represented in colour; it was like a map, the most beautiful moving map of colour. Shawls and cloaks were fashioned for both summer and winter, adding colour to the plainer working clothes, and these were held in place by ornate metal brooches, usually with the family crest on.
Just so you can imagine this sea of colour, let me take you on a little journey around Thera…
The Northern Ice Fields are not densely populated, but small communities of hunters frequent the region for fish and seal, salting and drying them for trade in Tolemak. As both summer and winter are fairly cold they adopt darker colours, colours that soak up the sun’s warmth like a sponge soaks up water. Typically greens, blues and violets mixed with contrasting silver thread make the shawls and cloaks sparkle like ice crystals. Towards the Southern Lands and Western Hills the more temperate climate gives way to higher rainfall and lusher countryside; these are the main farmlands supporting our crops and livestock. Here blues move to blue-greens, yellow-greens and browns, reflecting the more earthy nature of the region; garments look warmer in tone and silver accent thread becomes gold. As you move further west into the hills the blends change to more use of green, reflecting the wetter climate, and in the Southern Lands, my home, we tend to prefer the more yellow greens. The Eastern Desert is not occupied by us and serves only to keep up our agreement with Earth and Arthe and to maintain the town of Arahas and its prison; the least said about that place the better.
With all this colour, our min-ed Keeper cloaks look particularly bland and you can spot a Keeper very easily within a crowd on market day. Not that that was a particular problem, of course; the people are very courteous to the Keepers and often will give a gentle bow of the head as they pass. Our clothing very much helps to identify us and where we come from; and as always on Thera, practicality is a primary function, but the addition of colour and the use of family crests are evolutions and perhaps give voice to our inner need to express our individualism, to maintain identity. Whatever the reason it was a beautiful sight.
Access to the next inner section of the castle is done via four controlled gates, positioned at the points of the compass and therefore called north, south, east and west gates. These are manned twenty-four hours a day and can be closed off immediately in a similar way to the main entrance: instantly converting open space to solid wall. As I approached the east gate the guards moved aside, recognising who I was, and I passed through into Halfpenny Road. Halfpenny Road spirals inward for some way and houses all the domestic dwellings of the castle. The properties form the inner walls, creating a view similar to terraced housing you see on Earth and Arthe. Each has its own wooden door and three windows: one at the bottom, two at the top. This symmetry reflects the whole symmetry of the castle and is embellished by the occupants using ornate painted doors. Handmade terracotta roof tiles add a homely colour to the curving domestic scene of the castle, which from the tower looking down appears like a large scaly snake.
The road is divided by an avenue of trees, huge oaks that soften the hard stone walls and bring nature into the heart of the castle. In spring nesting birds fill the castle with beautiful songs; there is no place quite like it. I walked down the busy road nodding and smiling at the people passing, progressing inwards to the heart of the castle and making my way into Keepers Road. Keepers Road houses the shops, workshops and stores, and birdsong now gave way to more mechanical noise, the noise of work. I had been walking for over an hour and was only now getting close to my destination when a voice from one of the workshops halted my progress.
‘Elias, over here, my friend.’
The Professor was talking to the drowsmith and had spotted me walking down the road. I made my way over to the workshop where the two men were chatting.
‘Good day to you, Professor. I was just making my way over to see you.’
‘Well here I am; what can I do for you? Is everything alright, Elias? You seem a little nervous.’
I was nervous, of course, and I gestured for him to step outside. ‘I need some advice, Professor. I’ve got myself into a bit of a situation that I shouldn’t have and Albertus, I fear, will not be happy.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it can’t be that bad. Let’s head up to the laboratory.’
Halfpenny Road ended with another section of solid wall leading into the central tower courtyard. This time my seal was not required as the Professor had his own castle key; as we entered the courtyard the tower rose up dramatically like an old tree, and for the first time one could see the total height from floor to tower tip, its walls covered in green vines and flowers, and home to all manner of insects and animals. This life gave the tower a softness that belied its obvious impact on its landscape. The courtyard was laid out in sections; stone pathways bisected areas of garden where specialist herbs and flowers were grown by the Professor, as well as fruit and vegetables for the castle community. I was more nervous now and keen to get into the Professor’s laboratory before bumping into Albertus and luckily this was close at hand. We climbed an external wooden staircase, which wrapped around the curved tower, and entered through the first normal doorway since my arrival at the castle.
The Professor’s laboratory occupied an entire floor of the tower: one vast open space with four windows positioned once again on the points of the compass — we Keepers love order and symmetry; it’s a physical reflection of balance in which we take great comfort. In the centre of the laboratory there was a cylindrical chimney rising up to about two-thirds the height of the room. There was a dark matter door on one section, which was closed, and the smoke gently billowing from the top was the most amazing dancing colour of the regulus. It was only the current Professor of regulogical science who was gifted with such direct access t
o the regulus power and it was channelled directly into his laboratory through this special portal. Around the perimeter ran a continuous wooden bench and directly above it on the wall, was a continuous wooden shelf full of jars and pots and boxes interrupted only by the windows. The bench was sectioned into four distinct areas, one for each of the four strands of science: Bioreguology, Chemoreguology, Physoreguology and Cosmoreguology. You will have to forgive my ignorance at this point for there was a reason that I was not the Professor. Suffice to say that the scene was a cornucopia of tubes and glass, telescopes, mechanical devices in constant motion for reasons only known to the Professor, prisms splitting light, strange chemicals burning and reacting, and all manner of strange contraptions. All were drawing their energy from the regulus smoke emanating from the chimney.
‘Now then, Elias, what’s with all the secrecy? What on Thera have you done?’
‘Well it’s like this…’ I poured out my story, which flowed like tea from a pot about how I had made contact, despite all of Albertus’ instructions to the contrary, with Daniel and Sarah.
‘What am I going to do, Professor? For the first time in my life I have found myself questioning my destiny, my balance. If you had only seen the anger and sadness in Sarah’s eyes, it was… devastating, just devastating. I left her with my head held low, wondering… wondering that there must be another way, another Keeper, not Daniel… do you think Albertus will understand?’
‘Let me tell you, Albertus is the wisest man in Thera; he will know what to do, my friend, he will, I’m sure, settle your balance too… let’s go see him.’
We left the laboratory heading onto an internal winding staircase that took us up two floors. Periodic windows flooded the staircase with light and momentary glances to the outside showed the grandeur of the Theran landscape. With a simple knock on Albertus’ door we were in his study.
Where Alexander’s laboratory was so busy visually, Albertus’ room was quiet and calm. The walls were filled floor to ceiling with books ordered neatly on beautiful bookcases embellished on their fronts with hand carvings of images from Thera, its history, its nature. As in the laboratory the walls were punctured with light by four windows and light shone into the centre of the room onto a bookstand upon which sat the Great Book.
The Great Book was steeped in myth and mystery, its beautiful leather cover as old as old can be was embossed in gold leaf on its front with the triangular symbol of the Keepers. Every time I saw it I had to fight the urge to open it. It was like hearing the call of the mythical Greek Sirens; it enchanted and enticed but I knew better than to succumb to its will. Only Albertus was allowed to access its content and upon lifting the cover, the book would fill with the history of everything; it is the most amazing of all books, but today we did not need it and part of me was hugely disappointed.
Four ancient green, brass studded armchairs, that had their own stories to tell, were placed in a semi-circle around the Great Book. They just had that look of comfort to them that silently invited you to sit and Albertus gestured us to the chairs. I was nervous, even more so than I had been earlier. I felt like I used to when in school and the headmaster was about to give me a telling off.
‘Elias, how are you?’
‘I… I… I’m fine.’
Albertus burst into laughter. ‘Relax, old friend, I know everything that’s happened.’
‘What… how do you… I mean—’
‘Slow down, slow down… for good reason, Elias, I know what I need and I need what I know.’
‘What do we do, Albertus?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all. Sarah is still feeling the pain of losing Michael. We always knew that their relationship could cause heartache; Michael was a Keeper and this fact she managed to bury under all the love she had for him, but now, well, she just wants to protect Daniel. Parental instinct is very strong and who can blame her? What we mustn’t do is make it feel as if we are trying to take Daniel from her.’
‘That’s exactly how she feels. She virtually screamed it at me.’
‘I know, but we must give her time, let her have some space. I have a feeling that the current order is about to change…’
Thera 2010
On Keepers Road, next to the drowsmith, was a carpentry workshop. The owner, a Mr George Tenon, was a master craftsman, making and maintaining all manner of things from chairs to bookcases to doors and shelves. He was also the owner, since Michael Stone’s death, of a Theran Dalmatian dog known as Rosie. It was not unusual for a Keeper to have a dog, but Michael was the first in recent times to have had such a companion. It was possible with the right dog for Keeper and dog to be able to communicate and this gave the Keeper extra eyes and ears; a significant advantage in a fight. Michael and Rosie had been the closest of companions and it was for his love of Rosie that, when it came to his final battle, he let her go and gave over her care to George Tenon. Rosie had now just given birth to nine beautiful pups and one of those, a little scampering puppy who had been named Geddy, was unbeknown to all of us about to play a big part in our story. Geddy was easily recognisable by his triangular black spot on his forehead, the mark of the Keepers…
3 – A Prisoner Escapes!
The capture and imprisonment of Odling was, of course, small comfort to Sarah and Daniel, but at least it made the world a safer place to be. Odling, of course, had different ideas and his evilness had no bounds.
As part of my preparation for recording this tale I was given access to his private journals. I could have, of course, used my own words to describe this period, but in his case I felt I would not be able to capture his real voice and nature. What follows are extracts from his journals and I warn you now it makes bitter, bitter reading.
May 2007 Arahas Prison, Eastern Desert
Anger: its range of emotion from mild to severe is hard to convey, but I am feeling severe anger, believe me. I was so close to my goal, so close to controlling the destiny of the entire world. Can you imagine the power? I would suspect the answer to that would be no, how could you? You are likely weak, weak like all Earthiens and Arthiens and even Therans, no more than little mice scampering around doing as you’re programmed to do, pathetic the lot of you.
My insight and intellect goes far beyond anything you can imagine; you see, you have no ambition. This is my struggle, my fight; I have tried to make you all see that, see that you need someone like me to look up to, to manage your lives, so you don’t have to worry… but this is how I’m treated, locked up in the middle of the desert with halfwits and imbeciles, with little more than a handful of working brain cells between them.
I will not die in here – I am destined for greater things – but I write this journal for the ones who will follow me, for them to learn from the master. It is my legacy to them, so they can take my vision forward beyond my life, keeping us free from the stranglehold of the Keepers’ sickening goodness. People don’t want freedom; only fools believe that.
*
My arrival in Arahas was somewhat undignified for someone of my social standing. Herded into the back of a prison cart, the journey from the Northern Ice Fields had been difficult and took nearly two weeks. From freezing cold to boiling hot, my body had been tortured by the journey and I had little fight left in me when I arrived.
As the prison cart approached the front security gates, it slowed to meet our welcome party. My old friend Thomas Bishop was coming towards me with two other guards and he spoke first.
‘Welcome back, Smee, welcome to our humble home and now yours for the rest of your life.’
As he spoke he gave me a wink, a wink to signal “Don’t worry, all will be alright”; a wink to confirm that he was still on my side. I smiled and his two comrades snarled, assuming that my smile was one of contempt for them. So I smiled even more, but now for a different reason, as it would appear that Arahas might just have two honest guards; who’d have thought it.
Bishop signalled to the driver to move on and we passed through the large so
lid entrance gates into the prison itself. The doors slammed shut like a trap on a mouse and it felt like this was a deliberate metaphor; the end of one’s existing life for the one in the prison. It had little impact on me, however, and I actually thought this could be the best thing to have happened to me in the circumstances; Arahas would give me room and time to think, to plan my next steps.
It was early morning, I surmised from the position of the sun when we rolled in, and the prisoners were out exercising in a separate fenced compound, a fence within a fence, which struck me as all pretty academic as I can’t imagine anyone had any spirit left in them to get out. We headed towards the only stone building in the compound: the administration block. Its large front door was set about four feet above the ground level and accessed by a wooden stair, which connected with a wooden deck that ran right around the building. The roof extended to cover the deck and provide protection from the sun. Bishop gestured to his two men to get on with their duties and we entered the admin block. We entered a large room with a desk and countless filing cabinets, all covered in dust and looking like they were there for impression rather than any practical function. When Bishop knew the coast was clear, he spoke.
‘Well, Odling, it’s great to see you again, although I’d have preferred different circumstances as I’m sure you would have. You have nothing to fear here, no one likes the Keepers; in fact, you’re somewhat of a hero… I mean, to have killed a Keeper… that’s something, isn’t it?’
‘Well it—’ I was about to say it wasn’t me, that it was Butcher, but no one other than the Keepers and Butcher knew that and Butcher was dead; this was an opportunity to capitalise.
