Exile

by S. M. Wilson

  “Well, are you coming in or aren’t you?”

  Storm closed the door behind her, then leaned against it.

  “Come here.” The old man beckoned her with a long, gnarled finger. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. How could a man so small have fingers so long?

  She took a few tentative steps towards him.

  He wrinkled his nose. There was a reading aid balanced across his face and hooked around his ears. “Maybe you’re not what I thought.”

  Storm glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was speaking to her. But the room was empty. It was only her – and the oldest man on the planet. “Ex…cuse me?” she stuttered.

  He gestured to a small square brick box to the right of his high desk. “Come closer.” She took another few steps, then he pointed at the box. “Go on then. Get up.”

  Storm stepped tentatively up onto the box, wary of getting too close to the old man. She inhaled as she stepped up, breathing in the strangest aroma. He smelled of…something. Something she didn’t recognize. Oldness. Mustiness.

  The old man leaned towards her as he adjusted the aid on his face. Clearly the purpose of the box was to let him see people more closely. “Octavius Arange. Captain Regent for parliament.” He gave her an approving nod. “I requested you.”

  “What?”

  “You.” He pointed at the pink sheet in front of him – the slip she’d had signed at school. “I requested you. I needed a replacement for the last aide. He was useless. It was like being handcuffed to an idiot.” He raised his eyebrows. “I asked…for you.”

  Storm was stunned. “What? Why?” She glanced around the room and sucked in a breath. The wall opposite was lined with wood. Real-life wood. And the wood had been made into shelves. Shelves filled with books.

  She didn’t hesitate. Just jumped down from the box and walked over to the wall, her hand raised in front of her to touch one of the spines. “You have books? I’ve never seen so many! Where did they come from? What kind of books are they?”

  She kept moving as she talked, turning her head sideways to try and read the titles. “We only had a few textbooks in school. But they were damaged. Falling apart. Not like these.”

  She’d hated the books in school. But these books were different. Pristine. Now, she understood what the smell was. Now, she understood that the old man, who spent his life steeped in this room of books, practically had the smell of them emanating from his pores.

  She was truly and utterly jealous.

  She’d never, ever coveted possessions. But these beautiful books were pulling her in, sparking her brain and her enthusiasm in a way she’d never felt before. What wonders did they hold in their pages?

  She stroked the spine of one. It was dark blue with gold writing. The Continent of Monsters by Chief Stipulator Magnus Don.

  Octavius surprised her by appearing at her side. Now she understood how short he really was. He barely reached her shoulder.

  He was smiling. “Go on, take one down.”

  She couldn’t contain her pleasure. “Really?” She didn’t wait for him to reply before lifting out the blue book. It creaked as she opened the pages, and the aroma swept over her again. It was the strangest smell – grassiness, acidity and mustiness, with an almost sweet tang. The pages of the book were a dark cream. Immaculate. These were old books – ones that had been loved, cared for and held in safe regard.

  She’d expected words, but instead this book was full of sketches. Page after page of dinosaurs. And while the illustrations were beautiful, as she flicked through the pages, it became clear that some of the detail was entirely wrong.

  She frowned. “How on earth…?” She couldn’t find the words she really wanted to say.

  Octavius’s gnarled hand covered hers. “You made an interesting choice. Almost instinctive.” He gave a gentle laugh. “I think you’ll find most of the details in that book are wrong. Some not even close to correct. If we still had books, we could create an updated edition. We know so much more about the dinosaurs now.” He shuffled back across the room.

  Storm followed him, the book still open in her hands. “How old is this? Where did it come from?” She’d always known that the old, tattered books in school weren’t the only ones to exist – it made sense that some other books must have been preserved. But she’d never seen anything like this before.

  Octavius stepped onto the box and tried to perch back up on his chair. It wobbled precariously and she grabbed one chair leg, steadying it until he sank back into the seat. He shuffled some of the books on his desk. “That book is almost seventy years old.” He waved one hand. “There are others, older. You’re welcome to look at them sometime, when you’ve finished your work.”

  Storm stared at the books.

  A world of ancient information. Things she’d never known and never had a chance to be told. There was no guarantee any of it would be accurate. But most people learned these sorts of things from their family. Something Storm was sadly lacking.

  Storm ran her hand over the thick blue cover of the book. Maybe looking at these would help fill the part of her that felt as if it were missing.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Ms Knux.”

  Storm jerked to attention. Octavius had an amused tone to his voice. But she knew he could be fearsome. The one time she’d seen him before, she’d witnessed him roaring at the Chief Stipulators. What was even more interesting was – they’d paid attention.

  What did it mean to be Captain Regent?

  She gulped and walked over to the shelves and replaced the book with a hint of regret. Then she turned back to face him. “I’m ready, Captain Regent Arange.” She glanced around again. “What exactly is it you want me to do?”

  His smile disappeared. “You’re my new aide. I want you to assist.”

  She blinked. “With what?”

  He handed her a sheet of paper. “This is a list of your duties. It’s not exhaustive. There will be other things I require from you.”

  She scanned the list. It was full of administrative tasks. Some routine, some even a little insulting. Collecting graphite for him. Making carmon or bartoz tea. She held up the list. “Why…why do you think this is something I’ll be good at?”

  She couldn’t get her head around it. She could name a few people from her class at school who would excel at these kinds of things. But no one would ever have volunteered Storm’s name for a job like this, a role where she would basically be required to serve someone.

  This was about as far away from lugging hay bales as she could get. She wasn’t normally intimidated, but this building with its winding vines, this room with its wood and books, all seemed like another world. She stammered out the question on her mind. “Maybe if you tell me what it is that you do…then I’ll be able to understand what I should do?”

  For a second something clouded his face. Was it anger? Then he waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “I forget where you come from. I’m the Captain Regent. It’s my job to keep the Chief Stipulators in line. To stop them from spending all their time fighting. To” – he paused for a second as if he was thinking, then gave a nod of his head – “find a way to steer them in the direction we need to go.”

  Storm was amazed. Octavius made it sound like he ran the parliament. How come she’d never heard of him?

  He must have read her mind. His hand waved again. “You only ever hear what your Chief Stipulator tells you at the announcements. It can take days, weeks, sometimes years to come to those decisions.” He held up both hands questioningly. “The people don’t need to know that. They just need to know what happens next.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “H…how…how did you get that job?”

  He laughed. “They voted for me. They have to vote for me every six months. For some reason they never vote for anyone else.”

  She was still confused. “What does that mean?” Her breath stilled in her chest. “Were you a Stipulator? Are you a Stipulator?”

  He watched her carefu
lly. “Don’t I seem like a Stipulator?”

  She blinked. How did she answer that question without being banished to the mines? He was tiny. He didn’t have the imposing gait of all the other Stipulators. They were universally tall, wide and physically strong. Octavius?

  He raised his eyebrows. “What?” His voice was louder than before. She’d made him angry.

  She stared at his wrinkled trousers. “You…you don’t wear a black cloak.” It was the first thing she could think of. It didn’t really matter how ridiculous it sounded. “You don’t wear the uniform of a Stipulator.”

  He nodded to a drawer. “Open that.”

  Her palms were sweating again. She wiped them on her trouser legs before pulling open the drawer. Inside was something dark green with gold edging.

  “Take it out,” Octavius said sharply.

  She was nervous. She tried to stop her hand from shaking as she touched the lustrous dark-green fabric. It was thick, luxurious. As she lifted it out, the material fell open, revealing itself as a cloak. A cloak perfectly sized to fit Octavius’s diminutive frame. The gold trim ran all the way around the edge. It was beautiful and surprisingly heavy. How must it feel to wear something like this?

  “That’s my uniform. The Captain Regent wears green to stand out from the crowd.” He gave a crackly laugh. “Black was never my colour.”

  Storm didn’t know quite what to say. She didn’t really understand all this. The man she’d mistaken for some kind of messenger was actually the backbone of the parliament?

  She started to carefully refold the cloak and put it back in its place. Something as beautiful as this should be kept safe. As she tucked it into the drawer she looked up, surprised to find that Octavius’s eyes were still on her.

  His head was tilted to the side, as if he were thinking about something else. “Your hair,” he said. “I like it. It suits you. Don’t tie it up.” He stared off to the side for a moment. “Reminds me of someone.”

  She couldn’t think of a suitable reply. And the look on his face was strange. As if he was remembering something from long ago.

  Storm slid the drawer closed. Although there was an occasional odd flash of something behind his eyes, Octavius seemed reasonable. Formidable, but not completely scary. She licked her lips. “You’ve got a very important job. You must have a lot of responsibility. Why…why on earth did you pick me?”

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Octavius tapped the side of his nose. “Because, Stormchaser Knux – winner of the dinosaur eggs, conqueror of the Trials, daughter of Dalia Knux and one of only a few people to have survived Piloria – I thought you were” – he paused as he stopped for breath – “the owner of the most interesting eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  A chill slid down her spine as Octavius continued. “As for the list? That’s what you’ll be telling people are your duties.” He raised his eyebrows again. “The reality? That will be a little different.”

  “This is not the agreement. This is not what you’re supposed to be working on.” Reban Don’s voice was distinctive.

  “Our arrangement has changed. I have other priorities now.” Lorcan sounded almost dismissive.

  “We need all our resources focused on finding a way to kill the dinosaurs. We need the land.” There was a huge thud. “We need to stay on task.”

  “Whose task? It’s not mine. I have no interest in the dinosaurs any more.” Lorcan was yelling now.

  But Reban roared back. “It’s your job to have an interest!”

  Lincoln was working at a station near the office. The door to the office was wide open. He heard Lorcan’s voice drop. There was something quite chilling in his tone.

  “I decide what I do. Not you. Not any of the Chief Stipulators. I’ve done your work for years. Plant growth. Food supplies. The virus work is almost completed anyhow. We won’t be able to progress any further until we can test it. Now I have a new priority. Now I’m going to focus on human DNA. I’m going to focus on finding a cure for the plague.”

  “You can’t do that,” hissed Reban.

  Lincoln jumped as Lorcan appeared at the door. He had the strangest expression on his face. In all the time that Lincoln had worked in the lab, Lorcan had always seemed entirely focused, often in a world of his own, frequently not noticing anyone or anything around him. Now the look on his face was defiant. As he walked out the door, he threw a parting shot over his shoulder at Reban: “Try and stop me.”

  Lincoln put his head down sharply. The last person’s gaze he wanted to meet was an angry Reban Don’s.

  But this was everything he wanted to hear. Everything he was working towards. Yesterday he’d spent twenty hours in the lab, hoping his small part in the workload might make some kind of contribution towards the goal – the cure.

  As Reban swept out of the office, his cloak billowed behind him. “This isn’t over,” he snarled at Lorcan’s disappearing figure.

  Lincoln froze, as if a cold breeze had just swept over his whole body.

  Last time he’d heard Reban say those words it had been a threat to Storm after she’d claimed victory at the final Trial.

  And it had seemed every bit as ominous then as it did now.

  She’d been here for nearly a week now. One bizarre and puzzling week.

  Her main role seemed to be that of a dogsbody. She brought Octavius Arange hot water with carmon leaves a dozen times in the morning, then by mid-afternoon he changed to peculiar-smelling bartoz leaves. She shuffled and reorganized papers, and ran errands.

  Her blue uniform seemed to make her invisible – she’d already overheard three Stipulators plotting against the Chief from Norden. Ever since then, she’d been listening carefully, trying to find out anything she could about the Stipulators’ plans for Piloria and infecting the dinosaurs. But it seemed that parliament was still waiting for news from the laboratories. Patience was not a virtue that Storm possessed. The waiting was driving her mad. And the craziness of parliament wasn’t helping.

  When they weren’t plotting against each other, the Stipulators argued constantly. Sometimes Storm and the other aides would spend all day rushing between them, taking messages, before the Stipulators would finally appear themselves, with a sweep of their black cloaks, and their voices would fill the atrium. On occasion, Octavius would leap down from his perch and his tiny legs would cover ground rapidly. Storm had learned not to follow him. Seconds later Octavius’s voice would boom above any others. Sometimes the exchanges would be finished in a few seconds, sometimes not. On one occasion there had even been a punch swung by one Stipulator at another.

  Storm was astonished. In her mind, the Chief Stipulators were above fights, above arguments. When Reban Don came and made announcements to the people of Ambulus City he was terrifying. People obeyed without question.

  She’d thought that all the Chief Stipulators agreed on everything. She’d thought they practically had one voice. But perhaps the ever-increasing pressure to find more land and more food was causing rifts. Maybe an explosion was coming.

  “Stormchaser?”

  Octavius’s voice broke her from her thoughts. She’d just made more of the carmon drink for him. The smell was beginning to permeate her clothes.

  “Storm,” she replied firmly.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why you insist on trying to shorten your beautiful name.” He waved his hand at her. “Stormchaser is the name that your mother chose for you.” He gave a knowing smile. “Sounds like you came out angry. So we will respect your mother’s wishes and use your given name.”

  Something about the way he said the words made her catch her breath. Had he known her mother? She still couldn’t quite put her finger on things with Octavius. He was strict, he worked hard, and she suspected he never slept. He was always here before her in the morning and was still here when she left at night. He could snap at times. She’d learned quickly not to question him too much – he had yet to reveal what her true task would be, even though she’d ask
ed many times. But what was most interesting about Octavius was the way he played people. He had their respect. He watched. And he listened.

  Like now.

  “Stormchaser, I want you to deliver a message for me.”

  She nodded and walked over to his high desk, ready to receive whatever he had ready. But he shook his head. “Nothing written. I just want you to give the message.” He emphasized the word give with a nod of his head.

  “Who is it for?”

  “Reban Don.”

  She flinched, conscious that he was watching her carefully.

  “I…I’m not quite sure where his office is,” she stuttered, frantically trying to search for another excuse. The last thing she wanted was to be face-to-face with the man who wouldn’t admit he was her father. She’d managed to avoid him so far.

  His gaze stayed steady. “I’m sure you will find it.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you can make your way around Piloria, then a room in this building won’t take too much energy to find.”

  Was he being sarcastic? Baiting her? She straightened her back and tried to look confident. “W…what’s the message?”

  She could swear he almost smiled. “I want you to let Reban Don know that he has to deal with Lorcan Field. He needs to get him under control. And soon. Other Stipulators are complaining. They’re saying Reban’s losing control.”

  The effect was instant. It was like a million little bugs crawling over her skin. “What?”

  Reban Don was more than a little bad-tempered. She could only imagine how he’d react to a message like that.

  Octavius’s face was completely sincere. He looked back down to the rest of his work. “Just deliver the message.”

  Storm’s feet were rooted to the floor. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Her mouth just wouldn’t form words.

  After a few seconds, Octavius looked up again with his pale eyes. “Is there a problem?”

  Her tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth. Of course there’s a problem! she wanted to yell. Reban Don would likely destroy anyone who took him a message like that.