But not foggy enough.
Time to slip away.
“Kern Bromley,” says a voice I know well. “Good to see you back.”
It’s one of the Chemical Conjurers. This one is Felix; I recognise the stars he’s had engraved on his face. The fact he was able to sneak up on me is disconcerting, but it don’t pay to show that.
“Hey, Felix.”
“How is Eva?”
I owe the Chemical Conjurers a lot. And they’re friends. Weird kind of friends, but friends. But I don’t trust the fortress of their brains. Not if Guerra is the one trying to storm the castle.
“Felix,” I say and I spread my hands.
“We can help. Mac’s been working with us.”
“I’ll let him know,” I say. And then it’s a little awkward, which may sound a weird thing to say with a robot, but there you have it.
“We made the dragonfly,” he says.
Well, that explains a lot. “Cool, very cool,” I offer along with a high five which does some measurable damage to my hand. “Though next time, maybe work on a softer buzz.”
“Will do,” says Felix. He raises his hands up in a gesture I recognise but don’t fully understand. It’s something like amused resignation, but there’s a robot meaning to it as well.
“That footage,” I say, “that’s not going to get you in trouble, is it?”
“Half-truths,” says Felix. “Quarter-truths, but it’s not trouble for us.”
It’s hard to see what’s going on with the Tenties. Oscar has possibly gone over to investigate. Which means that Felix knows and, I’m guessing, thinks the situation is under control.
But really it’s past time for me to go. I raise my hand to say goodbye. “She’s okay,” I say and then I’m off, slipping into the crowd, through the Tenties’ mist and away from watching eyes, and back to the water tower.
I catch my breath when I’m under the dark cool of the tower. I can’t see much of what’s going on because of the big screen, but it sounds like it’s devolved into a free-for-all. I’m not sure that’s what Guerra had in mind; he’s usually one for calm. Terrified calm, obedient calm, yes, but he don’t go in much for terror. He hates any kind of a fuss, he’s been known to sneer at my escapades with the Chemical Conjurers. What he doesn’t understand is that they’re fun, but I get it. They’ve a way of drawing attention, and that is probably unwanted. Also, and I’m out on a limb here, I think it’s an age thing. Older you get, the more you value calm. Could be totally wrong, of course. It’s my fervent hope to be able to find out personally.
Which is why I fully intend to climb back inside the water tower. Any minute now. My phone’s been buzzing me for a while, and I have no intention of responding to its call just yet. Especially as I thought I’d turned it off. If that footage was what Eila wanted me to see—and what else could it be—then she knows more about me than I’d like. Is that a surprise? Probably not. But the one person I trust is sitting up in the water tower with his strange green love, fiddling with the universe in disturbing ways, and quite frankly, he needs my help. At the very least, not to give him away, not before he implements his escape plan. I have my own theories on what that might be.
The bottom door scrapes open and Mac climbs down the ladder. “You may as well come in the easy way,” he says.
Both of us stand there a moment in the night. It’s seductive, this water tower. When you’re standing underneath it, you feel safe, almost invulnerable. No wonder Mac chose it as a fortress.
“Is she worth it?” I ask. I never meant to ask, but Guerra’s footage must have been working on my brain as well.
“We’ll be gone soon, Brom.”
“Stay as long as you like,” I say. Because that’s not the answer to a question I’d like to ask. What’s in this for Mac? Because, at the end of all this, wouldn’t Mac prefer a human, a woman with all the bits, internal and external? Without the green skin and the languishing and the ongoing need for rescue and resuscitation? I’ve seen Mac with girls, it’s not that this isn’t a possibility, but I’ve never seen this level of unreasonable devotion.
“I know it makes no sense,” he says. And he looks at me as if to say, well, if I want to fall in love with a double, who are you to stop me? And, indeed, he’s right. Who am I to judge? My own track record is hardly stellar. I think of the minor prophet and wonder if she’d be worth a visit, but that connection is uncertain to say the least.
There’s a rustle somewhere in the direction of the farm. We’re back up the ladder as quick and as quiet as possible, which, after all, is one of our specialties. Mac’s inside first, so it’s just me that Carine discovers, both feet still on the ladder.
“You may as well come down, Brom,” she says. She may be right, but I’ve no intention of obeying. I turn, so as I can jump down and run if I have to, or at the very least use my legs to take a swipe at her. “Guerra’d like a word,” she continues.
“Nothing much to say,” I tell her.
“Nevertheless…” And I recognise the strategy, because it’s one I’ve used myself. Leave the subject to put two and two together and come quietly of their own accord. And who knows the two and the two better than me?
“The thing about that box is that it didn’t survive the trip,” I say. “And my apologies to Guerra, but that’s a well-documented downside of Time Locked jumps. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Don’t give me that shit, Brom.” Carine’s getting impatient now, which don’t usually play well.
“But I saved what I could.” I pull the vial from my pocket and throw it down to Carine. She catches it and I jump and I’m running towards the farm and I hear her swearing and I figure I’ve got enough of a start, and plus, now I know the farm better than ever, and sure it’s pretty obvious Eva and Mac are up in the tower, but if they just pull the opening shut it should give them time to get out and away. Or just stay put. I mean it’s pretty much impregnable. But then I hear exactly the sounds that I don’t want to hear and that’s Mac’s voice all calm and reasonable and somebody climbing down the ladder. I stop. I can hear them talking and it’s a great big circle because Mac knows what Carine wants and Carine knows that he has it and it’s only the fact they used to work together that stops Carine just pushing Mac out of the way and getting Eva herself.
There’s a rustle beside me. A very slight rustle, but I realise that Mac’s only stalling, that he wants to give Eva enough time to climb up and out and away. Didn’t think she was strong enough for that, but the evidence looks to be against me. That’s assuming this is Eva and not another Guerra associate. But I don’t think so.
I stay as absolutely still as I can. Eva’s obviously heading for the farm. That pretty much wrecks my plan. On the other hand, I’m the least attractive quarry at this point.
Someone grabs my arm, and of course it’s Eva. “Give me the phone,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but her breathing’s not. That climb’s a bitch and don’t I know it.
But I say, “No.” Because, what the hell, not everything’s about her.
“The phone can get me away.”
“And what about Mac?”
“Blue Jay is protecting me.”
I can feel her fingers on my wrist, searching for the phone and, naturally, failing to find it. It’s creeping me out. I pull my wrist away and although there’s more strength to her than I’d anticipated, it’s not that hard to get out of her grip. I grab her arms and pin them to her side. We’re standing so close that I can smell the double smell of her. It’s different from before, but she still don’t smell human. Not completely.
“You want all Mac’s efforts to go to waste?” she asks.
“Not at all.” I hope she understands that her idea of a waste probably does not converge with mine. She wriggles for a while but then she’s still, planning her next move. I’ve no interest in what this may be so I say, “I’ll let you go and then you run, okay. No phone, just go.”
She nods and I release her arms, but she
reaches up with one hand and hits my chin and reaches into my pocket with the other and grabs the phone. I try and grab it back and that’s a mistake because she’s already activated something and that familiar nauseated feel comes over me. I don’t know how the hell she did it, but I’m back out of step with the true and proper world, only this time I’m stuck with Eva.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Green Jay
“HOW DO YOU stop it?” I ask the Crow. He’s closed his eyes and he looks pale and far away. I have the phone, but he’s caught hold of my wrist and doesn’t have the sense to let go. “What did you do last time?”
“I thought you knew all about this.”
He is being mean, but he is right. I don’t know enough. Blue Jay was beginning to teach me, but we were not ready. He was working on different, better ways. But of course, the fact we are here at all is the Crow’s fault.
“Just let go of me,” I say and I pull my arm away. But he’s still there.
He opens his eyes, sees me. “Fuck,” he says. “What the fuck is this?”
“What happened last time?”
“Someone pulled me in.” He groans and doubles over.
“Who?” It’s obvious I don’t feel as bad as the Crow, and I feel a surge of joy. Blue Jay thought this would be easier for me. He was right.
“High Track,” he says. “Up on the High Track.”
“No.”
“You asked.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Shit, when I had the Time Locked box, someone pulled me in. Alright? With a fucking striped cane. And when I came back under Mac’s instructions it was easier, but then I guess Mac was in control and not standing in front of the water tower about to be fucked over by Carine.”
The speech takes a lot out of him and he spends the next little while recovering.
“Try the bloody phone,” he suggests after a while.
I look down, but he pulls it away from me and pokes at the screen. He still has one hand around my wrist.
“No,” I say. I don’t know why, but it feels wrong to stop now, it feels as if the journey is not yet complete. I grab his arm, but it’s too late; we’ve stopped shifting around. It’s hard to know how I can tell, but it’s obvious. And the Crow knows too.
He seals the phone onto his wrist and lies down on the grass. He’s breathing hard and he keeps his arms crossed over his body, so I can’t grab the phone back, but otherwise he’s completely vulnerable.
“No need to thank me,” he says.
I want to kick him. I want to jump on him until he is squashed and bloody.
Instead I walk away. We’re in the same place, of course. The water tower is still there. The farm looks wrong, but perhaps that’s just because it’s night and the only lights are the ones from the tower and, very faintly, from the High Track. All the garden beds are enclosed in plastic tunnels. I can see a house close by and the shed in the distance.
There are memories coming up that I don’t want. I can feel them pushing at me, telling me they will be useful, reminding me there are actions I should take. I try and pull these memories up in such a way that I can look at them, but keep them away from me. But it is hard, so hard, and after not too long I push them back down. I can’t have Olwin Duilis taking me over. I do know that the memories want me to walk towards the farm, knock on the door of the house, go inside the shed. Instead I turn and go back to the water tower. The opening at the bottom is shut and I doubt that I can shift it; but the ladder to the roof is still intact and I climb back up. I am halfway up before I realise I feel lighter and happier than I should. I feel free.
Crow
I FIGURED EVA would baulk at the farm and I was right, but I made sure to secure the best room first. Not that the water tower’s quite up to scratch. The renovations are still there, but birds have got in, and some mice. And probably other animals, which I have no intention of looking for. No human’s lived here for a while. The plumbing’s not up to much either, but it’s somewhere to stay. We both spent the rest of the night pretending to sleep: in my case, there wasn’t that much pretence involved, to be perfectly honest.
I’m doing a recce on the roof, but it’s hard to tell much from here. The most obvious difference is the polytunnels in the farm. Not that that’s any sign of human involvement. If I know anything about Ed and Judith’s ways, they’d both be up and about by now. The High Track’s still there. Hard to see any difference from here. There’s no sign of movement there either. I’d half hoped for the prophets, but even they seem to be taking a day off, assuming they feature in this reality at all. But the marketplace is up and running and the smell of foods is wafting over. I was out of readies before I came and this trip through realities hasn’t made me any richer. But there’s always ways and means, and I decide I’ll avail myself of them in the near future.
I exit by the door in the base of the tower. It’s a noisy bloody thing and difficult to shift, but I feel safer dropping onto the ground under the water tower. There’s no big screen. Which only goes to show it really wasn’t a well-thought-through idea. I mean, where’s the wisdom in keeping the average citizen’s brain alive and optimally functional, when the powers-that-be can’t be bothered protecting something like the High Track from the likes of Guerra? As I get closer to the marketplace, I see some reasonably familiar stalls, though I recognise that I’m a little off-piste re the clothing trends. No-one’s staring, though; I’m not that remarkable. People seem to be flashing their phones in exchange for food, and while I have a phone to flash, I very much doubt that it’s backed up by anything so substantial as a bank account. Perhaps it is, seeing as it still seems to work and it wasn’t originally acquired by me, but I’m not sure I want to put that to the test just now.
But then I see a familiar and very welcome sight: the Chemical Conjurers in all their glory. They haven’t really got into their act yet. They’re just floating things up into the air. Playing, really. Warming up.
“Kern Bromley,” says Oscar. I can tell it’s him because of the stars engraved on his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Any chance of breakfast before you tell me why?”
Oscar begins to explain something about Time Lock and the necessary technology and the differences between Eva’s body and mine, but before he can get too far into the dissertation, Felix appears bearing something that looks like pancakes. He also has a mug of coffee, for which I am extremely grateful. They’re pretty well-synched, the Chemical Conjurers, but the appearance of food borders on precognition. Not that I care.
“I’ve a question,” I say between mouthfuls of pancake.
“Ask away,” says Oscar.
“Why is it that I’m fluttering around a fraction of a second in Time Lock, but now I’ve jumped, what, decades in time?” I actually had no idea about the time frame of this particular reality, but I was as sure as hell it wasn’t a fraction of a second from the time and place I’d recently left.
“You land, Kern Bromley. That makes the difference,” says Felix.
“How are the pancakes?” asks Oscar.
“Good,” I say. Actually, they taste a bit odd, as if it’s been made out of less-than-ideal ingredients, but they’re hot and the syrup is sugary and I’m in no position to be fussy.
“Is there anything else you need?” asks Felix.
“No,” I reply, which turns out to be an ill-advised answer, because Oscar has me in his hands and is lifting me up over his head. I am so surprised that I don’t struggle, it’d be pointless anyway, given our relative strength.
“We are sorry,” says Felix. But not so sorry as to stop what they’re doing. For a second I think he’s going to throw me and I imagine flying over the marketplace, a parabola of a human, moving in entirely the wrong way. But instead Oscar starts walking, moving through the marketplace, towards the High Track. Of course. Where else would I be going? You’d think such a sight would draw excited gasps as the very least, pointed fingers, even intervention by
the authorities, but nobody seems to even notice.
We reach the stairs and Oscar puts me down. I’d half hoped he’d extend up and place me gently on the High Track, but it looks as if I’m expected to climb staircase number 3 by myself.
“I’m too heavy,” says Oscar.
“Shame,” I say. I walk to the first landing and stop. Oscar is still there at the bottom of the steps; while I suppose I could just stand here and sulk, there’s no point trying to get down again.
“You used to help me,” I say.
“We are sorry,” says Felix, who has materialised, presumably as backup should I decide to do anything so foolish as attempt to slip away.
“We would help you again, if you asked,” says Oscar.
I spread my hands, which I know the robots can interpret as help me now, but which they wilfully ignore.
“Are there prophets here?” I ask.
“Prophets?” asks Felix.
“Women who wander around singing wearing robes that change with the levels of pollution.” It’s not a particularly descriptive version of the prophets, but it’ll have to do.
“No,” says Oscar. “No prophets.”
That’s a damn shame. I wave them farewell as I begin my walk to the gallows. It’s hard to stay mad at the Chemical Conjurers. I take my time, there’s no point in hurrying, and so I can’t help noticing there’s some new artwork at the very top of the stairs. It’s Eva/Olwin, of course, though this is a psychedelic version of her. It strikes me that I’d very much like to go to a world where this woman didn’t feature so prominently, if at all.
There’s no-one around to greet me, and so I head off in the opposite direction to admin. I’m only delaying the inevitable, but why the hell not. I last walked this part of the High Track with the Barleycorn King. Can’t say that it’s vastly different. I find a bench, take a seat. I’m looking out over gentrified Barlewin now, if it hasn’t already found itself a new name, or defected to Wilton, the next suburb along. From up here, I can’t really see much difference in realities. No gleaming towers, no apocalyptic holes in the ground. Shame, really.
Green Jay and Crow Page 12
